Sparrow-Proof Houses. Illustrated. D. R. Geery; A Musical
Woodpecker, D. L. Burnett; An Ornithologist at San Juan.
BOOK NEWS AND REVIEWS 61
Sharpe's 'Sketch Book of British Birds'; Stone's Report on Bird
Protection; 'Journal of the Maine Ornithological Society';
'Bulletin of the Cooper Ornithological Club'; Maynard's 'Nature
Study in Schools'; A new book by Mrs. Miller; Ernest Seton
Thompson's 'Wild Animals I Have Known'; Clark's 'Bird Tablets';
A book by the originator of Bird-Day.
EDITORIALS 63
AUDUBON DEPARTMENT 64
Editorial; A Letter from Governor Roosevelt; Reports from the
Pennsylvania, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa and Minnesota Societies.
×*× _Bird-Lore is published at Englewood, New Jersey, where all
manuscripts intended for publications, books, etc., for review, and
exchanges should be mailed in care of the Editor, Frank M. Chapman._
PUBLISHERS' ANNOUNCEMENT
The unexpectedly large demand for the first number of Bird-Lore has so
nearly exhausted the edition it has been deemed advisable to reserve the
few remaining copies for subscribers to the volume.
Bird-Lore for June will contain an article by Olive Thorne Miller
entitled, 'The Ethics of Caging Birds'; a poem by Edith M. Thomas; the
conclusion of Miss Merriam's article; an account of a visit to Audubon's
birthplace, by Otto Widmann; unusually interesting papers on the Cardinal
and Chimney Swift, and some remarkable bird pictures, including one by
Dr. Roberts.
[Illustration: LEAST BITTERN ON NEST
Photographed From Nature by E. G. Tabor. (_See page 39_)]
=Bird-Lore=
A BI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE
DEVOTED TO THE STUDY AND PROTECTION OF BIRDS
Official Organ of the Audubon Societies
=======================================
Vol. 1 April, 1899 No. 2
=======================================
The Camera as an Aid in the Study of Birds
BY DR. THOS. S. ROBERTS
Director Department of Birds, Natural History Survey of Minnesota
With photographs from Nature by the Author
(_Concluded from page 13_)
[Illustration]
Turning reluctantly from the attractive little Chickadee family,
described in the preceding number of this magazine, we will next seek
the acquaintance of a bird of entirely different feather, and, what
is of more moment to the bird photographer, of entirely different
disposition.
The Killdeer Plover, perhaps from his close kinship to the fraternity
of game birds, has come to regard man and all human devices with
deep suspicion, and to get on terms of close fellowship with him is
no easy matter. While not himself an usual object of the sportsman's
effort, owing to his lean body and indifferent savor, he is the
immediate relative of those much sought-after birds, the Golden and the
Black-bellied Plover. Unlike these more aristocratic members of the
Plover group, the Killdeer does not retire to semi-arctic fastnesses to
rear its brood, but nests wherever found throughout the eastern United
States. Its ever-restless nature and loud alarm, "killdee, killdee," as
it moves from place to place, or circles round and round, always at a
safe distance, together with its common occurrence throughout populated
as well as wild regions, makes this plebeian well-known to every
country lad and the bane of every would-be stealthy Nimrod. So noisily
persistent is its outcry that it has been dubbed by ornithologists
_vocifera_--_Ægialitis vocifera_--and a most appropriate appellation it
is.
