Septe iber,1918 
FOREST AND STREAM 
539 
NOTES ON SHORE BIRDS 
By J. T. N. 
side as he kept a sharp watch over the 
stream. If I moved he flew to another 
bush a few feet ahead. 
The Juncos, at least I so identified them, 
fed mostly among the stones at the edge 
of the water, seldom taking a fly from the 
air or venturing out over the stream. They 
fed upon the small olive duns clinging to 
the stones, where they had sought a rest¬ 
ing place to dry their wings before flight. 
If I remained quiet these little fellows 
would feed within a few inches of my feet. 
Juncos are among the friendliest of 
woodbirds. Nearly every fisherman who is 
a bit of a nature lover as well—and there 
are few exceptions among the brotherhood 
of anglers—has some amusing story to tell 
of the sprightly Junco’s inquisitive and 
trusting disposition. 
One day a Junco stopped feeding to ex¬ 
amine my hob-nailed wading shoes, looking 
them over critically, as though he had dis¬ 
covered a new and most curious sort of 
stone. He apparently did not approve of 
them; they lacked the olive dun decora¬ 
tions to which he was accustomed. 
I saw the birds one day feed over the 
Big Bend pool in such numbers as to drive 
down the feeding fish. I saw them, their 
fluttering wings almost touching the water, 
take flies within an inch or two of a rising 
trout, literally snatching the insect from 
the fish’s mouth. Several times that day 
birds picked my floating fly from the water 
and carried it a few feet; but none were 
ever hooked, much to my relief. 
I T was at the Big Bend pool that Dr. Shaw 
and Mr. Woods witnessed a tragedy. 
The birds were feeding busily, when a 
hawk, who entered and soon flew off with 
one, gave chase. Around and over the 
pool flew the poor bird in its frantic efforts 
to elude its pursuer. Finally it sought 
shelter in the crevice of the rock; but it 
was not small enough to keep out the 
hawk, who entered and soon flew off with 
his little victim in his claws. A tragedy 
with a moral. 
A Scarlet Tanager gave me a treat I 
shall long remember. O'ne day as I stood 
at Knight’s pool with my rod under my 
arm watching for the rise of a trout, one 
of these birds, a male, lighted on the rod, 
not two feet from my hand. He evidently 
considered it a favorable point of obser¬ 
vation. So gently did he touch the rod I 
felt no vibration whatever. There he sat 
while I could have slowly counted ten, one 
of Mother Nature’s most beautiful chil¬ 
dren, his black and scarlet coat contrast¬ 
ing vividly against the green of the hem¬ 
lock curtained pool. Presently he spied an 
insect zigzagging above the pool, and 
picked it out of the air as neatly as you 
please. He did not return to the rod. 
It was nearly the first of June before 
the migratory birds deserted the stream 
and the feast of insects. No doubt the in¬ 
clement weather had delayed their depar¬ 
ture. Then, also, the hatches of flies had 
lessened, and it was time to begin house¬ 
keeping in earnest. 
The angler-naturalist has many chances 
to observe bird family life. Perhaps this is 
because the birds have discovered that he, 
unlike the hunter, has no thought of harm 
for any member of the feathered tribe. 
Ill— The Wilson’s Snipe 
UST how concealingly-colored birds as 
a rule may be is open to discussion, 
but every one will agree that the mark¬ 
ings of the Wilson’s Snipe render him ex¬ 
tremely inconspicuous. He frequently 
alights in some boggy open spot where the 
grass is too short to hide hirrf, but one may 
almost step on the bird, crouching in plain 
view, before seeing it. I have seen a 
Wilson’s Snipe in spring alight in a wet 
meadow with short grass, have marked 
down the exact spot, but have been unable 
to find the bird until he corkscrewed out 
practically under my feet. As he crouches 
on the mud the long stripes on the head 
and upper parts confuse one’s eye and 
make it difficult to pick out his long bill; 
moreover, the white area visible on his 
flanks cuts into and confuses the chunky 
outline of the body. 
The Wilson’s Snipe is an upland bird, 
frequently found about some bit of boggy 
ground in the country, and though com¬ 
mon on fresh and brackish marshes, is rare 
on those which are strictly salt. Though 
usually solitary with us, on its winter 
grounds in the Southern States it some¬ 
times associates in straggling flocks, and 
as many as a dozen may be seen on the 
wing togefher. On the ground, its habits 
are correlated with its inconspicuousness. 
It will usually allow a very close approach 
before taking wing with a sort hoarse cry, 
and on alighting it often runs a few steps 
before stopping and crouching. 
On its breeding grounds the Snipe in¬ 
dulges in an interesting, more or less noc¬ 
turnal, aerial performance, its modified 
outer tail-feathers making a winnowing 
sound as it plunges down from a consider¬ 
able height in the air. 
The markings of the Wilson’s snipe render him extremely inconspicuous 
Photograph through courtesy of the American Museum of Natural History. 
The angler-naturalist has many chances to observe bird family life 
