rE
>
WILD LIFE AND
THE CAMERA
A.RADCLYFFE DUGMORE
LABORATORY
OF ORNITHOLOGY
LIBRARY
Ss
FY
off of :
Ente , Mac beog
G
CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
Cornell University Library
DATE DUE
159 Sapsucker Woods Road
Cornell University
}thaca, New York 14850
WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
Wild-Mallard rising. The speed with which these birds rise is clearly
shown by the water, which has not subsided, althouzh the bird is tive
feet or more in the wir,
WILD LIFE
AND THE CAMERA
BY
A. RADCLYFFE DUGMORE, F.R.G.S.
ILLUSTRATED
PuirapeLpH1a: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
Lonpon: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MCMXII
Printed in England.
CHAP,
II.
II.
IV.
VI.
VI.
VIII.
TX,
X.
XI,
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
CONTENTS
Part I.—Brirp PHoroGRAaPHy
Part IJ.—ANimaL PHOTOGRAPHY y
Tue CarrBou MIGRATION IN NEWFOUNDLAND
Tue Story oF 4 PorcuPINE Hunt. -
BIRDS AND THE CAMERA
“ Brugy ”: A TruE STorY OF THE VERY
BEST PET Birp . 5 ‘ 3
My CuicaDEE FRIENDS .
Toe WARBLER FAMILY
THE VIREO AND THE COWBIRD
Notes ON THE BREEDING HABITS OF THE
AMERICAN Woopcock : ‘
SHootinc Witp Ducks AND GEESE WITH
THE CAMERA e é : ‘
THE WHISTLING SwaN OF CURRITUCK
SounD ‘ 3 3 5
Two ’PossuMS AND SEVERAL MISTAKES
A Fisuine Trip IN THE Hicu Srerras oF
CALIFORNIA FOR GILBERT AND GOLDEN
Trout ‘ 3 3 . ‘ é
YELLOW TaiL FISHING OFF CATALINA
IsLAND . - ‘ ‘
FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT IN New Hanis.
wick RIVERS . . ‘ 3
My First Sarmon: A FisHine Trip To
NEWFOUNDLAND p : . -
SALMON FIsHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND y
ALONE UP MT. KaTAuHDIN . >
THE Heart oF WINTER . ;
Morr ABpouT WINTER AND THE ekone OF
THE ANIMALS IN THE SNOW . , 5
THe Lire oF THE TRAPPER, THE MAN FOR
wHoM CoLD WEATHER iS A SOURCE OF
LIVELIHOOD : : ‘ .
CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS < : :
PAGE
16
27
49
68
75
98
115
129
139
147
157
167
177
203
211
225
237
257
275
297
307
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
WiLp MALLARD RISING . , ‘ ‘i Frontispiece
TO FACE PAGE
Stupy oF YounGc BIRDS AT THEIR MOST BECOMING
AGE
Woop Teeter ON Seay 3
NEWFOUNDLAND CARIBOU IN MIGRATION . ‘
THIS HERD OF CARIBOU SWAM ACROSS THE RIVER
DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF MY CAMP : :
EVENING ON SANDY RIvER. IN THE FOREGROUND
ARE TWO CARIBOU WHICH HAVE JUST CROSSED
ONCE IN A GREAT WHILE THE HERD IS LED BY A
STAG ; : .
Stac CARIBOU, PHOTOGRAPHED AT A DISTANCE OF NOT
MORE THAN NINE YARDS .
Tue PorRcuPINE AND THE ABANDONED Cau IN THE
SNOW. 3 ‘ ‘
THE PORCUPINE, THE Max AND THE eee Duc-outT .
Tue Unruty Broop oF FLYCATCHERS
THE SAME BROOD READY FOR Foop ‘ .
Tue TAMENESS OF A FAMILY OF CHIPPING Spiniows ;
Younc RED-EYED VIREO ‘ 4 ‘ :
“ BLUEY” . ; : ; : ‘ :
CHICADEE FLYING TO MY HAND, IN WHICH SIT THE
Hunery Broop ‘ ‘ , . s
ONE OF THE YOUNG Cuidinzes ; : ; 3
Tuer WorM-EATING WARBLER ON HER NEST .
Tue Famity oF WoRM-EATING WARBLERS :
WorM-EATING WARBLER FEEDING HER YOUNG ON MY
Hanp. 5 ; ‘ ‘ ;
A WHITE-EYED VIREO, WHOSE DESIRE FOR ORNAMEN-
TATION LED HER TO COVER HER BEAUTIFUL SEMI-
PENSILE NEST WITH SMALL PIECES OF WOOD THAT
HAD BEEN CUT BY A WOODPECKER . : ‘
W.L.C. b
.
10
14
30
34
86
40
42
56
58
64
64
68
70
80
108
110
118
122
124
180
x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
TO FACE PAGE
VIREO’S NEST, IN WHICH A COWBIRD HAS LAID ITS EGG
THE SAME NEST CUT IN HALF TO SHOW RELATIVE
POSITIONS OF COWBIRD’S AND VIREO’S EGGS s
Woopcock SITTING ON NEST ' é
Witp CANADA GEESE IN FLIGHT
WHISTLING SWANS OFF THE VIRGINIA Coast
‘““ A LONG NOSE PROTRUDED FROM THE NEST’
’Possums. ‘‘ NEARER AND NEARER HE CAME UNTIL
HIS NOSE WAS VISIBLE OVER THE EDGE OF THE
LARGE KNOB”’. : : ‘ : ‘ :
Piayinc ’Possum—“ Possum II. DECIDED TO HAVE
A LOOK AND WITHOUT CHANGING HIS POSITION HE
OPENED HIS ROUND DARK EYES”. : ‘
THE OPEN PARK-LIKE DRY COUNTRY AT THE Foort-
WILLS OF THE SIERRAS OF CALIFORNIA ° :
RIDING ALONG THE STEEP SLOPES ON THE WAY TO THE
Kern RIver . é z ‘ : j j
Tur Kern River VALLEY . ; i : :
FIsuInc IN THE KERN RIVER . : ; é
VoLcANO CREEK . ‘ ‘ : : 5
LANDING A LARGE GILBERT TROUT IN THE es
River (CALIFORNIA) : 3 ; : :
Srs-TroutT Fisu1ne 1In NEw Brunswick Z :
LEAPING SALMON . ‘ Pe é : : 3
LEAPING SALMON ; THE LINE IS FAINTLY VISIBLE.
MENDING A CANOE WITH CARIBOU HIDES IN NEw-
FOUNDLAND. ‘ ‘ ‘ ; 3 4
IN THE DENSE Woops BELOW KATAHDIN - ‘5
‘““THE NORTH-EAST SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN IS AN
ABRUPT PRECIPICE OF SOLID ROCK ABOUT 4,000 FEET
HIGH” . 3 : ‘ ‘: 2 ‘
Tue WINTER Woops . t : ‘ . j
TRACKS IN THE SNOW. THE DEEP FOOTPRINTS ARE
THOSE OF A SQUIRREL WHICH WAS EVIDENTLY
CAUGHT BY AN OWL OR A HAWK, WHOSE WING
TRACKS ARE CLEARLY SHOWN . : . ;
IN THE WINTER, WHEN EVERY TWIG IS COVERED WITH
A GLISTENING COAT OF ICE ; ‘ 3 -
182
132
142
152
158
168
170
172
180
182
184
188
190
192
214
240
240
244
260
ho bo
a
nD
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
xl
TO FACE PAGE
TRACKS IN THE SNOW SHOWING WHERE A Musk Rar
HAS COME FROM AND RETURNED TO THE WATER .
TRACKS IN THE SNOW SHOWING WHERE A MINK HAS
cauGcut A Musk Rat AS IT EMERGED FROM A HOLE
IN THE ICE. 3 : : : 5 3
“ Jor,’ THE ONE-ARMED TRAPPER AND HIS CABIN .
“* JOE,” THE ONE-ARMED TRAPPER . : ‘ ,
CAMPING IN WINTER WITH THE THERMOMETER 20°
BELOW ZERO : - 5 , :
WINTER CAMPING. CROSSING A SNOW-COVERED LAKE
WINTER CAMPING IN FLORIDA ‘ é ‘ :
288
292
300
302
308
310
318
BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY
ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY
CHAPTER I
Part I
Birp PHOTOGRAPHY
Wutrte book-illustrating has changed continually
since printing was first discovered, perhaps the
greatest improvement has been made in pictures of
birds and animals, and it is largely to the camera
that we owe this great improvement. Until quite
recently only drawings were used for illustrations,
and with subjects such as birds “the personal
equation ” played so prominent a part that one felt
a certain sense of doubt as to the accuracy even of
fairly good drawings.
For my own part I had never been satisfied with
drawings of birds; and therefore, giving up the
pencil, I followed in the footsteps of those who
were experimenting with bird photography. All
my earlier attempts were with mounted specimens,
at first without any accessories. But the photo-
graphs seemed hard and unlifelike. Then I tried
placing the mounted bird in natural surroundings,
either out of doors or beneath a skylight. The
pictures were fairly satisfactory, but still there was
no disguising the fact that the bird was mounted.
The eyes, and usually the legs, told the story.
The pictures were unsympathetic ; it was as though
B 2
4 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
one had photographed the wax model of a friend.
The likeness was there, but the life was lacking.
And there was another objection: although to the
casual observer the specimen may appear well
mounted, how rarely is shown the characteristic
pose so subtle and delicate in its infinite variety.
But few taxidermists are naturalists, and without
endless study of living birds how can anyone expect
to know the attitudes assumed by the different
species? The human eye itself is scarcely quick
enough to take note of these things, and so it is to
the camera that we must turn, and use it as eye,
notebook, and pencil. It was the realisation of this
fact that led me finally to try the fascinating but
difficult task of photographing the living bird.
To begin with, only nestlings were my models,
and I was delighted with the results—no glass eyes
nor dried-up legs to mar the picture, but expressions
as varied as they were beautiful, and positions
entirely different from those seen in mounted
specimens. ‘These successes led me, of course,
to attempt photographing the adult bird, and I
made many experiments with tame birds. It was
necessary to have a place arranged so that there
might be abundant light; and to avoid sameness
in the arrangement of the lighting, the contrivance
must be movable. I made a wooden platform
(supported on two light wooden horses) about six
feet long, and covered it with mosquito netting
stretched on a light framework. The background
was of wood, to which could be attached paper or
cloth of any desired shade. The camera could be
moved backward or forward and secured with a
BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 5
tripod screw. Into this portable cage the bird was
to be put, and as there was only one perch—usually
a stick or small branch of convenient shape and
size—I fondly imagined that the bird would sit
pretty nearly where I wished. But I was doomed
to disappointment. When I put the bird in, any
place and every place suited him better than the
perch so carefully arranged for his special comfort.
When a bird, no matter how tame he may be, is
placed amid new and unusual surroundings, he is
at first greatly frightened, and therefore quite
unmanageable. It usually requires some time to
prove to him that the new cage will not harm him.
So I found my cage not altogether a success, but
by patience I managed to obtain some satisfactory
photographs.