[Illustration: KILLDEER ON NEST]
Like many loquacious people, Mr. and Mrs. Killdeer have a rather
lazy vein in their make-up, and spend but little time or effort nest
building. A little depression lined with a few bits of stick or straw,
a few pebbles or other handy materials satisfies their ambition. In
the bare, exposed situation usually chosen, such a nest, with its
four spotted eggs, is much less conspicuous than would be a well made
one. The first of our pictures showed one of these nests located in a
corn-field, which is a not very uncommon site, although bare pasture
knolls and gravelly banks are more usually selected. The photograph of
the nest and eggs was, of course, easily secured, and is chiefly of
interest because it shows so well how an open nest with its eggs may be
protected by blending perfectly with the general color of the immediate
surrounding--protective coloration, as it is called. To secure the
portrait of the wary old Killdeer, who left the nest the instant anyone
but entered the large field, seemed a hopeless task. But the novice is
ever ambitious, and the attempt was made in the following fashion, with
what success the accompanying pictures will show. Placing the camera
on the sharply tilted tripod, so that the distance from lens to nest
was about four feet, the dreadful looking object was left in position
for some time on the evening preceding the day on which the photographs
were taken. The next day proved light and clear, and with the sun well
up in the heavens we began operations, my companion and assistant on
this occasion being Rev. H. W. Gleason, a bird enthusiast undaunted by
any obstacle and fertile in devices. Arranging the camera as already
described, omitting the green hood in this instance, as it would have
been worse than useless, we retired entirely from the field, which
fortunately lay on a gently sloping hillside. From our distant retreat
we watched, with field-glass in hand, the maneuvers of the mother bird.
The experience of the preceding evening had evidently helped to prepare
the way, for after only brief delay the anxious bird began running
in a great spiral steadily converging to the central point. Every
clod of earth or little mound in the path was mounted and, with much
craning of neck and turning of head, the dreadful engine glistening
in the sunshine was closely scrutinized from all sides, but as it was
motionless, it probably was regarded as some new-fangled contrivance
for cultivating corn, of finer build than the hoes, rakes, and other
implements left by the men in the field. Once satisfied, she made a
last quick run directly between the legs of the tripod, and stood erect
over her treasures. A long trolling-line, procured at a neighboring
farm-house, had been attached to the lever arm releasing the shutter,
as our seventy-five feet of tubing was not half long enough. Creeping
to the end of the line, a quick pull made the exposure,--1/25 of a
second, with wide open stop and rapid plate. Pulling up the slack
of the line seemed to startle the bird more than the click of the
shutter, and after repeating this procedure several times we were
altogether uncertain as to whether the bird had been caught at all;
and as it was impossible, there in the field, to follow the advice of
an interested farmer spectator, who insisted that we "ought to look
at them there plates and see what we had before going further," we
cast about for some surer method. Carefully looking over the ground,
I found that some seventy-five feet from the nest there was a shallow
depression just deep enough to entirely conceal a man lying prone on
the soft, ploughed ground. So the rubber tube was substituted for the
line and the bulb end carried up the slope to the little hollow. As it
would be impossible from this position to see the bird, and as we had
discovered that a low whistle or noise caused her to leave the nest
at once, some method of signaling had to be arranged. The trolling
line suggested a way, as we found that it would reach readily from the
bulb in the hollow to the edge of the field. So, attaching one end of
it to my wrist, I took my position flat on the ground in the middle
of the field, with a hot noon sun pouring down overhead, and awaited
the signal,--a vigorous jerk on the trolling line, to be given by Mr.
Gleason, who from a distance was watching with a glass the movements
of our unwilling sitter. The signal soon came, and these complicated
and rather juvenile tactics proved so successful that very soon Mrs.
Plover did not so much as change position at the click of the shutter,
and when driven away to rearrange the camera between exposures, came
quickly back again. In a short time we had exposed all the plates
that seemed necessary, and retired from the field conquerors, though
leaving the foe in peaceful possession. Returning to the house for
supplies for a new expedition, a lady member of the party, who, from
a shady hammock, had been watching for several hours these rather
boyish antics, saluted us with the withering remark, "About four years
of age, I should think, instead of forty." But we hoped that the end
would justify the means, and were anxious to inspect the developed
results. This part of the work was accomplished a day or two later, and
the pictures here presented show, I think, that our efforts were not
entirely in vain. Several others were not so good. In one, the female
sits quietly on her nest, back to the camera, and in coloration blends
admirably with the surroundings. In another, she is crouching in a half
uncertain attitude, while in still another she stands erect, revealing
the four eggs directly beneath her, and with ruffled plumage seems a
little resentful of the intrusion. In all, it will be noticed that the
bill is partly open, either because it was a very warm day, because the
poor bird was startled and ill at ease, or, it may be, because it was
no easy matter for this always loquacious bird to keep its mouth shut
even when posing for its picture.
