When the snow comes the juncos and other small birds seek the shelter of heavy cover, especially where bare patches of ground are found under the branches of spreading 
evergreens. Here, on a dazzlingly bright morning when every twig holds its burden of new snow, you will hear the tinkling notes of the tree sparrows, perhaps the 
sweetest of winter bird calls, irresistibly suggestive of icicles melting in the sun 
be convinced of the richness of the horde of field experiences 
among the birds that he has left behind. By covering a diversified 
stretch of territory anywhere in New York or elsewhere in the 
surrounding States it is a simple matter to record in a day a 
census (near Christmas time) of from twenty-five to fifty dif¬ 
ferent species and, in some instances, several thousand individ¬ 
uals. Let us inaugurate one of these mid-winter bird hikes and 
obtain at first hand the thrills which only such an expedition 
can give us. 
A bird is most conspicuous when moving, and wild birds are on 
the move at all seasons; chiefly in the early morning when their 
appetites are keen. It is therefore advisable to get into the field 
soon after the beginning of day, even in the season of snow; 
and suppose we direct our course first toward the forested areas 
where both shelter and food supply have induced many of the 
land birds to take up their abode. One of the great keys to suc¬ 
cessful observation in the field is good listening. Concentration 
through the ear as a medium is almost as important as the de¬ 
velopment of a keen and alert eye; for a distant sound may often 
put us on the track of some creature whose presence would other¬ 
wise have remained a secret. And here in the winter woods con¬ 
ditions are most favorable to the detection of sound than in any 
other place, perhaps because there are fewer sounds and distrac¬ 
tions. The buzzing of insects, for example, has long since been 
stopped ; the tree toad and Pickering’s hyla are silenced ; and there 
are no bothersome gnats nor mosquitoes to require our attention. 
We are free to look and listen and soon our list of birds attains 
a considerable size. Already we have seen or heard the white¬ 
breasted nuthatch, junco, chickadee, bluejay, and downy and 
hairy woodpeckers; and if we are both patient and diligent the 
purple finch, pine siskin, fox sparrow, golden-crowned kinglet, 
cardinal, Carolina and winter wrens, brown creeper and Bob- 
white may also be attached. In many of those portions of the 
country which are sufficiently removed from human dwellings, 
the rufifed grouse is even now tolerably common, and fortunate 
is the walker afield who is thrilled by the whirr from the wings 
of this feathered bullet as he rises out of the snow or shoots from 
some thick cover. And in these same forests live a few shy 
cocks-of-the-wood—the northern pileated woodpecker, who looks 
nearly as large as a crow; and, more retiring still, the great 
horned owl, who seeks the concealing shade of some thick pine 
during the day and sallies forth at night to scour the country for 
cottontails. 
There is a great amount of satisfaction in securing enough to 
eat, and this prompts many birds to utter notes which are pecu¬ 
liar to feeding time, thus attracting others of their own and other 
kin to the feast. Though there may not be enough to satisfy all, 
still the discovery is advertised and there is seldom any conten- 
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