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the stream and landed in the shallow water, the bottom being stony. It was 
not of the wading type, so we watched closely. After feeding the young one 
again, instead of going back to the edge it plunged boldly into the middle 
and began picking among the stones on the bottom where the water was 
from eighteen to twenty-four inches deep. The sun was shining brightly 
and in the clear water of the mountain stream we could plainly see the old 
bird walk on the bottom, pick up something, come to the surface, shake off 
the water, and fly to where the young bird was waiting. It would hammer 
whatever it had, possibly the larva of a caddis fly, with its bill, apparently 
taking off an outside shell before feeding the young. It was the water ouzel, 
Young Water Ouzel or Dipper 
or dipper, a bird of which we had often heard and had for years been 
hoping that we might some day see; and now, here, almost within reach, 
they were showing themselves, their young, and their way of living, while 
we stood almost holding our breath as we watched them come and go. We 
soon located the other parent and two more young, five in all, and watched 
them for nearly a half hour, during which time they were never over twenty 
yards from us. I am sorry that we did not look under the bridge for a 
possible old nest, as Mr. Kitchin, of Mt. Rainier National Park, later told 
me that they do sometimes use such a location. 
The road from Glacier, through Calgary, to Banff, Alberta, produced 
one more new acquaintance when a small flock of curlews, probably the 
long-billed, crossed the road in front of us, and, when we slowed up to 