[Illustration: KILLDEER, NEST, AND EGGS]
A Least Bittern Portrait
BY E. G. TABOR
(_See Frontispiece_)
[Illustration]
On the morning of May 27, 1897, equipped with an extra supply of
patience and a 5 × 7 'Premo B' camera fitted with rapid rectilinear
lens, my plate-holders filled with unexposed plates, and accompanied
by my wife, who has been a partner in all of my successful trips, I
started for Otter Lake, Cayuga County, N. Y.
It was a beautiful morning, with not a breath of air stirring (by the
way, this is the hardest of all things to control, and is an absolute
necessity if you are to make fine, clear-cut negatives of birds and
their natural surroundings), and the lake looked like a mirror. It
took but a minute to get the large, flat-bottomed row-boat ready for
the start, and we were soon gliding along, an oar's-length from shore,
scanning every tree, bush, and bunch of rushes, in search of nests,
those of the Red-winged Blackbird being very plenty and placed both
in bushes or rushes in about equal numbers. A pair of Kingbirds had
selected as the place for their summer home, a large, low willow limb
which projected over the water; a peep into the nest revealed three
eggs, common, yet so beautiful in their bed of wool and feathers.
Our next finds were several nests of a pair of Long-billed Marsh Wrens,
which looked more like mouse-nests than anything else I have in mind.
As we could return to these later, if unable to find anything better,
we had not yet exposed a single plate, reserving them for a rare or
unusual find.
We were in search of nests of the Least Bittern, and as we were passing
that part of the shore where they always nested, we soon located a
nest, but as it only contained one egg, another nest must be found. A
male Least Bittern flew up a short distance ahead of us and 'dropped
in' back of the bushes. We rowed down to the place from which he
flushed, and standing up in the boat looked around, and not more
than a boat's-length ahead, we espied a female sitting on a nest. I
pushed the boat very carefully to within a couple of feet of the nest,
and prepared to make an exposure. The camera was set to focus on an
object 34 inches from cap of lens, and I moved it back and forth until
the focus was perfect, the diaphragm was closed to _f_ 16, and an
instantaneous exposure with speed at 1/25" was made.
As most of my operations, preparatory to making the exposure, were
of necessity carried on within three feet of the bird on the nest,
she at several times started to leave it; but when the bird moved I
kept still, and when she kept still I worked; in this way I finally
completed my preparations. The peep I got of the eggs as she partly
raised off from them, just as I finished, made me squeeze the bulb
before I intended to; but the result I obtained fully satisfied me, for
in no other way could I describe the results of this trip, and what I
saw and learned of the habits and home-life of the Least Bittern.
Loons at Home
BY WILLIAM DUTCHER
[Illustration]
I should like to say a few words to the readers of Bird-Lore on the
subject of making good photographs of birds. Don't conclude at once,
when you see pictures of nests, or birds in their wild state, that
it is an easy matter to get them. A year ago, when I saw the fine
exhibition of slides presented by Mr. Brewster and Mr. Chapman at the
American Ornithologists' meeting, I at once concluded that it would be
an easy thing for me to get similar results. So I forthwith invested
much good money in purchasing a camera, and all the accompanying
outfit; but not until I had worried all my photographic friends for
advice of all kinds. With all the confidence of an expert I started
on this unknown sea, and I must confess to you, patient reader, that
my efforts were a brilliant string of failures, for from the more
than one hundred and twenty-five plates that I exposed, I succeeded
in getting only two good negatives. But I had lots of fun and plenty
of experience, and am just as proud of my two good negatives as the
celebrated old hen that had but one chick. If you want to learn to be
patient and persevering, try photographing in the fields and woods.
If you wish to learn more of the habits of birds than you can in any
other possible way, try for hours to get them familiar enough with
you and your camera to go on with their nest-building, or feeding
their nestlings. Besides all this, in later days, whenever you see the
photograph, it will recall to you every pleasant moment that you spent
in getting the negative.
That you may share with me some of the pleasures that I experienced
in getting a negative of a nest of eggs, from which the accompanying
picture was made, let me tell you the following story about the
Great Northern Diver, more commonly known as the Loon, and among the
scientists as _Gavia imber_.
