The California Clapper Rail 
easy—well, they lie. What would tempt an honest birdman to tramp 
these interminable acres of “pickle weed,” and to flounder across these in¬ 
terminable mud sloughs, anyway? Obviously, only the presiding genius of 
San Francisco Bay, the California Clapper Rail. Here comes one of these 
dandies of the mud, now, a symphony in browns with insertions of white. 
Stepping forth from the curtain of salicornia, which leans over the sloping 
sides of the slough, Sir Clapper plants a careful foot, and eyes you quizzi¬ 
cally. If passably reassured, he moves over the mud in a gingerly manner, 
hitching his head and jetting his apology for a tail. He is like a horse with 
a tight crupper, and his under tail-coverts flash a white distress signal each 
time he hitches forward. But he is only putting on airs. Let a worm ap¬ 
pear on the mud and the Rail seizes it by a nimble dash, in which dignity is 
utterly forgotten. The worm he bolts on the spot, or else retires to shelter 
if the victim requires disciplinary measures. If the bird, also, has business 
on the other side of the slough, he will swim the salty stream, also with a 
hitching motion; or else he will rise heavily, dragging his reluctant feet 
ostentatiously through the air, and drop to cover as soon as may be. 
For all that we can see, the life of the Clapper Rail is passed in these 
humble surroundings, amidst endless acres of salicornia (Salicornia am- 
bigua), broken only by occasional patches of “greenbush” (Grindelia 
cuneifolia). Nothing more exciting offers in the round year than a drench¬ 
ing storm, or a high tide which floods his meadows, and leaves the birds to 
swim about disconsolate until the waters are abated. If these portentous 
occasions occur in November, other Rails, chiefly migrants, are disclosed: 
namely, the Sora, the Yellow, and the California Black Rails. At such 
times the gunners used to reap shameful harvests. A rail on the wing is 
easier to hit than a tin can, anyway, but a rail on the waters is yours for 
the asking. Being so near to San Francisco, and yielding as they do their 
decent pound of flesh, the Clapper Rails were unmercifully harried, until 
the race was well nigh on the verge of extinction. But now that Federal 
protection has been established, the race bids fair to recover, at least in 
those limited sections which industry has not claimed, or agriculture 
“reclaimed.” 
Our chief interest in the California Clapper Rail attaches to the 
nesting time. According to Chase Littlejohn, the veteran ornithologist 
of Redwood City, these rails nest twice in a season, once in April along 
the banks of the tide channels, and again in June, when they resort to the 
deeper cover which borders the bay shore. My own information was 
gathered in two privileged days (April 14, 15, 1911) spent near Redwood 
City, where I found ten occupied nests. In placing their domiciles, the 
birds chose only the densest cover, usually that afforded by the little 
patches of Grindelia , which at this season of the year is about two feet high. 
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