Tue Sport oF PHOTOGRAPHING WILD Birps
It was not long before I was led to attempt the
task of photographing the adult bird in its wild
state and in its natural surroundings. It was then
I began to appreciate the fascination of the work.
Looked at from any one of several standpoints,
the photographing of wild birds will be found
equally satisfactory. As a sport it should take a
high place, for undoubtedly the skill as well as the
perseverance and the instinct of the hunter is a
necessary requirement, and a successful shot with
the camera is far more difficult to obtain than a
correspondingly fortunate (on one side only) shot
from a gun. Then, too, the accomplishment of
one’s desire leaves behind it no disagreeable taste
6 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
to mar the pleasure. What sportsman is there
(and I speak neither of pot hunters nor “game
hogs”) who, hearing the death-bleat of a deer, does
not at heart wish his shot had miscarried? Then,
as a means of really becoming acquainted with birds,
the camera is without an equal, for to be even a
moderately successful bird photographer, one must
have an intimate knowledge of the subject ; and
the camera, in teaching us to know the birds, must
of necessity stimulate our affection for these useful
and defenceless creatures. As a recorder of facts
it is of great scientific value, for it cannot lie, and
it records in an unmistakable form every detail
presented, whether it be the daily growth of a
nestling or the exquisite detail of the bird’s nest.
It is, however, to the keen pleasure that may be
derived from this new sport that I would particu-
larly call attention. Not only is there the delight
in overcoming difficulties (and they will be found
both numerous and varied), but there is the pleasure
of being placed among surroundings that are
inseparable from this pursuit. A rich harvest of
interesting facts relating to the bird’s home life
may be gathered by any observing person who
spends much time along the hedge-rows or in the
woods.
He who would hunt birds with the camera will
find that without doubt the breeding season is the
time best suited to his purpose, for then the
feathered housekeepers are restricted in their
individual range to a comparatively limited area.
Having learned the situation of their house, he
may find them at home when he calls, engaged in
BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 7
attending to their various domestic duties. The
first thing to do after the introduction, 2.e., learning
their name, is to obtain their confidence, and, with
birds as with people, there must be confidence if
we wish friendship. How easily one may gain
this confidence depends quite as much upon the
individuality of the bird as upon the species. The
fear of man is inherent in all birds, but by judicious
management this fear can to some extent be
allayed.
WINNING THE CONFIDENCE OF WupD Brirps
A great many instances have come before my
notice of the change in a bird’s behaviour from
extreme fear and distrust to a degree of confidence,
which, to the inexperienced, seems almost incon-
ceivable. The power to tame birds or animals is
thought to belong peculiarly to certain persons.
This may or may not be true, but from my own
observations I am inclined to believe that tameness
is a quality rather of the natural disposition of the
individual, bird, or animal.
With some birds I have spent days in trying to
convince them that I intended no harm, yet they
placed not the slightest confidence in me, and
would not even feed their young if I were in
sight. Others of the same species became accus-
tomed to my presence after less than an hour,
showing their confidence by coming to their young
while I stood in plain sight, within a few feet of
the nest. It is in the difficulty of familiarising
the bird with ourselves and the camera that we
8 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
experience the greatest obstacle to photographing
them.
Of the many delightful birds I have had the
good fortune to know, the worm-eating warbler
family, whose portraits are shown elsewhere, have
afforded me the greatest pleasure, for they became
absolutely fearless of the camera, and they placed
a degree of trust in me that was as unusual as it
was delightful.
To photograph the nest containing eggs is
usually a comparatively easy matter, as a long
exposure may be given. The best results are
obtained when a grey day is chosen, as the light is
softer and more diffused, so that all the details,
both of nest and eggs, are clearly shown. A very
different task is the photographing of the young
in the nest, and the resulting pictures are seldom
what one hopes for. The reasons for this are
obvious. The young are never quiet even when
asleep, owing to their rapid respiration. This
precludes a time exposure, and this in turn pre-
vents the use of anything but a large diaphragm ;
therefore, as the distance from the near edge of the
nest to the bird farthest away is several inches,
only a small part can be in focus, while the rest is
a blurred mass. If the light is sufficiently bright,
the best results may be obtained when the nest-
lings raise their heads for food, as each bird is then
more clearly defined, instead of being a part of a
shapeless, heaving mass. This applies more par-
ticularly to the photographing of small birds, as
the camera, with a lens of ordinary focal length,
has to be placed very near the nest, with the
BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 9
consequent lack of depth of focus that is unfortu-
nately inseparable from such conditions.
To photograph the parent bird sitting is difficult
or easy according to the disposition of the bird,
which varies not only with the different species,
but with individuals of the same species. Usually
the brown thrasher, the wood thrush, or the catbird
will sit close, and allow the camera to be placed
within a few feet of them while they are on the
nest; but I have seen exceptions, which go to
prove that success depends largely upon the
peculiar disposition of the bird itself. People, as a
rule, think that, because a bird builds its nest in
the immediate vicinity of a house, it is necessarily
tamer than one that chooses the quiet seclusion
of the woods. This has not been my experience,
for the tamest birds I have ever known were those
that nested in places comparatively remote from
human habitation.
When the fledglings leave their nest, the bird
photographer should be on hand, for then it is that
he can obtain the best pictures, as the youngsters
may be put on any perch that best suits his fancy,
and a place where there is sufficient light may be
chosen. For the benefit of those who might wish
to try their hand at this fascinating branch of
photography I give the following suggestions :—
Select a branch or briar of suitable shape and
size—and young birds prefer a fairly thick perch.
This should be arranged so that it will not be
swayed by the wind, lest the branch move and the
birds be out of focus. Bright sunlight is necessary,
as the exposure must not exceed one-fiftieth of a
10 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
second. With such a short exposure the shadows
are likely to be lacking in detail, so it is advisable
to place beneath the birds a white cloth, and this
should be tilted to such an angle that the reflected
light shall strike those parts of the birds that are in
shadow.
If the natural background is not strongly sunlit,
it will be an advantage to use a white or light-
grey cloth as an artificial background, but it
should be placed at a reasonable distance from the
birds; from four to eight feet will answer. Now
place the little fellows on the perch and arrange
the camera, remembering --if you wish to photo-
graph the parent bird with her young—to leave
sufficient space between the young birds and the
edge of the plate, so that no matter on which side
the old one comes to feed them the camera will be
in readiness. All that remains to be done is to
attach a long rubber tube to the shutter. Then sit
down in an inconspicuous place and wait patiently
until the old birds have fully convinced themselves
that no harm is intended. Then they will venture
near the camera and feed their hungry young.
Any one who uses the camera as a means of
studying bird life will undoubtedly be surprised to
find how marked is the individuality of birds. Not
by casual observation does one discover this, but in
the intimacy with the birds that one acquires when
one watches for hours at a time the bird upon
whose nest or young one may happen to have the
instrument focused.
A camera, to be rigid and sufficiently durable
to stand several seasons of field work, must be
‘patq-4e,) B PUL sapoltg, 9o1q4- SUTWIODAG JSOUL Mat] 4v spaig SunoX Jo Apuyg y
Z
BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 11
fairly heavy, though not of necessity large. A
sufficient size for most work is five by seven inches,
while some even prefer one as small as four by five.
This latter is of convenient size for those who wish
to have lantern slides made from their negatives,
and is certainly far better adapted to all whose
enthusiasm is limited, and who do not wish to
overburden themselves.
For my own part I use the five by seven almost
exclusively, and frequently I wish it were larger,
particularly when the subject to be photographed
is the parent bird feeding her young after they
have left the nest. Place four or five fledglings on
a branch, leaving sufficient space on either side to
allow the old bird to stand, and reduce all this
interesting material down to a five-inch space, and
you will realise the advantage of even the extra
two inches allowed by the five by seven. How
many times has it happened to me to have the
father or mother bird perch just outside the limits
of my five by seven plate, and assume some attitude
that I was most anxious to catch; and again how
often has the plate through its limited size cut off
part of the adult bird. In such cases I long for my
larger camera which, on account of its weight, has
been left behind.
Of course, bird photographs have to be taken
under widely different conditions. Some birds are
far less shy of man, and incidentally of the camera,
than others.
It always seems surprising that a bird of such a
nervous disposition as the wood thrush undoubtedly
is, should be comparatively easy to photograph.
12 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
Thus far I have seldom found any that, while
on the nest, would not, after a few attempts,
allow the camera to be brought fairly near. For
this reason, combined with the fact that they may
be found so abundantly in the vicinity of dwellings,
and that their nests are usually placed at a con-
venient height, they are most useful to the bird
photographer. The birds themselves are so hand-
some and their markings so conspicuous that they
show to the greatest advantage in a photograph,
while such birds as the Baltimore oriole, the
cardinal and others of equally brilliant plumage
are very disappointing, as they lose greatly
when shown in black and white. Take away
their gorgeous colouring and we scarcely re-
cognise them, while the wood thrush is unmis-
takable, whether depicted in black and white or
in colour.
As an example of how a bird tries to conceal
itself by means of its protective colouring, I will
mention the case of a wood-thrush which I recently
photographed. From the moment when she saw
me coming towards her, armed with the camera,
she never changed her position, but stood im-
movable, as though she were part of the natural
growth, evidently believing herself to be unseen.
At a distance of about seven feet I placed the
camera, and throughout all the movements inci-
dental to the focussing and arranging of things,
she never moved, and I was therefore able to
give the fairly long exposure that was made
necessary by the strong light and shade. During
the many times I visited her, only this once
BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 13
did she assume this peculiar position of imaginary
concealment.
Another photograph was made in order to
satisfy the doubtings of a disbelieving Thomas.
The idea of attaching the camera to the higher
branch of a tree and making the exposure with the
aid of forty feet of rubber tubing was a story too
far-fetched for my friend. To convince him that
it could be done I selected a nest situated in a
crotch of the upper branch of a maple and secured
the camera to an adjoining branch about five feet
from the nest.
The conditions were entirely unfavourable for
photography, as the mass of leaves cut off the light
except in front of the camera. However, a photo-
graph had to be made, and so, after arranging things
as best I might, I set the shutter for a three seconds’
exposure. Then, descending the tree, I waited for
the return of the mother thrush. She had through-
out been watching the operations, with feelings
closely akin to disgust, and when I removed my un-
welcome presence to a little distance, she returned
to the tree and abused the harmless camera as
though it had been some frightful monster.
Finding it did not retaliate in any way and that
it remained absolutely quiet, the excited bird soon
quieted down and turned her attention to the
hungry brood who called loudly for food. Such
calls are imperative, and Mrs. ‘Thrush went off in
search of some desirable morsel. This she found
after a very short time and with it she returned to
the nest. Now was my opportunity and I pressed
the bulb. Then, changing plates, I returned to the
14 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
dark room to develop what I hoped would turn out
to be a good negative, but such was not to be;
during the long exposure the bird had moved and
so the plate was spoiled. Once more I returned to
the tree, and after a short wait succeeded in making
another exposure, this time with better results as
shown in the accompanying illustration. Incident-
ally I may remark that my friend was convinced.
