Feb. II, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
211 
lightning. In the autumn great humidity is ap¬ 
parent. In the Glades there is practically no 
malaria. I he winter is mainly dry, though an 
occasional rain storm may sweep in from either 
ocean. The only real climatic drawback to the 
Glades is one that pertains to the whole penin¬ 
sula, and in fact to the whole south Atlantic ^nd 
Gulf coast region. This is the occasional pas¬ 
sage of a Caribbean or West Indian cyclone on 
its way northward. But these visitations are few 
and far between. Even the Seminole philo¬ 
sophically shelters himself and family in the 
thick scrub and placidly rebuilds his camp, say¬ 
ing, if he says anything, “Kill out fleas; clean 
out camp; roof leaky, anyhow,” or Seminole 
words to that effect. The Seminole is not a 
talkative individual—among the whites. 
1 he approaches to the Everglades are strangely 
beautiful. In the dry season when the waters 
are low, one can enter some distance on foot or 
by horse, but the usual approach is by motor 
boat or the silent dugout cypress canoe of the 
natives. These Glade rivers often run through 
rocky channels, cut by age-old currents to the 
sea. 1 hey meander here and there amid a riot 
of sub-tropical growth. Here reigns the man¬ 
grove, with its spidery legs seeking a watery 
foothold until acres are covered by their dense, 
singular agglomeration, with no land visible 
whatever. Nearer the Glades where the fresh 
water overcomes the brackish tidal water, the 
cocoa plum becomes prevalent, and further still 
the cypress, buttressed with mighty knees, fills 
the shore line. Wild vines of many kinds, lilies 
and other gorgeous water plants fairly riot every¬ 
where. Then—at the edge—the" river opens out 
into a vast expanse of wind-swept green and 
gold. The prairie-like surface of the Glades, 
the Grass-water, the source of the river’s supply, 
is before the eye. 
Caloosa s Lake of the Sweet Water” was one 
of its Indian names. Neither hunter nor tourist 
cares to penetrate its mysteries far. One may 
watch the tall sea of grass wave over a glisten¬ 
ing field of watery silver, undisturbed by the 
trail of the explorer. He will perhaps see the 
nearby canoe, an Indian poling, his turbaned 
head and bare legs conspicuous, while his wife 
and pickaninnies curl up in the bottom beside 
the merchandise for which they have bartered 
skins, furs, venison and other wares at the 
nearest trading store or town. He will most 
likely watch that canoe turn into one of the 
nearer waterways and vanish behind the saw- 
grass. When it returns no more he may wonder 
where it has gone, and why, when he tries to 
do likewise, he invariably gets tired out and 
probably lost. 
He may ask some of the Indians at Miami or 
Laudervale to pilot him into the Glades where 
the Seminoles live. Oh, yes. “Incah!” Surely. 
No trouble at all, or intimations to that effect, 
especially if he offers to pay well. But, in¬ 
variably these Indian-piloted excursions seem to 
come out nowhere in particular. The tourist 
has merely skirted the edge of whatever part of 
the Glades he tries the game. The hunter, the 
old settler, makes no such breaks. He knows 
it is not worth while. Very seldom, if one be 
an old friend, much trusted by the tribe, one may 
be taken to a Seminole’s real home. But after 
one has returned to the coast he probably 
feels that he has been somewhere, has 
lost the direction and could not return if 
he would. 
Lastly comes the theory of geology regarding 
this strange region. The Glades, Lake Okee¬ 
chobee, and the entire southern half of the 
peninsula are said to be the shallow bed of a 
long extinct volcanic crater. The silent revolu¬ 
tion of the unnumbered ages has gradually 
wrought the present state of affairs in nature 
out of the past. Tell a Seminole of this and 
he will look at you with the inscrutable scorn of 
those who neither know nor wish to know what 
the paleface calls the truth. 
“Grass-water here always,” perhaps he will 
say. “Always—for Injun.” 
And so at present he seems to have the best 
of it, but for the future—who knows? 
