356 
FOR E S T A N D S T R E A M 
June, 1918 
FEATHERED FRIENDS OF THE WILDERNESS 
CAMPING AND STILL HUNTING FOR BIG GAME AFFORDS MANY OPPORTUNITIES FOR 
STUDYING AT CLOSE RANGE THE TRUE FRIENDLINESS OF THE WOODLAND BIRDS 
T HERE are a number of the smaller 
song and insectivorous birds with 
whom it is comparatively easy to be¬ 
come friends. Among them is the chicka¬ 
dee. The companions of both the black- 
capped and Hudsonian species has proba¬ 
bly been enjoyed by every man whose bus¬ 
iness or pleasure has taken him for ex¬ 
tended periods into the woods in northern 
latitudes. 
Just sit down in the woods, preferable 
near or among low bushes, begin to eal 
your lunch and if there are any chick¬ 
adees close at hand—and usually there 
are _in a few minutes they will come to 
vou, flitting from bush to bush, chattering 
and “dee-deeing” and almost asking out¬ 
right for a share of the food. If no sud¬ 
den move is made to frighten them, they 
often approach within a few feet and, 
holding their pert little heads sidewise 
eye you so intelligently and in such a 
chummy manner, that nothing could tempt 
a true sportsman to offer them harm. The 
bird lover need never be lonesome in 
Chickadee Land. 
Still-hunting for big game affords many 
opportunities for studying at extremely 
short range the friendliness of the wilder¬ 
ness birds. When standing or sitting 
quietly in the cool, sunlit woods on an Oc¬ 
tober morning, the hunter is apt to have 
a brown creeper, or perhaps an equally in¬ 
teresting sapsucker come slipping around 
the tree trunk against which he may be 
leaning. Many times have these two trim 
little birds—diminutive policemen of the 
tree trunks—entertained me while I wait¬ 
ed for game to appear. Occasionally I 
have had the downy and hairy woodpeck¬ 
ers both working on the tree whose trunk 
served for my backrest. 
But it is around one’s camp that the 
true friendliness of birds is demonstrated. 
They soon learn to trust the camper, and, 
if he is quiet—birds, like bees, don’t “take’ 
to fussy people—they will come quite up 
to and sometimes into the tent. 
One fall morning, not long ago, while 
eating a late breakfast at a table just out¬ 
side the tent doorway, four different kinds 
of camp-frequenting birds kept me com¬ 
pany: chickadees, slate j uncos, pine warb¬ 
lers and a little winter wren. The warb¬ 
lers busied themselves searching for 
larvae and insects on the twigs and branch¬ 
es of a small hemlock which shaded the 
tent, seemingly taking up the work of in¬ 
sect hunting where the trunk climbers— 
creepers and woodpeckers—leave off, and 
completing the job very thoroughly. The 
j uncos and chickadees hopped and flitted 
about, occasionally dropping to the ground 
to inspect some newly-found tid-bit; 
while the perky little wren uttered his 
sharp “chuck! chuck!” as he skipped over 
and through a pile of brush. All were on 
the best of terms with each other. 
One autumn evening just at dusk, a 
slate junco came flying into the tent and 
alighted on the stove. It was still a trifle 
By A. T. STRONG 
warm, though not hot enough to burn. 
But the unnatural warmth beneath his feet 
seemed to puzzle him, for he kept hopping 
about for several seconds, looking down 
Sometimes the shyest of woodland visit¬ 
ors may be hunted with the camera 
at the sheetiron top and all the while chip- 
chucking over the mystery; then, still mys¬ 
tified, he sailed out of the doorway and 
perched himself upon the chopping block, 
which seemed more to his liking. 
A PINE warbler flew into my tent one 
June afternoon, and without the least 
appearance of fear, dropped to the 
table within a yard of where I sat eating. 
He surveyed the cans and bottles and dishes 
which comprised my table service, looked 
up at me as calmly as though he were in 
his own house instead of mine, then flitted 
to the clothes line stretched above the 
stove and deliberately pulled at a ravel¬ 
ing of the dish-wiping towel until it gave 
away. Then holding it firmly in his beak, 
out the doorway he went. In a short time 
he returned and making straight for the 
clothes line, secured another loose thread 
from the towel and again flew away, so 
somewhere in the depths of the forest 
baby warblers lived in a distinguished nest 
and perhaps were very proud of the 
strands of toweling woven among its twigs 
and twisted grasses. 
( p'RUMBS and bits of food scattered 
j around a camp will of course attract 
the birds but are likely also to attract 
less welcome visitors, such as skunks and 
porcupines. It is better never to break the 
woodcraft rule of “absolutely no litter 
around camp.” A good plan that was 
adopted by a party of bird-lovers in the 
Maine woods was to hang the birds’ food 
up on the door post. A large lump of suet 
was hung there and the frost hardened it 
to stone. The camp was later occupied by 
a party of hunters, who were surprised 
one morning just at the peep of dawn to 
hear a knocking at the door, but on open¬ 
ing it no one appeared. Much mystery 
surrounded the ghostly visitor who contin¬ 
ued his earl} r visits for several days at the 
same “witching hour,” until one of the 
party peeped from the window and discov¬ 
ered a large woodpecker busy at the for¬ 
gotten suet which bumped noisily against 
the door. 
I believe the junco the friendliest of all 
camp-visiting birds. I have often had 
several of them skipping about the tent, 
inside and out, picking up bits of food, • 
and paying no more attention to me than 
if I were part of the camp fixtures. And 
in the evenings, when the j uncos trill 
their soft, cheery little song—so filled 
with the joy of living—one has his reward 
for having treated them kindly. 
Usually the junco is quite fair and 
neighborly in his dealings with other birds 
and the small animals of the woods. But 
I recall one junco that was saucy, though the 
circumstances in this instance were peculiar. 
A chipmunk feeding upon some food 
scraps that I had placed on a big log, 
was suddenly and savagely attacked by a 
female slate junco. The little bird ap¬ 
peared on the scene abruptly and with no 
preliminaries pitched on to the inoffensive 
rodent with fury of a demon. Such 
ear boxing and head scratching as befell 
that chipmunk! The unexpectedness of 
the assault so nonplussed him that flight 
from his feathered tormentor seemed to 
be all he thought of, and with a startled 
“chip-i-chur-r-r!” he retreated ignomin- 
iously from the log. Nor did the junco 
appear desirous of eating the food. After 
the hurried departure of the chipmunk, 
she mounted guard in a near-by bush and 
with much excited chipping announced 
that she was still in fighting trim for all 
comers. As it was in the nesting season, 
no doubt the plucky little bird was only , 
taking precautionary measures against a 
possible raid upon her nest, which prob¬ 
ably was tucked away in some tuft of 
grass near the log feeding-station. 