We will now turn our attention to photographing
young birds being fed by their parents. This is, of
course, no easy task, especially when the bird one
wishes to portray is one like the Indigo bird, for
the Indigo is not at all of a trusting nature. Man
to them is an enemy to be avoided at all hazards.
The gift of song together with the beautiful plumage
of these small birds has been to them a living curse.
Man, instead of being content to enjoy the presence
of such ornaments amid their natural surroundings,
must needs keep up a continual warfare against
the harmless creatures, by catching them in traps,
quite regardless of the law, and using them as an
article of commerce. Years of such persecution
have made them suspicious. Only in very excep-
tional instances do we find one that is at all tame.
Many times have I tried, and in vain, to secure a
photograph of the sitting bird on her nest, while
the idea of her feeding her young with the camera in
close proximity seemed nothing more nor less than
a wild dream. One day, however, by good fortune
I met with a family of Indigo birds that would
pose forme. The young, usually extremely wild,
were perfectly well behaved and remained where-
ever I chose to place them, but of the parents
Wood Thrush on Nest.
BIRD PHOTOGRAPHY 15
only the dull-coloured mother bird would venture
within shot of the camera, while the father, puffed
up with vanity, for he is most wonderfully clothed
in various shades of intense blue, would sit on the
topmost branches of the trees near by and spend his
time in song. All endeavours to induce him to
come near the camera were futile. His dusky mate
proved somewhat more tractable, and as long as I
kept at a respectful distance from the camera, she
did not seriously object to feeding her young ones.
But the overwhelming combination of man and
camera was more than she could stand, so while I
succeeded in securing a number of photographs, in
nearly every case I had to conceal myself in the
underbrush and make the exposure through the long
tube already mentioned. Towards the end of the
second day she became rather less shy, but still she
showed little of the confidence displayed by some
other of my bird friends.
Spending so much time with birds affords one
splendid opportunities for studying their habits, and
with this interesting, if exclusive, family, the feature
of their domestic arrangements that struck me most
forcibly was, that not once did his lordship deign to
carry food to any of his hungry offspring ; entirely
to the industrious little mother were the youngsters
beholden for their meals, and the number of grass-
hoppers, spiders, and caterpillars that she had to
catch was quite remarkable. ‘The only duties
incumbent on her gaily bedecked lord, that I
could discover, were firstly, that he must warn
her of impending danger by uttering a sharp note
of alarm; secondly, he must try, if the intruder
16 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
happens to be of the human kind, to lead him as far
as possible from the nest, which is carefully hidden
in the tangle of undergrowth ; thirdly, he must
furnish amusement for the family by constant song.
Surely his is the easier task.
Part II
ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY
Ir was quite natural that, after having devoted
many years to bird hunting with the camera, I
should become more ambitious and try my luck
with larger and, shall I say, more interesting game ?
No; that would indeed be disloyal to the birds that
first tempted me into what was then a virgin field.
Fach phase of the sport has its own particular virtues
and attractions, its obstacles to overcome and some-
times its triumphs. Perhaps the chief difference
between bird and animal work is that with birds,
especially the smaller kinds, the great charm is in
trying to overcome their natural fear of man in order
to gain if possible their comparative if not complete
confidence. No one who has not attempted this has
any idea how much pleasure and satisfaction may be
derived from the friendship of even the smallest and
most common of wild birds. On the other hand,
with animals there is seldom any question of friend-
ship, except in rare instances and then usually only
with the smaller species. The sportsman must
be content with his joy in outwitting the keenly
developed senses of the ever hunted, such as the
deer, or of those equally alert, the hunters, the car-
ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY 17
nivorous, great and small. You must match your
intelligence, handicapped as it is by the somewhat
dulled senses of seeing and hearing and the almost
dead sense of smell, against those which have these
three senses most keenly developed, and whose
acute powers of reasoning should never be despised
by the hunter. It is, as I have stated, difficult to
say which pursuit affords the greater pleasure or
keener excitement. Each is splendid and each will
teach its many lessons to those who will but use
their eyes intelligently and not jump to conclusions
too hastily. Unfortunately this fault of hastiness is
only too common, especially in two kinds of people,
those who are too lazy to make their investigations
without a sufficient degree of thoroughness, and
those who by nature are impulsive and over-
enthusiastic. By such people, if they have but
the suggestion of a theory on which to work,
all incidents and conditions will be made to
fit this pre-established theory; their eyes are
blinded to all else. Mbole-hills are turned into
mountains and conclusions will be reached which
have not the slightest foundation. No one has a
much better opportunity to study wild animals
in their native state than he who hunts with the
camera. Unlike the man who shoots and so destroys
the actual subject of his study, the camera-hunter is
frequently forced to spend many, many hours of
enforced inactivity whilst in the presence of the
animals, waiting, perhaps, for them to come within
range, to reach a place where stalking would be
possible, or where the light will be good—waiting
in fact for any of a dozen possible things to occur.
W.L.C. Cc
18 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
It is during such times that the lessons are learnt,
that the unexpected events take place. The
actual photographing takes very little time, but
the watching is never ended for those who really
wish to observe and learn.
“What sort of camera should I use?” How
often have I been asked this question, and yet it is
always equally difficult to give an adequate and
comprehensive reply. (1) What sort of man or
woman are you? (2) Where are you going to
hunt? (3) What are the conditions? (4) And
finally, what can you afford for the outfit? These
are perhaps the principal questions, and the answers
are determined by further questioning. (1) Are
you lazy or painstaking? If lazy and still insist on
hunting with the camera (though in this case it
would be quite against my advice that you should
engage in a task, or sport, that depends so much on
energy and perseverance) I advise an ordinary hand,
folding camera, using films. The pictures you will
obtain won’t be worth much but they will be all
you deserve. Are you painstaking? Then we shall
have to answer the other questions first. (2) If
you would hunt in the north, a telephoto lens of
moderately high power need not be considered.
If in a thickly-wooded country it is also of little
or no use. Perhaps you are surprised that I
should deal with the lens before speaking of the
camera, but that is reasonable, for the camera must
be of type suited to the lens or lenses you expect
to use. (8) Is weight an important item? If it is,
plates will have to be eliminated or practically so.
Are you going to work from a horse or from a
ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY 19
canoe, from a blind or by stalking? On the
consideration of all these points depends the
selection of a proper outfit. Generally speaking,
the reflex type of camera is almost a necessity
when good results are desired. Its size must
depend on what you can use under the existing
conditions. A four by five, or even a quarter plate
size when light weight is called for. The five by
seven, or the half plate, ifitcan be managed. These
larger sizes are far more satisfactory, but are, of
course, more expensive, more bulky and much
heavier, and stalking with them is made very much
more difficult. The very rapid lenses, that is, those
working with an aperture of F. 4.5, or thereabouts,
have so little depth of focus that it nearly always
means cutting them down to about F. 6 in order
to obtain even fair depth. So the extra weight is
being carried to very little purpose, such as a quite
occasional exposure under poor light conditions.
F. 6 is quite large enough for most practical pur-
poses. The new types of low and usually single-
powered telephoto lenses promise great things.
They are being changed so frequently that before this
appears in print some new device may be invented
which will completely revolutionise everything.
The chief (and almost only) advantage possessed
by these types is that with a camera having only
a short draw (of bellows) you can use a lens which
has approximately an equivalent focus of twice the
length of bellows. Against this, if they work at
an aperture of F. 5 or 6, there is the disadvan-
tage of size, both in diameter and length, which
makes them somewhat cumbersome. If you can
c2
20 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
use a convertible lens of 2 foci, it is advisable, for
though the single combination is slow it often
enables you to obtain satisfactory pictures of
animals entirely out of range for the ordinary
short focus lens. But don’t lose sight of the fact
that the single combination means double the draw
of bellows required for the complete lens. It is
well to employ a lens, especially if it be a cheap
one, made to cover a plate one size larger than you
are using, so that there is no question of the entire
plate being clean cut. The ordinary lenses supplied
with cameras are usually too slow for animal work,
their aperture being as a rule about F. 8. How-
ever, they will do quite well under favourable
conditions, but don’t forget that favourable con-
ditions are the exception rather than the rule, ex-
cept in such countries as Africa, or in the middle
western states of North America. It is nearly
always poor economy to buy cheap outfits. They
too frequently lead to disappointment, and when
you consider how much a trip costs, is it worth
while for the sake of saving a very small amount
to sacrifice the entire results, when by having a
good reliable outfit you may secure pictures which
will pay a part, if not all, of the expenses of your
outing? Should you wish to go in for telephoto
work remember that the positive lens should be of
very great rapidity, not less than F. 4.5, otherwise
the possibility of instantaneous exposure would be
limited to one or two magnifications. Never buy
the two elements separately, but let the manufac-
turer supply you with the complete lenses, positive
and negative elements properly adjusted. It is
ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY 21
essential that the camera for telephoto work should
be very rigid, as the slightest vibration is greatly
magnified.
Before touching on the practical use of the camera
there are several details to be dealt with—small
ones, but nevertheless important. Let the camera
be in every way as simple as possible, free from
complicated adjustments and all its parts easily
accessible in case of anything getting out of order.
Let there be as little outside machinery as possible.
Every projection offers a chance for trouble; a
slight blow, and perhaps the whole outfit may be
rendered useless. All parts should work easily and
with as little noise as possible. One of the great
objections to the focal plane shutter is the noise it
makes. The ideal camera could be reflex with both
focal plane and lens shutter, the former for very rapid
work such as birds in flight, and the latter for slower
exposures where silence is all important. There is
at present a reflex with a lens shutter, but it unfor-
tunately does not allow much variation of lenses, so
that its usefulness is greatly curtailed. The reflex
camera should be so arranged that the focussing hood
admits of use from above and from the back. The
advantage of this is that it allows the camera to be
held level with the eyes so that the immediate fore-
ground is not shown in the picture. When you are
in a canoe you can operate this camera with greater
freedom and safety as it will not be necessary to
stand up or even to kneel in order to clear the adja-
cent water or the canoe bow which so often obtrudes
itself in such pictures. Good plate holders are of the
utmost importance ; not only must they be abso-
22 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
lutely safe, and allow the plates to be easily put in
and securely held in place, but they should be fitted
with a device which precludes all possibility of
double exposures, that béte noir, so common when
one works under conditions of keen excitement
and haste. In saying that plate holders should be
loaded without difficulty, it must be borne in mind
that when in camp you have no dark room, but
usually a simple dark changing bag, which means
manipulation by sense of touch alone, so it will be
seen that any complications add greatly to one’s
troubles. Many prefer to use films instead of plates.
There is no question at all of the advantage the
former possess in point of weight and simplicity,
but the results are not as satisfactory as when plates
are used, especially so with the larger sizes. A five
by seven or half plate film is very apt not to lie
flat ; in dry climates this is not so noticeable, but
in damp, muggy weather they are more than likely
- to wrinkle, which means that with a very rapid
lens (2.e., one that has little depth of focus) parts of
the picture will be sharp while other parts on the
same plane will be entirely out of focus. Then
again, films are more inclined to have scratches.
