The author in taking his first (and only) set of Say Pewee eggs selected a nest on the south wall of Brook Lake, reached only by canoe. The floor of an old Cliff Swallow’s nest, placed in a shady niche at a height of some twelve feet, formed the support of the Pewee’s accumulations. The cliff was perfectly straight, but by dint of half an hour’s work piling lava blocks and securing footholds, with the aid of a double-bladed paddle he succeeded in reaching the nest. Requiring the use of both hands in descent, he placed the four fresh eggs in his hat, and the hat in his teeth, reaching the ground safely and depositing the hat carefully. Tired out by the exertion he flung himself down upon the narrow strip of shore and rested. Then noting the rising wind, he sprang up, seized the coat and hat and—Oh! Did something drop?!! Yes, gentle reader, the eggs were in it,—but only one was smashed. Only one! As perfect the arch without its keystone as a “set” of eggs with the guilty consciousness of one missing!
No. 146.
OLIVE-SIDED FLYCATCHER.
A. O. U. No. 459. Nuttallornis borealis (Swains.)
Description.—Adult: Upperparts brownish slate with a just perceptible tinge of olivaceous on back; top of head a deeper shade, and without olivaceous; wings and tail dusky-blackish, the former with some brownish gray edging only on tertials; flank-tufts of fluffy, yellowish or white feathers, sometimes spreading across rump and in marked contrast to it, but usually concealed by wings; throat, belly and crissum, and sometimes middle line of breast, white or yellowish white; heavily shaded on sides and sometimes across breast with brownish gray or olive-brown,—the feathers with darker shaft-streaks; bill black above, pale yellow below; feet black. Immature: Similar to adult, but coloration a little brighter; wing-coverts fulvous or buffy. Length 7.00-8.00 (177.8-203.2); wing 4.16 (105.7); tail 2.64 (67.1); bill from nostril .53 (13.5); tarsus .59 (15).
Recognition Marks.—Sparrow to Chewink size; heavy shaded sides; bill yellow below; tew-tew note; keeps largely to summits of fir trees.
Nesting.—Nest: a shallow cup of twigs, bark-strips, etc., lined with coarse moss and rootlets; saddled upon horizontal limb of coniferous trees, often at great heights. Eggs: 3 or 4, creamy-white or pale buff, spotted distinctly with chestnut and rufous, and obscurely with purplish and lavender, chiefly in ring about larger end. Av. size, .85 × .63 (21.6 × 16). Season: June 1-15; one brood.
General Range.—North America, breeding from the northern and the higher mountainous parts of the United States northward to Hudson Bay and Alaska. Accidental in Greenland. In winter south to Central America, Colombia and northern Peru.
Range in Washington.—Summer resident in coniferous timber from sea level to limit of trees.
Migrations.—Spring: c. May 15.
Authorities.—Contopus borealis, Baird, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. 1858, p. 189. Ibid C&S. 169. C&S. D¹. Kb. Ra. B. E.
Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. E.
Flycatchers belong to the sub-order Clamatores, that is to say, Shouters. Some few of our American Flycatchers lisp and sigh rather than cry aloud, but of those which shout the Olive-sided Flycatcher is easily dean. And it is as an elocutionist only that most of us know this bird, even tho our opportunities may have stretched along for decades. On a morning in mid May, as surely as the season comes around, one hears a strong insistent voice shouting, “See here!” There is not much to see, save a dun-colored bird seated at an impossible height on the summit of a tall fir tree. Its posture is that easy half-slouch which with the Flycatchers betokens instant readiness for action. While we are ogling, the bird launches from his post, seizes an insect some thirty feet distant, and is back again before we have recovered from surprise. “See here!” the bird repeats, but its accent is unchanged and there is really nothing more to see.
Taken in Chelan County. Photo by W. Leon Dawson.
CASCADE PASS AND THE VALLEY OF THE STEHEKIN.
A CHARACTERISTIC HAUNT OF THE OLIVE-SIDED FLYCATCHER.
An intimate acquaintance with the Olive-sided Flycatcher is not easily attained; but its characteristic cry carries to a distance of half a mile or more, and is, fortunately, quite unforgettable. Both in accent and energy it seems to set the pace for several of the lesser Tyrants. Of course, like many another of the voices of Nature, its interpretation depends a good deal upon the mood of the listener. Heard on a dull day at sea-level it may sound dismal enough, but heard in the sharp air of the mountains it becomes an exultant note. There are miners in the heart of the Cascades who regard the brisk evening greeting of this Flycatcher as one of the compensations of solitude. “Three cheers!” the bird seems to say to one who returns from the silent bowels of the earth and grasps again the facts of outer life.
Borealis is a bird of the tree-tops and nearer you cannot come, save in nesting season, when caution is thrown to the winds and a study in morbid psychology is all too easy. The birds place a rustic saucer of interwoven black rootlets and mosses on the upper side of a horizontal branch, whether of hemlock, fir, or cedar, and, as often as otherwise, at moderate heights. They are very uneasy at the presence of strangers and flit about with a restless, tittering, cry, tew-tew, tew-tew, or tew-tew-tew, a sound which strangely excites the blood of the oölogist. Once the nesting tree is made out and the ascent begun, the birds are beside themselves with rage, and dash at the intruder with angry cries, which really stimulate endeavor where they are intended to discourage it.
How fatal is the beauty of an egg-shell! There be those of us who have drunk so oft of this subtle potion that the hand goes out instinctively to grasp the proffered cup. Besides, the product of an Olive-side’s skill is of a very special kind—a rich cream-colored oval, warmed by a hint of living flesh and splotched with saucy chestnut. It is irresistible! But, boys, don’t do it! We are old topers ourselves; public sentiment is against us, and our days are numbered. It is right that it should be so. Besides that, and speaking in all seriousness now, while it is desirable and necessary that a few representative collections of natural history should be built up for the public use, it does not follow that the public good is secured by the accumulation of endless private hordes of bird’s-eggs—whose logical end, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, is the scrap-heap. You are probably one of the ninety-nine. Think twice before you start a collection and then—don’t!