22 THE OASU D.U7B)O'N 3B U. Lb bes 
Nature Studies in the Great W est 
Gulls were everywhere. They hung over us in great clouds; 
they swarmed about the rigging, fighting for position on the 
wireless aerial; they trailed the ship and circled about her, their 
raucous cries sounding even above the hoarse scream of the 
whistle as the S. S. Avalon left Los Angeles harbor bound for 
Catalina, the “Magic Isle.”” These Western Gulls certainly had 
ear-splitting abilities. However they were protected by law in 
the harbor because of their value as scavengers, and I, for one, 
enjoyed their humorous antics and graceful flight. 
Although I live in Evanston, this bright June day found me 
2000 miles from home with the blue, blue waters of the Pacific 
about me and the ship’s engines throbbing underfoot. I was 
first impressed by the mountains on the island. They were low 
for the most part, the altitude ranging from 100 to 2400 feet. 
The mountainous character of the land is explained by the fact 
that Catalina is a volcanic isle, in fact the different layers of 
lava can still be seen on some of the bare cliffs facing the sea. 
These steep precipices are also of interest in that they are 
the chosen eyries of the island’s largest birds, the Bald Eagles. 
On the tops of these precipices one could usually descry the huge 
pile of sticks and rubbish in which, safe from the pillaging 
hands of man, the young had been raised to eaglehood. Well 
do I remember watching the spectacular dive of an old bird from 
the top of a 300 foot cliff to the water not ten feet behind our 
boat where he seized a fish and winged his way slowly upward 
again to devour it. 
Many of the land birds are peculiar to Catalina and the sur- 
rounding islands. One of the strangest of these is the Catalina 
Raven who makes the lonely canyons echo with his hoarse, weird 
cries. I shall never forget the evening in a wild canyon when I 
first heard these ghoulish sounds. At that time I was not aware 
that they came from the throat of a bird and will have to admit 
of being thoroughly frightened. 
In the eaves of a summer-house, part of an unfrequented 
park on the mountain top, many House Finches or Linnets as 
they are popularly called had their nests. These were compactly 
woven structures composed largely of dried grasses. One of 
them contained five bluish eggs spotted with black; the others 
were occupied by young birds in all stages of development. I 
spent some exciting half-hours in trying to photograph these 
bantlings but without success. . 
The sweet voiced Linnet in the West replaces our brawling 
street gamin, the English Sparrow. How much better to see the 
cheery Linnet about our doorsteps than the bullying passer 
domesticus, for the former’s scarlet head and breast are much 
more beautiful I am sure than the latter’s dull plumage. 