Those of you who are familiar with the Adirondack or Canada lakes can
easily picture the surroundings of this nest, which I found in Higley
Lake, Canada. This is a small body of water, hardly more than a very
large pond. This section of Canada may be called a lake region, and
is very beautiful. Most of the lakes are surrounded with forests, in
which the contrasting colors of the evergreens and white birches add
greatly to the natural beauty of the scenery. This nest was built in
very shallow water, about eight feet from the shore. It was, at its
base, about twenty inches in diameter, and at its apex about fifteen
inches wide. It was about nine inches above the water at its greatest
height, and composed entirely of mud, so far as I could determine, of
a very dark color. The water where it was placed was not over six or
eight inches deep, but it was really a very hard matter to determine
exactly where the water ended and the mud commenced. This I ascertained
to my sorrow and discomfiture when I undertook to set up my tripod.
Standing in a very round-bottomed boat and trying to plant a tripod in
silt of seemingly unfathomable depth is no easy job, as I found out.
Finally, however, I succeeded in getting what I now have the pleasure
of showing you; but I dare not tell you of the beautiful failures I
made before this picture was obtained. When I first discovered the
nest, the Loon was upon it, but as soon as she saw me she slid off into
the lake and made every effort to dive. It is true that her head was
under the water, but her back was not until she had gone some feet from
the nest out into the lake, where the water was deep enough to entirely
cover her. She did not then appear until she was well across the pond,
where she was joined by her mate. The nest contained only one egg when
I first saw it; but in the water, on the lake side of the nest, I found
another egg, which the mother bird had evidently rolled out of the
nest, perhaps in her fright and hasty departure when she first saw me.
This egg I replaced in the nest by lifting it with the broad end of the
boat oar, thinking, perhaps, that handling it might cause the Loon to
desert the nest. The egg that was in the water was many shades lighter
in color than the one found in the nest, which leads me to believe that
the eggs of birds that habitually breed in damp mud nests acquire a
darker color from stains.
In another pond of about the same size, and within half a mile of
Higley Lake, I subsequently saw a pair of Loons that had but one young,
so far as I could ascertain. If there was another it was kept well
hidden. I was very much interested in watching the methods by which
the old birds kept the little fellow out of danger. When I first saw
the family group, both parents and the little one were together; but
immediately on the appearance of my boat the whole group disappeared
under the surface. The young bird soon came to the surface again in
about the same spot, but the parents were some distance off on the
other side of the boat, so that I was between them. Both parents were
perfectly quiet until I undertook to row toward their offspring, when
one of the parents uttered what was to me a very new and peculiar cry,
on hearing which the little one immediately dove; the cry was entirely
different from the usual loud, maniacal cry of the Loons. As soon
as the young one appeared I again started toward him, when the old
bird repeated the same cry, and down went the little fellow. It was
very evident that he knew whenever he heard that warning cry he must
disappear at once. I had so much sympathy for the lonely little chap
that I left him, after I had tried the experiment a number of times. As
soon as I drew away to another part of the pond the old birds uttered
the usual well known cry of the species, but the little one then
remained on the surface and was soon joined by the parent birds.
[Illustration: NEST AND EGGS OF LOON
Photographed from Nature, by William Dutcher]
A few weeks later the same group acted in an entirely different manner;
then they remained together, and as the boat approached, the old bird
with its bill seemed to push the young one under the water before it
dove itself.
If this bit of the domestic life of these two Loon families has
interested you as much as it did me, I shall feel amply repaid for the
thirty-two miles I had to drive each time I visited them.
[Illustration: BLUEBIRD FLYING TO NEST]
Photographing a Bluebird
BY ROBERT W. HEGNER
With Photographs from Nature by the Author.
