THE PELICAN TRIP
We were still held back by the dilatory ways of our Indian friends,
so to lose no time Preble and I determined to investigate a Pelican
rookery.
Most persons associate the name Pelican with tropic lands and
fish, but ornithologists have long known that in the interior of
the continent the great white Pelican ranges nearly or quite to
the Arctic circle. The northmost colony on record was found on an
island of Great Slave Lake (see Preble, "N.A. Fauna," 27), but this
is a very small one. The northmost large colony, and the one made
famous by travellers from Alexander Mackenzie downward, is on the
great island that splits the Smith Rapids above Fort Smith. Here,
with a raging flood about their rocky citadel, they are safe from
all spoilers that travel on the earth; only a few birds of the air
need they fear, and these they have strength to repel.
On June 22 we set out to explore this. Preble, Billy, and myself,
with our canoe on a wagon, drove 6 miles back on the landing trail
and launched the canoe on the still water above Mountain Portage.
Pelican Island must be approached exactly right, in the comparatively
slow water above the rocky island, for 20 feet away on each side
is an irresistible current leading into a sure-death cataract. But
Billy was a river pilot and we made the point in safety.
Drifted like snow through the distant woods were the brooding birds,
but they arose before we were near and sailed splendidly overhead
in a sweeping, wide-fronted rank. As nearly as I could number them,
there were 120, but evidently some were elsewhere, as this would
not allow a pair to each nest.
We landed safely and found the nests scattered among the trees and
fallen timbers. One or two mother birds ran off on foot, but took
wing as soon as clear of the woods--none remained.
The nests numbered 77, and there was evidence of others long
abandoned. There were 163 eggs, not counting 5 rotten ones, lying
outside; nearly all had 2 eggs in the nest; 3 had 4; 5 had 3; 4 had
1. One or two shells were found in the woods, evidently sucked by
Gulls or Ravens.
All in the nests were near hatching. One little one had his beak
out and was uttering a hoarse chirping; a dozen blue-bottle flies
around the hole in the shell were laying their eggs in it and
on his beak., This led us to examine all the nests that the flies
were buzzing around, and in each case (six) we found the same state
of affairs, a young one with his beak out and the flies "blowing"
around it. All of these were together in one corner, where were a
dozen nests, probably another colony of earlier arrival.
We took about a dozen photos of the place (large and small). Then
I set my camera with the long tube to get the old ones, and we went
to lunch at the other end of the island. It was densely wooded and
about an acre in extent, so we thought we should be forgotten. The
old ones circled high overhead but at last dropped, I thought, back
to the nests. After an hour and a half I returned to the ambush;
not a Pelican was there. Two Ravens flew high over, but the Pelicans
were far away, and all as when we went away, leaving the young to
struggle or get a death-chill as they might. So much for the pious
Pelican, the emblem of reckless devotion--a common, dirty little
cock Sparrow would put them all to shame.
We brought away only the 5 rotten eggs. About half of the old
Pelicans had horns on the bill.
On the island we saw a flock of White-winged Crossbills and heard
a Song-sparrow. Gulls were seen about. The white spruce cones littered
the ground and were full of seed, showing that no Redsquirrel was
on the island.
We left successfully by dashing out exactly as we came, between
the two dangerous currents, and got well away.