They do not keep so well, and, finally, they are not
so easy of manipulation. Let me suggest that a
soft, portable case be carried for the camera, made
of some good strong but light waterproof material,
so that in case of showers the camera will not
suffer. The strong, stiff travelling case may be
made of compressed paper, kept thoroughly
varnished. It is better than leather, being lighter,
stronger and more rigid, besides which it will not
ANIMAL PHOTOGRAPHY 23
become water-soaked. Cases for plate holders
should be made of the same material but covered
with waterproofed leather so as to be less noisy. A
small case of soft leather to hold three plate
holders will be found very useful for carrying a
temporary supply while you are actually stalking.
The foregoing is but a brief outline of the most
important parts of the outfit necessary for animal
photography. Each person who attempts the
sport will, as he advances, develop his own ideas
on what will best suit his methods. What has been
said here is simply a general guide for those who
are unfamiliar with the subject, so that they may
have a basis on which to work when the outfit is to
be bought. It is seldom that the dealer is able to
offer much help in the way of advice regarding any
special class of work. It is, indeed, scarcely to be
expected of him, when we consider how difficult it
is for the man who has spent years at the work to
give advice that will be of much real value. Expe-
rience is the only trustworthy teacher, and she is
so slow and usually so expensive that she is likely
to discourage those whose heart is not thoroughly
in the work they wish to do.
I make no mention of flashlight work because
no device that I have yet seen or made is worthy
of being recommended.
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION
IN NEWFOUNDLAND
CHAPTER II
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION IN NEWFOUNDLAND’
[The result of six seasons’ work, when patience
was at last rewarded and the big herds came
before the stags had shed their antlers. ]
OcToBER 24TH, 1911. Once more I find myself
in Newfoundland watching from my blind for the
elusive Caribou, and, judging from indications, I
shall not have long to wait. The day before
yesterday while paddling up the river I saw several
small lots of Caribou, and this morning while
cooking my solitary breakfast, a herd of fifteen
swam across the river and landed on the bank
directly opposite my camp ; so it looks as though
the migration for which I have long waited had
really begun, and that I would at last have some
luck. Yesterday I repaired the blinds which I have
used each year, and built a couple of new ones on
very promising leads, so I feel that I am ready
for my friends when they come. Armed with
camera, plates, and warm clothing I left camp soon
after the sun had risen. After showing itself for a
few minutes it retired behind the deep grey clouds.
I circled around the river to my blind so as to leave
no scent along the Caribou leads, for unless pressed
by bad weather, these animals will not cross a fresh
human trail, and even if the scent be almost cold
1 First published in Country Life.
23 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
their suspicions will be aroused and the chance of
securing pictures greatly reduced. It is only when
they are absolutely off their guard and unsuspicious
that one has any chance with them. To-day the
wind is favourable but bitterly cold. Unfortunately
the light is bad, but then that seems to be the rule
at this time of the year in Newfoundland, bright
days being rather the exception. My blind, or
gaze, as the Newfoundlanders call it, is a simple
affair composed of about a dozen small fir trees
stuck securely into the bog, arranged in a circle
open at the southern end; on the north side, facing
the leads, the branches are cut away, leaving an
opening through which the camera protrudes. The
selection of a desirable site for the blind is of the
greatest importance; it should control as many
leads as possible, the prevailing direction of the
wind must be considered, the sun must be from the
back, the background should compose well, and
there should be no obstructions in the foreground.
Inside the blind everything should be arranged so
that no dry twigs will rub against one’s clothing,
for the slightest noise may cause the loss of a
picture. A number of well-worn leads or paths
pass on each side of the blind I have made, some
only a few feet away, others two or three hundred
feet. All the conditions are such that if the Caribou
come I shall be almost certain to get pictures.
The day wears on, but not a Caribou appears. I
have been doing some sketching, but the cold wind
makes the work very trying. The afternoon is
particularly dark and unpleasant, and as it is nearly
four o'clock I shall head for camp without having
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 29
used a single plate. On my way down the river
two small herds crossed far ahead of me.
Another day. Since eight o’clock this morning I
have been in the same blind but without accomplish-
ing anything. In the distance I have heard the
splashing of animals crossing the river ; why it is none
come along these fine leads it is difficult to under-
stand. Before returning to my camp I shall examine
the banks and find out what leads are being used.
The result of yesterday’s search showed that the
Caribou are using the leads below my camp, quite a
number having crossed the river during the past few
days, so this morning finds me in a new blind on the
south side of the river. Unfortunately the wind is
blowing so hard that it is impossible to hear any
animals entering the water. Therefore it is all
the more necessary to keep my eyes open. For
two hours I have been waiting, and my hands and
feet are becoming numb, so I must get up and start
the blood circulating ; but wait, there is a Caribou.
It proves to be only a doe and her fawn, a beautiful
pair almost entirely clothed in their winter coat of
silvery white. They came along at a quick walk,
heading directly toward me, closer and closer, until
within forty feet or so. Owing to the lack of light
it was impossible to make a picture of them walking,
so that as soon as everything was ready, I gave a
sudden shout. They stopped immediately, and as
they looked about with a surprised expression,
the shutter clicked with a noise that revealed my
position, and off the pair went at full gallop. This
little excitement warmed me up a trifle, but the cold
is getting more and more intense and the sky
30 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
becomes still more heavily obscured with cold lead-
coloured clouds. Bad weather is coming without
doubt. If only it would snow there would be
no lack of Caribou. Even while I am writing,
occasional snowflakes fly past, stinging my face.
Further writing is impossible to-day. At intervals
during the night flurries of hard snow blew against
my tent, yet altogether there was scarcely enough to
whiten the ground. The day broke dull and grey,
but before nine o’clock the sun came out. Now if
the Caribou would only come, the light is good and
there is so little wind that any animals crossing the
river can be easily heard. A Canada jay is sitting
upon a twig above my head. He seems to be
watching the pencil with wondering eyes. Down
he comes ; now heis not more than a foot or so from
my head. Who’sthere? Well, that certainly beats
anything I have ever known for impertinence.
Evidently it was my glasses that fascinated the bird,
for he suddenly darted at them and had them in his
bill before I realised his intentions. Throwing up
my hands, I frightened the rascal, and he dropped the
glasses Before I could replace them the stillness
of the morning was broken by repeated sounds of
splashing in the river. Caribou had crossed and
landed close to where my canoe was hidden.
Fortunately they kept clear of my trail. It was
only a small herd, but they came within range and
I made two exposures. Scarcely had I reloaded
the camera than another and larger herd came into
view. What a superb sight they presented as they
walked with quick steps along the lead which
would give me the best chance with the camera!
‘SUOTIIPUOD OTqeqIns Toy Surqzrea
quoiyed jo saved xis—gad 04 savef x1s ueye} svy omngord sty, ‘pley ay} spor dop w sasi
‘SOLIN}I99 TOF post Udoq savy yeyy syyed do spol U1OM-TJaaM oy Suope org [suis ut peavey ATTensn Loy
“WOLPRASTUL UT Noqieg puvppunozAa yy oul
‘dojjes v sommy 4¥ Io Yor} Bursutas Io ‘ypu yomb v qe Sutoy
r
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 31
So quiet was the morning that the curious clicking
of their feet sounded unusually clearly. Here was
the chance for which I had been waiting six long
years. The combination that I knew was bound to
come some time; good light, and a large enough
herd of absolutely unsuspicious Caribou. It was
really worth waiting for, and my heart beat so hard
with excitement that it seemed as though the
approaching animals must hear it. With almost
feverish haste each part of the camera was carefully
examined to see that the shutter was set correctly,
the proper diaphragm in place, the slide drawn, and
so forth. All of this occupied but a second or two.
However, the animals were almost in range by the
time I had made sure that everything was in readi-
ness. If only a stag had been leading! But that
seldom happens. In fact, only three times have I
seen it! First came a doe and her fawn, then three
young stags and another doe followed by a fair
stag, but the largest one was, of course, the last of the
line ; that is the rule and that is why it is so difficult
to photograph them. On they came, and I watched
them closely as they grew larger and larger on the
ground glass of the camera, but at the moment
when they almost covered the entire plate, I
pressed the shutter release, the picture was made and
the herd had gone before another plate could be put
into position. Now once more I settle down to
watch and think with pleasure of the good luck
that has come my way. It has been a satisfactory
day’s work, even if I get nothing more, but
apparently there is more to come, for at this
moment I hear splashes. What is to be? There
32 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
comes a head through the fringe of alders which
line the river bank, another, and yet another. This
is surely my lucky day. Among that small herd
was a stag, a real stag of the kind one reads about,
but seldom sees. How many points? youask. Well!
I don’t know. I didn’t have time to count them,
but it looked like forty-five or fifty, and the photo-
graph shows a full forty-five. He followed close
behind the small band of does and came within
fifty feet of me before I made the exposure.
Startled by the sound of the shutter, the big
fellow jumped directly towards me, stopping about
twenty-five feet away. Excited to a painful
degree, I tried to put in another plate and reset
the shutter so that I might make a picture of the
stag alone. But just as I was drawing the slide, he
galloped off. I had secured one picture of the
magnificent specimen, so I had no right to com-
plain. Yet I did regret not having succeeded in
getting the picture of him alone, when he would
have shown to much better advantage.
It is afternoon and the sky is dull. So far nothing
has happened since the big stag came. Several
Caribou are feeding on the marsh a few hundred
yards away. One small herd is working in this
direction. ‘They are feeding slowly along. Now
they are not more than one hundred and fifty yards
away. ‘They have stopped feeding, and one after
the other they are lying down. The stag, a fine big
one, stands sentry for some time, but he too wants
to rest, so he too liesdown. For over an hour they
sleep quietly. One old doe looks up occasionally,
but they are unaware of the fact that their arch-
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 33
enemy, man, is so near. Suddenly, however, three
does came along so quietly that I neither saw nor
heard them until they were within about twenty
feet, and without having seen them, I moved. Of
course they bolted, giving, as they went, the alarm-
call which aroused the sleeping herd and caused
them to take to their heels.
This is a morning of mornings. The whole
country is a fairy land, glistening and sparkling
with a wonderful covering of iridescent hoar-frost.
The dark, oily water of the river seems doubly dark
as it glides along the white avenue. The edges are
coated with frost-covered ice, and small clusters of
frozen froth float slowly and silently down the river.
The overpowering silence is broken now and then
by the harsh croak of a raven or the whistling of a
passing duck. It is on a morning like this that one
appreciates to the fullest the joy of being entirely
alone, and yet people so often ask me if I am not
lonely on these solitary trips. On such a day as
this, loneliness is impossible. The barrens surround-
ing my blinds are particularly and wonderfully
beautiful this morning. In one part the yellow
grass gives a curious golden hue to the frosty
covering. In another the colour is pinkish-purple,
as richly coloured leaves shine through the frost.
