The Marbled Murrelet 
narrowly sooty, bill longer and more uniformly black, as compared with the Ancient 
Murrelet; larger, lighter above, plumbeous dusky instead of slaty black, and upperparts 
more extensively invaded by white, as compared with the Xantus Murrelet. 
Nesting. —Not known to breed in California, but probably does so. Eggs: 2; 
probably placed at end of short burrow in mountainside, many miles from water; 
elliptical ovate; pale bluish green (glaucous), finely and sparingly spotted with blackish 
brown. Size about 62 x 35 (2.44 x 1.38). 
General Range. —Pacific Coast of North America from the Alaska Peninsula 
south to San Diego; breeding in the mountains (?) south to Santa Cruz County, Cali¬ 
fornia. 
Distribution in California. —Resident in winter on the ocean throughout the 
length of the State; rarely seen in harbors. A few remain through the summer, and 
evidently breed in the coast ranges. 
Authorities.—Cassin (.Brachyramphus marmoratus), in Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. 
Surv., vol. ix., 1858, p. 915 (“California”); Loomis, Proc. Calif. Acad. Sci., ser. 2, vi., 
1896, p. 19 (off Monterey); J. Mailliard , Condor, vol. vi., 1904, p. 15 (Monterey, June 
and July )\Bent, U. S. Nat. Mus., Bull. no. 107, 1919, p. 141 (life history). 
THE EASTERN visitor, even though admonished by his San Fran¬ 
cisco friends, will never understand why he should bring an overcoat in 
summer. It is for the reason also that notably “refreshing” breezes play¬ 
fully romp anywhere from Crescent City to Point Conception on a sum¬ 
mer afternoon, that Dr. Grinnell, veteran ornithologist of the West, could 
only say of the Marbled Murrelet: “Fairly common winter visitant on the 
ocean coastwise”; adding, rather tamely, “Has been found in June and 
July on Monterey Bay.” No; the summer waters of Alta California are 
not suited for extended exploration a la skiff; and for this reason the 
author will beg the privilege of introducing his proteges from a northern 
station, and then of making some pertinent remarks about the Marbled 
Murrelet as a breeding bird of California. 
For those who long for “something different” we recommend a 
steamboat ride along, say, the Straits of Georgia, or across the eastern 
arm of Juan de Fuca on a blowy day in December. To be sure it is a 
bit chilly out, and there are spiteful dabs of rain between whiles, but the 
forward deck is clear, for the helpless ones are crowded in the cabin playing 
poker or scowling gloomily out of the windows. We may have the bow 
to ourselves—you and I—and what a glorious company of sights and 
sounds there are about us! Every blue-gray wave has a voice, and the 
gray-blue wind tries every tone with its deft fingers. The chorus smites 
upon the prow with its never-ending climaxes of spray, to which our 
staunch boat opposes only its patient methodical sighing. Now the wind 
laughs, and while it marshals its serried ranks for a fiercer charge, our 
drummer boy, the trusted flag-rope, beats furious tattoo. Crash! Poof! 
Poof! We win! 
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