ae FACUsDAU BOON Sb B.UjLIL BE TIN 7 
and the prairie warblers were on a high ridge adjoining. We were unable 
to stay long enough to find nests of all of the warblers, either completed 
or under construction. The birds were singing and I could have spent 
hours here, it was such an interesting place, but there were others just 
as wonderful, so we went on. 
The stands of jack pine in Oscoda, Crawford and Roscommon Counties, 
in Michigan, are the nesting habitat of Kirtland’s warbler; it winters in 
the Bahamas. It was not long until we heard one, and he was located and 
surrounded so we could get a good study of him. He has a loud song on 
the order of the Connecticut, Kentucky or Canada. He was singing in 
the top of a jack pine, but finally came down to the bottom of the tree 
where there were some dead branches. He just “took us all in,” did not 
seem to be a bit afraid, and we could look at him as much as we wished. 
Then he began hopping up from branch to branch until he got to the top 
and sang some more. We might have been near the nest, though we did 
not find it. He did this twice while we were standing there — so my 
long wished for record was accomplished. 
Someone chanced to find a pair of spruce grouse, something we had 
not looked for and that surprised even the leaders. A group of the 
members with cameras hurried to the spot and many pictures were taken 
of the male; the female was just over our heads about 15 or 20 feet up 
in a tree and stayed there. Those with cameras made a circle around the 
male, and he did his courtship dance time and time again. Once in a 
while he flew up to a low branch, then down again to perform for his 
lady up in the tree. After many pictures were taken the larger group 
was brought over and all were able to see the birds. The dance went on 
as though the most unusual audience he had ever had wasn’t there. It 
consisted of flapping his wings close to his side, then springing two or 
three feet into the air and straight down again. I wondered whether he 
became so excited that he kept on, not knowing what else to do. But all 
good things finally come to an end, and so did the nuptial dance of the 
spruce grouse. 
After all this the luncheon crates were opened as, today, we were to 
eat out under the trees. What a hungry crowd it was, too; there was 
very little returned to the camp that day. 
A trip to a real bog was made in the hope that we could see Lincoln’s 
sparrow and its nest. Due to lack of rain the bog was not too wet, and 
we were able to go into it. We saw the trails made by deer and saw 
much reindeer moss growing; Labrador tea and laurel were also in bloom, 
but I did not find any pitcher plants as I had hoped. There were many 
birds around, but too high in the trees to identify. It was decided that 
three nests which were found belonged to song sparrows. 
All the good things were not seen away from camp, for, after all, the 
camp was in wilderness country, and some of those driving had a hard 
time finding their way into the grounds. There were numbers of birds 
nesting close by. We saw the least flycatcher building her nest just outside 
the office door; in the parking lot a tree swallow had found a hole in the 