Look which way you will the effect is different, yet
equally beautiful. But it is too good to last. A
cold wind is getting up, dark clouds are gathering
on the horizon, bad weather is threatening. It is
about noon, and even now large drops of rain are
spattering the paper, so I must stop writing.
Yesterday brought no luck. The weather became
W.L.C. D
34 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
unbearable, and at 3 o'clock I gave up and returned
to camp. By 5 o'clock it was snowing hard, and
all night the soft flakes pattered gently on the
tent, each one adding to my hopes. When I got
up this morning at 5.30 the moon was setting in a
clear sky. The country looked as beautiful as
it always must when the evergreens are snow-
covered. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees,
and everything was so exquisitely quiet that it
seemed an act of sacrilege to break the stillness
with the sound of the axe. This snow was bound
to bring the Caribou, and I hurried through
breakfast, scarcely waiting even to share my
porridge with my favourite Canada jay. With
disgust I saw the sky becoming overcast, and before
I left the camp a film of grey had hidden the blue.
Now I am once more in the whitened blind, wish~
ing the sun would come out to make the snow sparkle
and help me with my photographic work. There!
I hear a splash in the river not four hundred yards
away. Another and another, in quick succession.
It is Caribou, and they are evidently going to land
at the leads which I am watching. Everything is
ready but the light, which is pitifully bad. They
arecoming. Whata herd that was! Fully seventy-
five, with many good stags, but they came so fast, as
though impelled with the fear of bad weather, that
a quick exposure was impossible. Nothing could
stop the maddened herd and they rushed past me
within a few feet, the band separating as they
reached the blind, going so close that I could put
out my hand and touch them as they pass. Excit-
ing! It certainly was. It was exhilarating, and
Lins (Jia Jt ye Sut atau SOT} ofp apeur sea yey
OU) pata , IPB : AU JO JUOAP UL ATPaItp ABALT yp s
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 35
even though I got only one very poor picture, the
experience was one long to be remembered. What
would I not have given for a gleam of sunshine.
Then I could have shown people what a herd
of frenzied Caribou look like. Wait! There is
another splash. It was only a single stag, a rather
small one with poor antlers, but he came very close,
and as he was travelling slowly, I managed to
secure a fair picture. ‘The wind is rising and blow-
ing away the snow from the more exposed situations.
This is bad, as it makes it still more difficult to use
the camera for quick work. Once more I hear a
terrific splashing in the river, but it sounds a little
below my leads. Minutes are going by. Still I
see no sign of the animals. They have evidently
gone along another lead further to the westward.
Yes, I can see them crossing the big marsh. A
superb herd of one hundred and twenty or more.
What a pity they are too far away to photograph !
It is such a beautiful sight, that long, quickly
moving line of white and grey, its colour being
in perfect harmony with the snow-mottled marsh
where the colours range from the deepest crimsons
and yellows to cold blue and lemon greys of the
Caribou moss. There again is the promising sound
of splashing in the water, repeated at short intervals
as animal after animal takes to the river. The wind
makes so much noise that it is impossible to get any
idea of the number in the herd, but I shall probably
see them, as they appear to be coming this way.
Yes, there they are. The herd was a big one, but it
divided and only thirty or forty passed me, and not
a stag in the lot. For some unknown reason the
D2
36 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
big part of that herd with several fine stags turned
off from the main lead soon after leaving the river
bank, so the picture of the does was all I could get.
It is surely hard luck to see so many Caribou and
not be able to make satisfactory pictures. But,
after all, that is the peculiarity of animal photo-
graphy. There is always some obstacle in the way
of making good pictures. It is these difficulties
and disappointments which make the sport so
fascinating. How much more difficult it is than
shooting! Here this morning I could have shot
several fine stags, but not a single good picture of
one could I secure. Several hours have gone by
and many Caribou have passed, large and small
herds. But most have gone so quickly that with
the poor light I could not photograph them. A
few came more quietly, and with these I had fair
luck. Now it is too dark to do anything more.
In point of numbers this has been the best day I
have ever known, over five hundred having passed
within sight, but the results pictorially have been
very unsatisfactory. Before leaving camp this
morning three herds of Caribou crossed the river, one
lot crossing by my camp, but though the light was
weak, I managed to make a long enough exposure
to secure a rather satisfactory picture. No sooner
had I reached my blind than a large herd came by,
going too fast to be photographed. Later on several
herds crossed further below, but they did not come
within range of the camera. The day is very dull
so I have small hopes of doing much, especially
as most of the herds are working further to the
westward. One small company led by a fairly good
VAL] OAV PUMOABALO] of} UPL AOAQT Apoty uo Surtaagy
OL) ysull BAVTL TOT oq
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 37
stag came within reach, but the weak light made it
impossible to make a satisfactory picture. Towards
noon the day warmed up, and the Caribou, after
crossing the river, entered the big marsh and
stopped there to feed and rest. Atone time I could
count eight separate herds all within three-quarters
of a mile. About three hundred yards away there
were three large stags, and I attempted to stalk
them. Unfortunately I had not seen a doe that
evidently belonged to the party, and just before I
got within range, she warned the stags and off they
went. About three o’clock I went back to the
river to try my luck there, and soon found one of
the much used crossings. A few minutes after I
had hidden myself among some tall grass, a single
doe swam the river and landed immediately in
front of me; with the bright golden light stream-
ing through the clouds it was very beautiful, but
exasperating, as it was not in good position for the
camera. J made an exposure and the animal
passed me within twenty feet without even sus-
pecting my presence. A few minutes later a doe
and a fawn landed at the same place, and I could
not resist the temptation to use another plate.
To-day I tried working along the river in the
hopes of getting photographs of the Caribou
entering and leaving the water. Hiding among
the tall grass as I had done yesterday, I did not
have long to wait before a large herd appeared on
the opposite bank. After hesitating for a moment
or two, they broke through the thin sheet of ice
and entered the river, following closely one behind
the other till there were forty in the water, but
38 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
they headed down stream, far below where I was
until suddenly, without any apparent reason, they
turned and came straight toward me. ‘lhe sun
was still so low that the fir trees cast a shadow far
across the river, but as that could not be helped, I
had to make the best of it. The herd landed about
forty feet from me and I made two exposures
before they realised what was happening. Then
what a scattering there was! Mud flew in all
directions and many rushed past, only a few
feet away. After this I crossed the river to the
sun-lit side ; putting the canoe behind a partly sub-
merged log, I waited, and pretty soon a doe and
fawn came down the bank and, entering the river,
swam across without seeing me. Soon another
pair posed for me. Then a little later there was
a great commotion as a large herd came crashing
down the bank through the thick fringe of trees.
Now the question was when to take the picture.
Of course, I wanted a big stag as the centre of the
picture. Does and small stags came in abundance,
and finally I thought the last had come, and even
though it was only a doe I pressed the button as
she rushed down the bank. No sooner had I done
this than an immense stag came immediately
behind her, hesitated a moment in a _ perfect
position, looking directly at me, but before I could
re-set the shut, he had scrambled up the bank
and disappeared. For the rest of the day I had no
further luck. Many Caribou crossed the river, but
all went below or above where I happened to be.
Nevertheless, the day has been one of great interest.
It is seldom that one has a chance to see so many
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 39
wild animals, and while watching them the wonder
of this great migration was constantly before my
mind. Every autumn, following the first heavy
snow that comes after October 20th, the northern
Caribou commenced the southerly journey; con-
verging from their various summer haunts, they
pass between Sandy River and Gaff-topsails,
scattering again soon after they cross the railroad
line to grass. The winters are spent toward the
centre of the island. Then, as spring approaches,
the great herd return to their summer homes. In
watching the southerly migration one is surprised
at the great number of does, perhaps as many as
fifteen or twenty to each stag. In fact there are
often large herds with no stags at all. This in-
equality is not as great as it seems, for toward the
end of the migration there are many great herds
which contain only stags, but then they are mostly
without antlers. As early as November 3rd some
of the stags drop their horns, very few carrying
them into December. At what age the Caribou
carry their best heads is not known, but probably
the largest horns are found on the stags ranging
from seven to ten years of age. Unlike most deer
the does of the Newfoundland Caribou usually
have horns. They are for the most part small and
without beauty, though occasionally a very fair
head is seen; in form it is more like the antlers
of the Virginia deer, and lacks the characteristic
brow paddle, which the stags almost always have.
The Caribou’s colour varies with the individual and
with the season. In general they are white in the
winter and a soft brown or grey mouse colour
40 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
during the summer. The cause of the migration
is presumably the search for food, but there is so
little data on the subject that one is scarcely justi-
fied in making any definite statements. We know
that by no means all the northern Caribou come
south, many remaining in the extreme north of
the peninsula; while quite as many stay in the
southern part of the island during the summer.
There is no apparent reason why those animals
which spend the winter in the middle of the island
on the high plains and rolling hills should not stay
there during the summer. Evidently there is some
condition of which we know nothing, something
which causes the vast herds to endure the hard-
ships of the long trips of the autumn and spring,
when they often have to fight their way through
the thick ice of the frozen rivers and lakes. They
travel easily and rapidly under almost all conditions,
gliding over the soft, quaking bogs as readily as
over the hard, rocky hills. Through the dense fir
forests they break their way almost without noise.
They take to the water like ducks, their heavy
coats of air-containing hair making them so buoyant
that they swim with several inches of the entire
length of their body showing; but though they
swim with ease and rapidity, they do not relish enter-
ing the very cold water. I have often watched them
hesitate for quite a long time before plunging in.
The leads or roads which they follow have been in
use year after year, perhaps for hundreds or thou-
sands of years, for in many places deep furrows are
worn in the rocks by the hoofs of countless thou-
sands of Caribou. Travelling, at least in the autumn,
eZ
Bu
i
|
arly
L
av
yh
“a5
pate
aes
Fao
vee
wo
vai
Ls
a
eS
hos
aT
SOS
a
tp
ad
a
oo
nS
a9
xe
ey
pie)
2 f
=
sé
Se
ay,
=
ee a
=
y
o
Tt.
1a
ie
a
=
a
My
on
ig.
uxt
uspiclous and alert than th
Vs hore
gs hele alwe
“Onvee in a ereat while the herd is led by
hown, the doe
8
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 41
is done almost entirely by daylight, chiefly before
10 in the morning and after 8 in the afternoon ;
only during very bad weather, when the snow is
becoming dangerously deep, or when extreme cold
threatens to freeze and so close the rivers, do they
move much at night. One of the sights which
I live in hopes of seeing is that of the south-bound
animals crashing through the frozen rivers in a
driving snowstorm, for then they have no fear of
man and would be easy targets for the camera.
Their one idea at such times is to reach their
southern destination where they can, by constant
work, procure sufficient nourishment from the
snow-bound country. This winter they will soon
be there, for the greater part of the migration has
already passed, perhaps the largest migration that
has occurred for many years. Fully two thousand
have passed within my sight during the two weeks
that I have been on Sandy River. They have
treated me well, and if the weather had only been
brighter, I should have had excellent pictures to
show. This is the sixth consecutive year that I
have spent at least part of the southerly migration
season along Sandy River in the hopes of opportu-
nity to photograph these beautiful creatures. But
hitherto luck has always been against me. ‘Two
years ago, I spent six long weeks watching and
hoping day by day that the migration would begin,
but something had gone wrong with it, and it was
not until well into December that the great herds
of south-bound animals came along, and by that
time, of course, the stags had shed their horns.
