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J.UK1JLH. JJUVE AND HER NEST. 
The careless manner in which these birds place their nests is made apparent in this photograph The tree 
is a cottonwood, and the nest is exposed to the wind. From a photograph by F. T. Webber. 
to be cut down, nor the eagles to be shot at. 
Bryant stating that all the female bass they had 
opened that season had large rolls of spawn, 
and they were both of the opinion that they 
were nearly ripe and would spawn soon, and 
that they thought it had something to do with 
their indifference to bait. I told them I would 
note the matter, and I had no doubt some of the 
readers of Forest and Stream would give the 
information desired through its columns. 
An interesting object in connection with 
natural history is an eagle’s nest built upon the 
top of a tall pine stub, supported by the re¬ 
mains of a broad broken crotched branch just 
about where the top of the stub is. The nest is 
quite large, and, it is stated, has been occupied 
for some twenty years. It is in the vicinity of 
South Fishtail Bay, and Col. Bogardus has 
caused notice to be posted that the tree is not 
Query—Do eagles migrate to the South as 
winter approaches? Mr. Miller, a photographer 
from Pellston, succeeded in getting an admir¬ 
able picture of the nest. 
After the middle of October came and the 
leaves had gone through their wondrous trans¬ 
formation and were beginning to fall, and as 
all other guests had departed and Mr. Bryant 
was anxious to take care of the splendid crop 
of apples on his farm, the family moved to 
town, leaving the key with me, as also pro¬ 
visions for my need. I became at once hotel 
proprietor, guest, cook and housekeeper in gen¬ 
eral, and although alone part of the time, I 
really enjoyed (at 69 ) the experience of camp¬ 
ing as well as I used to in days of old. I had a 
camera and took it with me on my daily rambles 
[Sept. 12, 1908. 
through the woods in every direction, and also I 
cut out some new trails, blazed others, and cut I 
the brush that obstructed a lovely view from a I 
hilltop some 500 feet back from the lake. 
Mr. Miller then became guest and companion 
for a, few days and enjoyed “hiking” through • 
the woods with me, and took some splendid ; 
views with his large camera. Our evenings 
were spent in developing and in playing j! 
pinochle, and thus the time passed quickly and 
pleasantly. 
Dm mg the season there were five new guests '■ 
who had read Forest and Stream and came 
to Douglas Lake, influenced by my description 
of its beauties, and seemed pleased that they ; 
had done so. 
Mr. Miller again came out during the last 
week of my stay, and with camera and gun—as 
partridge were plentiful and we could occasion- , 
ally get one for the pot—we went over to Camp¬ 
bell’s Camp five miles away, and were cordially 
welcomed and invited to dinner. It is the most I 
perfect logging camp I have ever seen; neat, 
commodious and tidy throughout, and the gangs 
of lumbermen quiet and orderly. On another 
occasion we went to Burt Lake and dined with 
George Reece, a noted hunter and fishing guide, 
and returned by the Big Springs trail, and were 
ready for a hearty supper after our exercise. 
Deer tracks in abundance were to be seen, and 
one man told me he had seen five deer at one 
time; but Michigan has declared a close season 
for five years, and there is no doubt that in the 
wilder counties they will soon be as plentiful 
in the lower as they are now in the northern 
peninsula. 
As the last of the October days had come and 
my vacation was over, I reluctantly telephoned 
Mr. B. to send in for me, that I might take the 
evening train for home and business, and while 
waiting, I took a last ramble through the big 
woods road, and gathered some fine beechnuts, 
regretting that I had to leave dear old Douglas 
Lake on such a beautiful day. 
The Open Air Life. 
Give me the life beneath an endless sky, 
Whose blue afar the darker of the lake 
Meets in horizon kisses; here may I 
Hie echo of primeval hollows wake, 
And in a joyous and exultant cry 
My effervescent spirits partly slake, 
Nor fear man’s pigmy interdict. Here I may be 
.Like that which is around me—boundless, bold and free. 
’Tis some small comfort in this fettered time, 
When man within convention’s prison broods, 
To feel I am not harnessed to the rhyme 
And jingle of her brainless platitudes; 
But that in freedom I may boldly climb 
With Nature to her most majestic moods; 
-’cale mountains stand alone—or, eager, feel 
My pulses answer some swift moving keel. 
This is the grandest life that man can live; 
And happy he who knows it from his birth. 
The freest and the beit old earth can give_ 
hor ’tis indeed earth-given. ’Twixt the worth 
And meaning of these words—which are the sieve 
Through which we drain our pleasures—world and earth. 
There is a difference which doth not savor 
Of much within the world—or the world’s favor. 
And here the camp is pitched; and on the shore 
The boats ’gin glimmer in the light and blaze 
Of merry camp-fires, round which goes a roar 
Such as the Titans laughed in olden days. 
And tales are told—what though their years be more 
Than those gaunt trunks the pioneer did blaze? 
They II blossom, too, and will revivify 
Beneath the influence of this life and sky. 
—Charles Gordon Rogers. 