Feeding Habits of Coots and Ducks. 
In Northern Indiana, in Michigan, Wisconsin 
and Minnesota, and in many other Northern 
States are thousands of small glacial lakes. 
They are the finest lakes in the world for fishes 
of many species. They are equally remarkable 
for aquatic plants—marvelous in their abund¬ 
ance, not only as to individuals but as to variety 
of species. 
To any one interested in the study of the ani¬ 
mals and plants of a region no better unit 
could be selected than one of these beautiful 
lakes. The number of problems that it would 
present for study is almost infinite, many of 
them of the greatest interest. For example, 
what can be more fascinating than observing 
the water-birds seen on such a lake? 
In the spring many species of ducks and other 
water-birds visit these lakes where they tarry 
for a few days and go on farther north to their 
breeding grounds. A few, such as the great 
bittern, least bittern, mallard and wood duck, 
may remain to breed, but the vast majority pass 
on northward. In the late summer and early 
fall they begin to return, bringing with them 
the young of the year, thereby greatly increas¬ 
ing the number of migrating birds. Then is 
the time to watch them and learn their habits, 
for they are sure to be present by hundreds 
or even thousands, and to remain for several 
weeks. 
It has been my good fortune to sojourn many 
weeks and at different times at Lake Maxin- 
kuckee. I have been there during the spring 
migrations; also throughout the summer and 
again in the fall and winter, and many pleasant 
hours were spent studying the ways of the 
water birds. Nearly thirty different kinds of 
aquatic birds came to that lake—ducks, geese, 
swan, coot, bitterns and the like. 
Of all these, the most abundant is the coot, 
followed by the little bluebill, redhead, butter- 
ball, mallards, canvasbacks, whistler and ruddy 
duck. The first to arrive in the fall are the 
coots, and then a few helldivers and horned 
grebes appear. Then the two species of blue- 
bill, the mallard, the whistlers and the ruddy 
ducks come; and still later the redheads and 
canvasbacks, and the fish ducks. 
Early in, September the coots come in great 
numbers, and are very soon found in all parts of 
the lake. A few are seen in August, but the 
first large lot came on Sept, 22 in 1899, and 
also in 1900. That portion of the lake immedi¬ 
ately in front of my cottage was one of their 
favorite feeding grounds, and I had exception¬ 
ally good opportunities for observing them 
daily, or even hourly, from the time they came 
up to October 18, in 1899, and up to December 
11, of 1900. 
During my observations in 1899, it had not 
occurred to me that anything new or of im¬ 
portance could be learned regarding the habits 
of this well-known bird, and my observations 
were made and recorded chiefly and simply as 
a matter of personal pleasure and knowledge. 
But when I returned home in the fall and be¬ 
gan looking through the bird books to see how 
my observations tallied with those of others, 
I was surprised to find, in the first place, how 
little has really been recorded, and in the second 
place, that much that has been recorded does 
not at all agree with my own observations. 
I became particularly interested in what was 
said in the books regarding the flying, diving 
and feeding of the coot, and the character of 
its flesh as an article of food. 
According to one author, “if pursued the coot 
can run very fast and swim and dive very well; 
and, if in danger, with great rapidity.” Dr. 
Cooper says, “Being but rarely shot at by 
hunters, it is remarkably tame, collecting in 
flocks of hundreds in the marshes about San 
Francisco and other cities, as well as near re¬ 
mote mountain lakes, walking awkwardly about 
on their shores, and scarcely getting out of the 
way to escape the sportsman, who thinks it an 
unworthy object of his skill, as its flesh is dark 
and unpalatable. The young bird, however, is 
said to be good eating.” In other places he 
says, “the coot can swim and dive with great 
ease. “In such situations it spends most of its 
time feeding on grasshoppers, leaves of aquatic 
plants, small shells and insects, collecting much 
of its food under water.” 
Still another author who observed this bird 
in Florida, states that Audubon was in error 
in supposing that it never dives. He says it is 