Other times 1 have spent two to four weeks watching
42 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
the leads but without success. Why, you may ask,
am I so anxious to picture the Caribou, that I
should devote myself year after year to the effort ?
Surely there are many other animals to portray with
camera, brush and pen, animals, too, that are easier
to find perhaps? That is, of course, true, but they
are for the most part animals far better known, of
which more or less truthful pictures have been
made, but the Caribou of Newfoundland have
scarcely been fairly pictured. Paintings of them
are usually grotesque caricatures of the graceful
creatures. Look at almost all the pictures that
have been made, and what do you see? A lean,
sad, miserable creature with ungainly legs, exagge-
rated knee-joints and a hang-dog expression that in
no waysresemble the wild Caribou. How it comes
that these animals are not more faithfully pictured
is probably because the usual zoo specimens from
which the studies are made are not in normal con-
dition. They almost always suffer from a disease
which changes their entire appearance; the poor
creature survives but a short time in captivity,
succumbing before it reaches maturity to an illness
which apparently is unpreventable. Thus it is that
we see so few Caribou in captivity. The change of
food, probably more than the change of living, is
the cause of this. But whatever it may be, we
never see a captive Caribou which resembles the
animal in its natural haunts. To my mind there
is no more graceful, beautiful animal than the
Newfoundland Caribou, beautiful in form and
wonderful in colour; yet the question of indivi-
duality among these creatures must be considered.
Stay Caribou, photographed at a distance of not more than nine varis.
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 43
You will find magnificent stags which resemble the
majestic elk; then again there are many large stags
whose ugliness and ungainliness are such that they
are almost comical. So also with the does and
fawns. People, asa rule, fail to realise this marked
individuality in wild creatures, both as to appear-
ance and character. Yet I believe it to be as
great as, if not greater than, with the human being.
The pictures which accompany this article, though
they do not do justice to the originals, at least give
some slight suggestion of their beauty, and I hope
they will help to correct the common idea that the
animals are always ungainly and unlovely. If so, I
shall feel even more fully repaid than I have already
been by the joy of doing the work itself. As to
the pleasure of doing this work, I have no words at
my command which will give any idea of it. There
is in it a peculiar fascination, almost impossible to
describe. A fascination and pleasure which obli-
terates all traces of the hardships, yes, and even
sufferings with which the work is often attended.
To give some sort of a reality to this work, I feel that
the writing should be done on the spot, for it has
been said by the wise ones that a man should be in
the environment of which he is writing. Surely
I am in the proper environment, even though the ©
conditions scarcely favour writing, for while I see
the pencil moving in a somewhat erratic manner
over the paper, my hands are so benumbed by
cold that I can feel nothing. How different from
writing in an attic, where bare walls stare insolently
and each step on the rickety stairs suggests the
postman coming with manuscripts “ returned with
44 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
thanks!” Different, too, from a cozy studio or warm,
snug library with all its comforts. Among no such
limiting surroundings am I writing, but out on
the bare and bleak yet beautiful barrens, where a
carpet of richly-coloured mosses fights with the
sombre greys for supremacy. No painted ceiling
presses on my head, the great limitless, blue vault
is above me, or the sun is at any rate shining with
seductive warmth above the leaden-grey clouds
which so persistently hide its beauty. Often the
snowflakes, driven by an ill-tempered and keen-
cutting wind, chase each other across the paper and
play hide-and-seek with the pencil point. My eyes,
besides being on my work, are also constantly scan-
ning the country, for one can never tell at what
minute a mighty stag or a silver-hued line of
Caribou may come in sight. They seem to spring
from nowhere, and almost before the camera can be
pointed at them they have come and gone, leaving,
perhaps, nothing more substantial than a mental
picture. To have any chance of success, one must
be keenly and constantly alert. Hours and even
days may pass without the sign of a Caribou, but
it seems as soon as one relaxes for a moment, the
animals come. For this year, I must bid good-
bye to these Caribou of Newfoundland. Perhaps
next season we may meet again, when I may be
better able to prove the beauty of the reindeer of
the western world. With keen regret I roll up the
tent. My only companion, the fluffy jay, sits by my
side and we share our farewell meal. He knows
Iam going and murmurs softly as he watches me
pack the canoe and start down the river. No
THE CARIBOU MIGRATION 45
tangled mass of orange-coloured antlers breaks the
graceful line of the canoe; my trophies, as yet
invisible and of unknown quality, are packed in a
tiny waterproof case, awaiting the magic touch of
the chemicals which will discover whether or not
my aim has been true. If true, I shall have
pictures to show. If not, the many memories
of the trip must suffice, and they will live and
improve as the years go by.
THE STORY OF A PORCUPINE
HUNT
CHAPTER III
THE STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT *
How a series of photographs were made directly from the wild animal
for the purpose of illustrating a story. Probably the first time that wild
animals were ever made to pose in this way before the camera.
In the month of April, 1901, a telegram from
a New York publisher came to me as I was about
to start off for a day’s bird work: “Come in
immediately, have splendid story to illustrate.”
The story proved to be about the Canadian porcu-
pine—an animal I had not yet seen in its wild state.
Would I undertake to make the pictures entirely
with the camera, so as to give a touch of realism
more convincing than if the work were done by
hand ? Somewhat reluctantly I promised not only
to make the set, but undertook to have it completed
by June 10th. Having made this rather rash
promise, the next step was to find out where to
look for the porcupines—without having to go too
far for them. Inquiries among my naturalist
friends resulted in information which was not very
hopeful. The opinion was that the shortness of
time would make it practically impossible.
Being blessed with a decidedly optimistic dis
position, I hoped for the best, packed up an
outfit of cameras and warm clothes, and started for
the Adirondacks. Inquiries among the residents
* Not previously published.
w.L.c. E
50 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
of a very small village where the train dropped
me one cold, rainy morning led me to hire a
“rig” and drive many miles over roads which
were roads in little more than name. For the long
winter frost, coming out of the ground, had con-
verted the road into a regular mire in which the
wheels sank nearly to the hubs and frequently
stuck in a most alarming way. Twice the decrepit
harness gave way under the unusual strain. The
prospects of ever reaching the little mountain farm
were at times anything but promising, but by dint
of much coaxing, picturesquely intermixed with a
fair amount of “cussing” and a great deal of good
luck, we finally drew up at a small log house of
neat appearance. Now came the seemingly impos-
sible task of making a backwoodsman understand
that I wanted his help in connection with hunt-
ing for porcupines, and photographing the queer
beasts so as to fit the story. This meant bringing
in two characters, a man and a boy. The man
proved most intelligent, and even though he
regarded me for some time as a mild lunatic who
might without risk be humoured in his strange
whims and fancies, he promised all the help [
needed. One of his sons was about the age of the
boy in the story, so it only remained for us to find
the most important member—the porcupine.
Now the finding of these animals is easy enough
in the regions where they abound, but finding them
and handling them are by no means the same.
The porky has been said to have more good points
than any other animal, a sad but very true joke,
which can only be thoroughly appreciated by those
STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 51
who have attempted to control the creatures. It
unfortunately happens that they are almost entirely
nocturnal in their habits, coming out towards dusk
and returning to their sleeping quarters about
dawn. As the photographic work could not be
done at night it was necessary for us to secure our
would-be, or perhaps I should say our would-not-be
models during their nightly wanderings and keep
them till morning, all of which sounds easy, but was
none the less the cause of many tribulations and dis-
appointments ; for, be it remembered, a porcupine
can climb almost anything and if enclosed in a box
will eat his way out within a few hours. We
decided a sack would be the thing, so when on the
first night we caught a fine animal which was
prowling about seeking what he might devour in
the way of spade handles or other wooden articles
used by men, we put him in a sack, tied it up, and
put it in a barrel. When morning came we carried
our victim to a place where the setting coincided
with that of the story. The camera was carefully
arranged, and the bag opened, and out rolled an
animal which possessed not a single point, good or
otherwise. All the quills had been transferred to
the sack, and we beheld a rough, hairy and very
sad-looking model utterly unsuited to our purposes.
This was most unfortunate, because the picture de-
manded snow. And this small patch, hidden in a
sheltered nook, a last remnant of the winter, was
the only snow in the region. The day was warm
and springlike, so that in a few hours this too
would be melted and our chance gone for the
year. There was nothing to be done for this day,
E 2
52 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
so after releasing our moulted friend we returned
to the farmhouse sadder and wiser men.
During the afternoon we made an enclosure
which would safely contain our next victim, and
when night came we went out to hunt. Before
long the dogs began a furious barking; they had
discovered two porkies behind the chicken house,
fortunately not far from the new enclosure. With
the aid of the dogs and by much pushing we managed
to get the prickly creatures inside and left them
there till morning. Soon after breakfast we started
for the dwindling snow patch—a curious procession.
One of the porcupines was slung from a pole,
secured by all four legs; in this way the man and
the boy carried him, while I followed armed witha
camera, tripod, and other paraphernalia. All went
well till we came to the river, which had to be
crossed in a very small, frail, low-sided punt. The
river was a raging torrent owing to the recently
melted snow, and the prospects ofreaching the
opposite bank were not at all cheerful. Two of us
got into the punt with the porky, who was very
well behaved until we were nearly half way over,
when a lot of water rushed over the side, soaking
the poor beast, who immediately began to squirm so
vigorously that he got his feet out of the slip knots,
and, finding himself free, made straight for the end
of the boat where the man was devoting all his
attention to paddling and steering. As a very
close companion a porcupine is scarcely to be
recommended, especially in a small and very frail
boat in very rough water. The man had on heavy
boots, and with these he pushed and pushed the
STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 53
determined animal. But the more he pushed the
more determined did the animal become. Finally
he took the paddle and with it managed to shove
the creature back; but with very nearly disastrous
results, for the punt swung broadside to the yellow
curling ripples, and only by good luck and prompt
action were we able to avert a capsize. Finally we
landed, a sadly bedraggled trio. The man’s feet
looked much like pincushions, so full were they of
the porky’s quills. It took us about an hour to
drive that animal to the snow patch and another
hour to persuade the obstinate bunch of quills to
pose as required by the story. Finally, however,
the picture was made, and as the animal had lost
so many of his quills we released him as being of
no further use. On returning to the farm we
found that the second one, which we had imagined
so securely imprisoned, had taken French leave,
and we were left without a model for to-morrow.
That night and several more we hunted in vain for
another suitable porky ; we found several, but all
were of most disreputable appearance.
