Our Vanishing Wild Life: Its Extermination and Preservation

by William T. Hornaday

THE COLORADO OBJECT LESSON IN BRINGING BACK THE DUCKS

Up in Putnam County, where for five years deer have been protected, the exhibitions that are given each year of the supreme confidence of protected deer literally astonish the natives. They are almost unafraid of man and his vehicles, his cattle and his horses, but of course they are unwilling to be handled. Strangers are astonished; but people who know something about the mental attitude of wild animals under protection know that it is the natural and inevitable result of real protection.

At Mr. Frank Seaman's summer home in the Catskills, the phoebe birds nest on the beams under the roof of the porch. At my summer home in the Berkshires, no sooner was our garage completed than a phoebe built her nest on the edge of the lintel over the side door; and another built on a drain-pipe over the kitchen door.

Near Port Jervis, last year a wild ruffed grouse nested and reared a large brood in the garden of Mr. W.I. Mitchell, within two feet of the foundation of the house.

On the Bull River in the wilds of British Columbia two trappers of my acquaintance, Mack Norboe and Charlie Smith, once formed a friendship with a wild weasel. In a very few visits, the weasel found that it was among friends, and the trappers' log cabin became its home. I have a photograph of it, taken while it posed on the door-sill. The trappers said that often when returning at nightfall from their trap-lines, the weasel would meet them a hundred yards away on the trail, and follow them back to the cabin.

"Old Ben," the big sea-lion who often landed on the wharf at Avalon, Santa Catalina, to be fed on fish, was personally known to thousands of people.

An Object Lesson In Protection. —A remarkable object lesson in the recognition of protection by wild ducks came under my notice in the pages of "Recreation Magazine" in June, 1903, when that publication was edited by G.O. Shields. The article was entitled,—" A Haven of Refuge," and the place described well deserved the name. It is impossible for me to impress upon the readers of this volume with sufficient force and clearness the splendid success that is easily attainable in encouraging the return of the birds. The story of the Mosca "Haven of Refuge" was so well told by Mr. Charles C. Townsend in the publication referred to above, that I take pleasure in reproducing it entire.

One mile north of the little village of Mosca, Colorado, in San Luis valley, lives the family of J.C. Gray. On the Gray ranch there is an artesian well which empties into a small pond about 100 feet square. This pond is never entirely frozen over and the water emptying therein is warm even during the coldest winter.

Some five years ago, Mr. Gray secured a few wild-duck eggs, and hatched them under a hen. The little ducks were reared and fed on the little pond. The following spring they left the place, to return in the fall, bringing with them broods of young; also bringing other ducks to the home where protection was afforded them, and plenty of good feed was provided. Each year since, the ducks have scattered in the spring to mate and rear their families, returning again with greatly increased numbers in the fall, and again bringing strangers to the haven of refuge.

I drove out to the ranch November 24, 1902, and found the little pond almost black with the birds, and was fortunate enough to secure a picture of a part of the pond while the ducks were thickly gathered thereon. Ice had formed around the edges, and this ice was covered with ducks. The water was also alive with others, which paid not the least attention to the party of strangers on the shore.

From Mr. Gray I learned that there were some 600 ducks of various kinds on the pond at that time, though it was then early for them to seek winter quarters. Later in the year, he assured me, there would be between 2,000 and 3,000 teal, mallards, canvas-backs, redheads and other varieties, all perfectly at home and fearless of danger. The family have habitually approached the pond from the house, which stands on the south side, and should any person appear on the north side of the pond the ducks immediately take fright and flight. Wheat was strewn on the ground and in the water, and the ducks waddled around us within a few inches of our feet to feed, paying not the least attention to us, or to the old house-dog which walked near.

Six miles east of the ranch is San Luis lake, to which these ducks travel almost daily while the lake is open. When they are at the lake it is impossible to approach within gunshot of the then timid birds. Some unsympathetic boys and men have learned the habit of the birds, and place themselves in hiding along the course of flight to and from the lake. Many ducks are shot in this way, but woe to the person caught firing a gun on or near the home-pond. When away from home, the birds are as other wild-ducks and fail to recognize any members of the Gray family. While at home they follow the boys around the barn-yard, squawking for feed like so many tame ducks.

This is the greatest sight I have ever witnessed, and one that I could not believe existed until I had seen it. Certainly it is worth travelling many miles to see, and no one, after seeing it, would care to shoot birds that, when kindly treated, make such charming pets.