[Illustration]
During the severe cold of January and February, 1895, most of the
Bluebirds were thought to have perished. So it is with the spirit
of a genuine Audubon that we hail their return in ever increasing
numbers each succeeding spring. How sadly we should miss these little
friends may be judged by the great commotion among ornithologists
caused by their supposed extinction. In order to have more than a
mere remembrance of their habits, I set out one day in the summer of
1898, at Decorah, Iowa, to obtain photographs of them in their haunts,
and secured two interesting negatives of the female, as shown in the
accompanying illustrations. The history of the case is as follows: A
pair of Bluebirds, after several previous attempts at housekeeping, and
subsequent removals by 'small boys,' at last selected an old, deserted,
Woodpecker's hole in a fence-post, and built, as usual, a nest of dry
grass with a softer lining of horse-hair. The birds had already begun
incubating the three pale blue eggs, which formed the set, when I
disturbed them. I crept within five feet of the post before the female
left the nest and joined her mate, who had been keeping guard in a
neighboring plum tree.
[Illustration: BLUEBIRD AT NEST]
After focusing my camera to within three feet of the post, and
arranging a string attachment, I concealed myself in some bushes about
seventy-five feet away. I waited patiently for ten minutes before the
female left the tree and flew down to the fence. The male followed
close after, and they hopped about the post and wires, getting nearer
and nearer the nest, until the female flew straight into the hole. A
snap-shot, just before she reached the entrance, was only partially
successful, but shows very clearly the pose of the bird's head and neck
while it was in the air. It was made in a twenty-fifth of a second
with the lens stopped down to sixteen. I disturbed the female several
times before she gained the desired position at the nest-opening; but,
finally, the snap of the shutter helped bring to life one of my best
bird-pictures.
A knowledge of the bird's nesting habits is a prime requisite in
avian photography. Much patience is needed, as failures are very
numerous. A camera which may be focused to within two or three feet
is an absolute necessity in order to make the picture large enough.
Most of my failures have been caused by the lack of bright sunlight,
under-exposure, or movement of the bird the instant the picture was
taken; but one good photograph is sufficient reward for many trials.
A Tragic St. Valentine's Day
BY ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
[Illustration]
The cold wave reached us at Miami, on Biscayne Bay, Florida, in the
night of February 12, 1899. It was preceded by severe thunder storms
in the evening. On the 13th, Monday, it was very cold all over the
state, with snow and sleet as far south as Ormond and Titusville. Our
thermometers at Miami ranged from 36° to 40° during the day. As I sat
in my room at the hotel, about four in the afternoon, I saw a bird
outside my window, then another and another, and soon the air seemed
full of wings.
Opening my window to see what the visitors could be, I found they were
Tree Swallows (_Tachycineta bicolor_). Several flew into my room,
others clustered on the window ledge, huddling closely together for
warmth. There were hundreds of them about the house seeking shelter
and warmth. They crept in behind the window blinds, came into open
windows, huddled together by dozens on cornices and sills. They were
quite fearless; once I held my hand outside and two of them lighted
on its palm and sat there quietly. As it grew dark and colder their
numbers increased. They flew about the halls and perched in corners,
and the whole house was alive with them. Few of the guests in the hotel
knew what they were; some even called them 'bats,' and were afraid
they might fly into their faces or become entangled in their hair. One
man informed those about him that they were Humming Birds, 'the large
kind, you know,' but all were full of sympathy for the beautiful little
creatures, out in the cold and darkness. A few were taken indoors and
sheltered through the night, but 'what were these among so many?'
The next morning the sun shone brightly though the weather was still
very cold--the mercury had fallen below 30° during the night. But as
I raised the shade of one of my eastern windows I saw a half-dozen of
the Swallows sitting upon the ledge in the sunshine, while the air
seemed again filled with flashing wings. I was so relieved and glad.
Surely the tiny creatures, with their tints of steely blue or shining
green contrasting with the pure white of the under parts, were more
hardy than I had feared. But alas! it was but a remnant that escaped.
Hundreds were found dead. Men were sent out with baskets to gather the
limp little bodies from piazzas, window ledges, and copings. It was a
pitiful sight for St. Valentine Day, when, as the old song has it,
"The birds are all choosing their mates."
Clark's Crows and Oregon Jays on Mount Hood[D]
BY FLORENCE A. MERRIAM
[Footnote D: Read before the American Ornithologist's Union, Nov. 16,
1898.]
[Illustration]