At length the man suggested that we go to some
woods five or six miles away. There not only should
we find an abundance of the animals we sought, but
the conditions would be thoroughly satisfactory for
the setting. All this sounded so hopeful that we
packed up, and with blankets, cameras, and food
supplies for five or six days we made an early start,
each of us carrying pur loads of about sixty-five
pounds. It was a delightful walk through those
mixed forests; at times we made our way among
the dark spruces and hemlocks, walking on the soft,
54 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
spongy moss and climbing over the frequent
windfalls. Then there would be hardwood ridges
where the gleaming silver-and-white of the beeches
and birches reflected all the tender tints of the
delicate spring leaves and bursting buds. Many of
the early arriving warblers darted among the lace-
like foliage searching for unwary insects. It was
all beautiful, but the hills were many and steep and
the loads heavy, and, worst of all, the mosquitoes
and black flies, those terrors of the otherwise perfect
north-woods, were wakened to unwonted activity
by the warmth of the spring sun. The edge of the
lake was reached at last; here we made camp in
simple fashion. No tent from the city outfitters.
Itwas not needed in the land of birch-bark. In less
than an hour we had peeled off great slabs of glisten-
ing bark, enough to cover our lean-to and render
it proof against the most severe rains. Before the
sun set we visited the lake and caught a few trout
for supper. Strange it is how much one enjoys
a meal cooked out of doors, where the smell of
burning wood permeates everything. The simplest
food, badly cooked though it may be, and usually
is, tastes better far than the best of indoor cooking.
A few rashers of bacon curled and smoked over
the glowing embers, eaten with hot soda biscuits
(often called scones) baked in the tin oven, is
good enough for any man out in the woods, yet
the same man would scorn such a dinner served
on delicate china in a well-appointed dining-room.
Why is it? Just as for the fisherman it is not
the fish but the conditions. under which they are
caught that gives the pleasure; so it is with the
STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 55
food. It is not the food itself, but the sur-
roundings, the environment, which give it such
a zest.
Werolled ourselves in our blankets on our springy
beds of spruce boughs and watched the crackling
fire, fascinated as one always is by the ruddy smoke
as it swept upward toward the twinkling stars,
faintly illuminating the dark branches of the sur-
rounding trees. As we watched we listened—
listened for the sound of a wandering porcupine
which, attracted by the smell of bacon, might be
tempted to approach our camp. While watching
we often dozed, for we were tired with the healthy
tiredness of outdoor life. It was, perhaps, ten o’clock,
the fire had died down to a few smouldering logs
which sent up fitful flames of tiny sparks and blue
wreaths of smoky plumes, when we were awakened
by the faint, shrill call of porcupines, several of which
were evidently nearby. We listened for some time
until we thought we knew where the nearest one
was. Then, slipping on our boots and taking
torches of birch-bark, we quietly made our way
towards the sound. On we went, further and
further, making our way with great difficulty over
the fallen trees, among the upturned roots and the
tangle of underbrush. Suddenly the flaring torch
showed us a porky not twenty-five feet away. The
light striking the polished ends of the quills gave
him a most peculiar appearance. For a moment he
watched us, surprised at the strange sight, then,
deciding that we would look better from a greater
distance, he started away with all of us after him.
Never have I taken part in a stranger chase. We
56 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
floundered in mudholes, tumbled over tree trunks,
caught our feet in the hidden moss-covered roots as
we tried to dodge this way and that after the elusive
creature who seemed not to know which way to go.
First this way, then that way, sometimes with a
sudden change of mind back he would head, dodg-
ing right between us, just as we were mixed up in
various obstructions in the strange light cast by
the three torches, our dancing shadows chasing
each other like dark phantoms. On and on we went,
paying no attention to our direction, till at last we
cornered the bewildered beast between the root
knees of a large cedar. With considerable difficulty
we fastened a stout line around one hind leg of the
indignant creature, and with still greater difficulty
drove him to where we thought the camp should
be. Apparently we had been going in circles while
stumbling through the woods, and though not more
than a few hundred yards from the starting-point,
we were so bewildered that none of us could say
where the camp was. Finally, after many false
directions and signs had been followed, we were
surprised by a thin column of smoke and sparks
rising only a few yards away from where we were
holding a consultation. Had it not been for that
smoke we might have wandered till daylight.
On arriving at the camp we were much surprised
and amused to see a fine big porcupine hurrying
away. Therascal had been stealing our bacon and
we came in time to save only a small part of it.
Hastily securing our captive to a tree stump, we
proceeded to catch the retreating thief. Soon we
had him tied by the hind legs to a convenient tree,
The Porcupine aud the Abandoned Camp in the Snow,
STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 57
and we returned to the camp to secure more
thoroughly the first-caught porky. To our utter
disappointment we discovered nothing but the end
of the cord, which he had evidently bitten through.
It is scarcely necessary to say that we were utterly
disgusted at our bad luck, or carelessness, whichever
you like to call it. We had learned our lesson
however, and immediately took precautions against
the escape of our last victim. Then we all crawled
into the lean-to for a few hours’ sleep. The night
was warm, so we had allowed the fire to die down,
and we arranged our blankets in the dark. A
shout of surprise and pain from the man caused me
to quickly strike a match and by its flickering light
I saw a most amusing sight. ‘The escaped porcu-
pine had retreated to the inner part of the lean-to,
and finding the blankets very much to his liking,
had decided to make his bed there and then. The
man in moving the blankets had come into contact
with the animated pincushion and had received a
full dose of quills into his hands, with the result
that he entirely failed to see the funny side of the
situation. Of course he was powerless to do any-
thing with his fingers in that condition, so after
lighting a torch I extracted all the quills, a painful
and very tedious task. The boy in the meantime
kept his eye on the porky. Eventually all the quills
were removed, and then the porky was fastened to
a tree to await the morning’s work.
After a few hours of refreshing sleep we were
up, and by the time the sun was high enough we
began the photographic work. One of the pictures
called for a lake shore setting; this required my
58 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
going into the ice-cold water with the camera, and
a more miserable half-hour I have seldom spent,
for apart from the cold, and the water was well
above my knees, the air was filled with thousands
of detestable black flies and “ no-see-ems,” whose
poisonous stinging bite nearly drives a man crazy.
It was no fun, but really hard work, and I could
not help thinking that sitting in a comfortable
studio making drawings was far easier than making
photographic illustrations of wild animals.
One of the subjects was a porcupine sitting
among the topmost branches of a hemlock tree.
How I blessed the author of the story for choosing
such a tree with its bending branches. We cut
down a vigorous-looking tree, took off the top and
stuck it firmly in the ground. The next question
was, how could we induce the porky to climb it ?
Apparently there was no question about it so far
as the animal was concerned, he simply refused
point blank, and nothing that we could do had the
slightest effect on his determination. With any
other small creature it would have been an easy
matter to place him exactly where we wished, but
unfortunately one cannot handle these prickly
customers. Finally we tied the perverse beast
to a stout pole, hoisted him up, and when he
grasped the branch we cut the cord, whereupon he
promptly fell to the ground, and we had to repeat
this operation several times before he at last decided
to hold on and the picture was quickly made.
Another illustration required a dug-out canoe.
The man said he knew where there used to be an
old one, which we might be able to find in a certain
The Porcupine, the Man, and the Half Dug-out,
STORY OF A PORCUPINE HUNT 59
tangled swamp. On our way to the place we
found a fine porky sitting asleep on the branch of
a tall spruce. Surely an excellent opportunity for
securing a model with very little trouble. Simply
cut down the tree and we would have him, so
thought we. Porky thought differently, As we
cut, up he went till he reached the topmost
branches. The tree swung slowly as the last strokes
of the axe cut through, then with gradually
increasing speed it heeled over, grazing another
tree as it fell. The porky took advantage of the
situation to scramble off the fallen tree on to
the standing one, and there he’ stayed, smiling, I
imagine, at our discomfiture. To cut down the
second tree was the work of only a few minutes,
and we began, but before half a dozen white chips
had flown from the keen edge of the axe the clever
creature decided that it was moving time, and he
left the vibrating tree and climbed into the branches
of another one. The pursuit was hopeless, so we
gave up and continued our search for the dug-out,
which we eventually discovered in a long aban-
doned beaver canal leading from the swamp to the
lake. When I say we found the dug-out, I should
more properly say we found half of it, for that was
all that remained of the rough-hewn craft. Of
course itwould not float ; we therefore placed it in
very shallow water so that it rested on the bottom,
with the broken end on a tussock, and when we
brought the necessary porcupine the following
morning we were able, with very slight trouble, to
make the picture just as it was described in the
story. The camera was placed so that the broken
60 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
part of the canoe came against the edge of the
plate. We had many other interesting and some-
times tiring experiences before the series of pictures
was completed, and it was with great pleasure that
I sent in the result two days ahead of the appointed
time.
This was probably the first animal story ever
illustrated entirely with the camera in which a
really wild or, I should say, many wild animals were
used and every detail of the described scenes
rendered as accurately as though done with the
brush. Whether the results justify the labour is
a question. Apart from the fact that they give a
touch of realism and so make the story appear
more true, I should be inclined to answer it in the
negative. Such pictures are not easy to procure,
but there is in the making of them an element of
sport which is a reward for all of the hardships,
and further than that it takes one into the woods
where there is unlimited opportunity to learn
something of the great out of doors, where Nature
has always something new to tell us if we will but
use our ears and our eyes. And when at the end of
each day’s work in the woods we roll ourselves up
in our blankets, we sleep—sleep that delicious
refreshing sleep of the kind unknown to the
man who works only in the studio.
BIRDS AND THE CAMERA
CHAPTER IV
BIRDS AND THE CAMERA
Nowapays, when the camera forms a necessary
part of the nature-interviewer’s and pleasure-seeker’s
outfit, no creature, human or otherwise, is safe from
the press-the-button brigade. Nearly every person
who can afford one, and many who cannot, possess
or hope to possess a camera, and with these every
imaginable object, animate or inanimate, is por-
trayed. Comparatively few, however, of the great
army ever direct their energies to the photographing
of birds. It is difficult to account for this lack of
interest in such a fascinating branch of camera
work ; perhaps it is because so few people know or
care for the feathered tribes, while even those who
really do interest themselves in these useful mem-
bers of creation fear the many difficulties to be
met with in bird photography. Not many people
are possessed of a sufficient amount of patience
to watch quietly through the long hot hours of a
summer’s day in the hopes of perhaps securing a
single photograph of a live bird. Without this
patience no one need hope to succeed. True, an
occasional “snapshot” when conditions happen to
be favourable may, and sometimes does, result in
the obtaining of a good picture, but he who would
interview a bird with the camera must be prepared
for endless disappointments; and, should weeks
64 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
pass by and no good photographs be secured, he
must not be discouraged. Birds are somewhat
uncertain in their moods, and years of persecu-
tion by man have had the effect of instilling in
them a very natural feeling of fear and distrust,
which can only be changed by kindness and
patience.
My chapter on the worm-eating warbler and her
family offers a good example of what patience and
fair treatment can accomplish with birds. It must
not be imagined that this comparatively rare bird
would come so near the camera when first we met ;
that would have been expecting too much. Only
after she—for I presume it was a female—had
learned to know me, and realised that I intended no
harm, did she place such confidence in one whom
she had probably considered her natural enemy.
