Nest of Wilson’s Thrush
In the early dawn, when the dew was glistening on the vegetation and wild life was full of activity, from underfoot glided a Wilson’s thrush (Hylocichla fuscescens). As I looked carefully in the direction whence it came, a small opening in a clump of sticks and grass disclosed a beautifully constructed nest of moss lined with rootlets and coarser grass, embedded in a small hillock. In the nest were three delicate greenish-blue eggs (0.90” × 0.65”). We spent a great deal of time making the acquaintance of the mother bird, while the old man perched on a distant limb, and at our approach seemed to give warning by calling “chip, chip,” so that, no matter how stealthily we drew near, the female was aware of our approach and had left the nest before we were in sight. That she had only just gone was apparent from the warmth of the eggs. We visited the nest many times until finally she became very tame.
What a contrast to the nervous, excited titlark which had built its nest on the ground near a stump! The more we visited the nest of the latter the wilder she became, and after many attempts to photograph her we had to give up in despair. By the time evening came we were quite well acquainted, and when night set in we tried to take a flash-light picture of the thrush, using an electric lamp to attract attention until the flash went off. The instant of the flash she would glide gently out of the nest, to return again in a few minutes after we left. We made the attempt many times, and finally she became so accustomed to it that she would not leave the nest when the flash went off.
The following day we heard a whistling noise overhead,—a female American golden-eye (Glaucionetta clangula americana) was in full flight, disturbing the air with her laboring short wings. Away over yonder in a burned clearing stood an old birch tree stump, gaunt and white with the constant beating of the weather against it. Some thirty feet from the ground was a large hole in the stump, and as the duck passed by we noticed that she hesitated as though about to enter, but at the same instant she must have seen us, for she continued her vigorous flight up the river as far as we could see. We decided she had her nest in the old tree-top, and by concealing ourselves, gave her to believe we had gone. In a short time we saw the duck return and pitch into the hole. When she was once in her protected home it was impossible to get her out. We hammered the tree with stones and logs and threw many stones into the opening; in fact, we did everything we could to make her come out, but to no avail. We then cut two long trees and leaned them against the top of the stump, and my guide proceeded to make rungs by binding rope around them until he had a fairly good ladder to the top. Then he climbed up and looked into the hole, but could not see the duck; she had built her nest in the hollow branch and not in the main trunk. The old stump began to sway from a breeze that sprang up, so the guide became nervous and hastened down for fear it would fall. Taking his ax he decided to cut the tree down, but when he was half way through I persuaded him that the mother and young would be killed by the fall, and at my suggestion he let the old stump stand.
Learning to Swim
Several days later the young were transported to the water by the old ducks, and about the time the last duckling was placed on the water, we arrived on the scene.[1] It was very interesting to see them trying to dive; they were only able to stick their heads under the water, exposing their white under tail-coverts. As our little boat advanced quietly over the water, the mother bird, in her excited efforts to get them concealed, swam now this way, now that way, and made many attempts at turning into an apparent shelter, only to come out again. After many such zig-zag efforts she decided to take to the open water with her brood. In the meantime we were approaching nearer and nearer and when we separated them the mother disappeared in the direction of the open lake and the ducklings were forced towards the sandy beach. Thus separated we were able to guide them up and down the shore according to our liking, being careful to keep them along the sandy beach where they could not find any cover to conceal themselves. We followed them for several hours.
[1] Some authorities say that the mother duck carries the young to the water in her bill. Whether this or some other means is adopted, seems to be as yet a mooted question.