Let one of these warblers be seen by a collector,
and what is its fate? Death, with Science as the
threadbare and usually valueless excuse. Would
that more of the so-called collectors (I do not refer
to those who are really working upon a scientific
basis and with a knowledge of their subject that
enables them to do the good expected of them)
might more often exchange the gun for the camera!
If that could be, photographers as well as the birds
would be the gainers, so that from a selfish stand-
point, if for no other reason, I would recommend
the harmless camera. ‘Take for example the accom-
panying pictures of a family of young crested fly-
catchers. Surely theyare more likely to give pleasure
in this form than if they were a set of the most
perfectly made “skins,” arranged with infinite care
The same Brood ready for Pood.
BIRDS AND THE CAMERA 65
ina fancy cabinet. These fly-catchers I had watched
ever since their arrival into the world. Their
nursery, so carefully made, was placed inside the
dead branch of an old apple tree. With full
consideration for the comfort of the prospective
family of six, the parents had gathered a quantity
of pine needles, and of these entirely was the
actual nest made; a few feathers were added as a
lining that would keep the nestlings warm in their
earliest babyhood.
During the first few days of their lives the
youngsters were by no means objects of beauty ;
rather were they grotesque, with their large heads
and small pinkish bodies, loosely covered with
wrinkled skin, and entirely innocent of feathers or
any other covering whatever. Watching their
extremely rapid growth, I decided that by July 4th
some, if not all of them, would be nearly ready to
be launched out into the great world of many
enemies ; so it was on that day the family posed
for me.
It usually happens that in a brood of birds there
is a weakling, so I was not surprised to find upon
close examination that one of these fly-catchers was
smaller than he really should have been; and not
only was small, but much undeveloped. While the
others were almost able to fly, he could not even
keep his balance, so for that reason I was unable to
place him on the apple branch that formed the perch
for his brothers and sisters. They were strong and
well developed, but of unmanageable dispositions.
Though perfectly able to sit on the branch, it was
a long while before I could induce them to do so.
W.L.C. F
66 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
One in particular aggravated me beyond words.
Instead of using his feet for what nature intended
them, he insisted on clutching tightly hold of his
wings, as though that were of the slightest use. If I
disengaged the unruly members and placed his toes
as they should be—around the branch—he would
roll off, either backward or forward, exactly as a
mounted bird would do if the leg wires were not
secured. For fully fifteen minutes this perform-
ance was kept up, varied only in its tiresome
monotony by the other four nestlings. Every little
while they would simultaneously follow the bad
example of the little scamp—who, by the way, was
about the largest and strongest of the brood—and
with one accord, as though they had been released
from their support by the pressing of an electric
button, they would all drop off.
It is quite probable that most people who were
so unfortunate as to have been anywhere in
the vicinity of New York will remember with
unpleasant distinctness the heat of the national
holiday—July 4th, 1900. In the apple orchard
where the fly-catchers had their nest, and which was
in a hollow entirely surrounded by hills, the heat
was intense, for the breezes did not venture near.
On the higher ground the trees might be seen
lazily waving their topmost branches, as though
wishing to inform the world of the fact that up
there, at least, the soft summer winds deigned to
live; and I devoutly wished my friends the fly-
catchers had not chosen for their nestling place
this orchard, which seemed as though it had been
transplanted from the tropics.
BIRDS AND THE CAMERA 67
With the perspiration dripping from every pore,
and the horse-flies trying persistently to make their
dinner off my neck, is it to be wondered at that my
stock of patience was soon nearly exhausted? Yet
there was something decidedly amusing in the beha-
viour of my little models, their peculiar objection to
the business of posing and the aggravating manner
in which they expressed their disapproval of the
whole proceeding. Many times I would succeed in
putting three or even four on. And then, just as I
was picking up the last of the unruly crew, the first
and then the second would fall limply to the ground.
When these were restored to their perch the others
would drop off one by one. It really was quite
enough to try the patience of a saint. Suddenly, and
with no apparent reason, the young rascals became
possessed of a better spirit, and sat as quiet as models
should. I was greatly relieved at this welcome
change, but how was it to be accounted for?
Apparently the conditions had not altered, so I was
forced to believe that a note, which one of the parents
had just uttered, was a command to the young ;
perhaps he had discovered that I meant no harm,
and therefore wished his children to behave them-
selves. Whatever was the cause I was thankful
for it, and immediately arranged the camera, so that
in a few minutes all the Masters and Misses Fly-
catcher were secured by the dry plate ready to be
handed down to, we hope, an admiring posterity.
No sooner had I made the exposure, than Mrs.
Fly-catcher arrived ; till then she had not shown
very much anxiety for her youngsters, but now she
appeared with some kind of insect in her capacious
F 2
68 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
beak, and with a peculiar note she conveyed to the
little ones the news that there was food near by.
It is quite in accordance with the rules and
regulations of bird life that when food is brought
to the nest, each member of the hungry (and to be
a young bird is to be hungry) family shall open his
or her beak to its greatest extent. When there are
six such mouths open, and each head, held on high,
trembles violently in pleasurable anticipation of the
hoped-for morsel, we cannot help wondering how
by any possibility the parent bird can decide which
shall have the food. She appears, however, to waste
no time in considering the difficult problem, but
instantly drops the insect, or whatever it may be,
into one of the many mouths. Then, after remaining
for a few seconds to see that the nursery is as clean
as it should be, she hurries away in quest of a further
supply of food.
Now the five young birds before me understood
full well the significance of their mother’s call, and
one after another they opened their mouths, but in
a half-hearted way that was most ridiculous.
Evidently they realised the fact that things were
not quite as they should have been, and that
perhaps, after all, they were not going to befed. At
any rate it was better to be fully prepared, and so
it was that, as each one sat with a silly expression on
his face and his beak partly open, I made the
picture of which the accompanying is a reproduc-
tion. After taking another photograph, showing
the entire brood on the stump that contained their
cozy home, I left them in possession of the orchard,
and sought for myself a place where the breezes
“GAO 5 2 ke
sMorreda surddty; jo ATIUIB,T B FO ssoneMIVy, siLJ,
Ud
BIRDS AND THE CAMERA 69
blew, there to rest from the arduous, though
interesting, labour of photographing recalcitrant
fly-catchers under the direct rays of the hot July sun.
On such a trying day the open fields and scrub
lands offered but slight inducement for bird hunting,
and so I chose by preference the woods and thickets
that bordered the stream.
It was a likely place for birds, but the heat was
great, and I wandered in that aimless way which
seldom leads to finding anything. Here and there
beneath the kindly shadow of a heavily foliaged tree
I noticed birds, but they showed little animation,
and sat quietly with beaks open as though gasping
for breath. Birds suffer greatly from heat, so that
on days when the temperature is high they move
about but little, excepting during the earlier and
later hours of the day, preferrmg rather some
secluded and shady place where they may rest
undisturbed during the hours of the greatest heat.
Not finding anything new, I remembered the
beautiful basket-like nest of the Red-eyed Vireo, in
which, but twelve days ago, [ had seen two eggs
and two tiny naked bodies that had so recently left
the cramped quarters of their imprisoning shell.
Probably by now they would have abandoned their
nest and be hiding in the dense tangle of vines
that grew beneath the hanging cradle. It would
be difficult to find them, but fortune is often kind,
and I would try her once more.
The nest as I drew near bore the semblance of a
deserted house, and indeed it proved to be empty,
but even in its emptiness it was an object of
interest. I noticed for the first time that it was
70 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
largely composed of strips of the paper hornet’s
nest. These were held in place by numerous
threads of caterpillar silk and decorated with tufts
of white material, probably cocoons’ or spiders’
nests. The entire structure was wonderfully
fashioned and was a good example of the extra-
ordinary skill of the little architects. While I was
examining all these exquisite details, my attention
was attracted by a bird-like sound in the thicket
near by. Was it the note of a young bird? I waited
anxiously for a repetition of the sound. For a few
minutes all was quiet, only a wood-thrush sang its
rich, sad song, and in the distance a woodpecker
tapped the trunk of a dead tree. Then another
sound came from the undergrowth, only the faint
peep-peep of a young bird, but it delighted me, for
on a careful approach, among the leaves I discovered,
sitting there on the lower branch of the silky
cornel, one of the most beautiful young birds I
have ever met, fit indeed to have been cradled in
the marvellous nest I had been admiring, for it was
a young Red-eyed Vireo—twelve days old—the age
when its beauty is more conspicuous than at any
other period of its life.
There was no gaudy colouring to this little ball
of fluff that it did not need. Nothing could
enhance the beauty of this softly coloured bird ;
almost might it be called a living symphony in
grey, for the breast was very pale grey, pearly in
its extreme delicacy; the head was of various
shades of soft grey, while the back was of a
delicate grey or olive-green that harmonised most
perfectly with the other subtle shades.
Young Red-eyed Vireo.
BIRDS AND THE CAMERA 71
As a rule, when young birds are discovered
shortly after they have left the nest, they first of
all sit absolutely still with beak pointed upwards,
and think themselves unseen. As soon, however,
as they know they have been detected, they drop
down among the leaves and undergrowth and are
instantly lost to view. My little friend followed
no such line of action. The moment I placed my
finger near him, he hopped on to it in a most
confiding manner. He seemed quite tame and
rather tired, and I imagined he had been having
his first lesson in flying and was therefore exhausted.
Whatever may have been the cause I know not,
but it was not very long before he nestled himself
down, and gradually closing his eyes, went fast
asleep, quite regardless of his strange perch. In
this way he remained until a call from one of his
parents awakened him; he carefully stretched his
small self and then looked about him, with an
expression of “ Where am I?”
Fearing lest he should become too lively, I
replaced him on his natural perch and made ready
the camera. His wakefulness was, however, only
temporary, and before I had made a third exposure
he was fast asleep again. SoI left the sleeping atom
to be watched over by those who, for but a few
short weeks, would be his instructors and guardians,
and went to pay a visit to an ovenbird whose beauti-
ful dome-shaped nest was hidden among the dead
leaves in the woods near by. She was at home
when I called, so I decided to photograph her.
Unfortunately the roof of the arched nest cut off
the light so that under existing circumstances a
72 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
good picture could scarcely be hoped for. A small
looking-glass, however, served to alter things, by
throwing the sunlight into the nest, so that only a
very short exposure was necessary.
My mind was fully made up to make the further
acquaintance of this little thrush-like warbler after
the arrival of her brood, for it is only then that one
can really get to know a bird. The day arrived, and
the four little trembling pink bodies had taken the
place of the speckled eggs. They were too small to
photograph then, so I left them for two days and
then made one photograph, thinking that later on, as
they grew stronger, I should be able to photograph
them at different stages of their growth. But this
was not to be. As I approached the domed
nursery I was greeted by the pitiful complaining
note of the pair of ovenbirds. This was not the
way in which they usually greeted me. I feared
the worst, and my fears were realised. In place of
the nest there was only a tangled and shattered
heap of weed stems and dry leaves—the materials
that but a few hours before had constituted a
beautiful example of bird architecture. In the
soft earth, within thirty inches of the ruins, was the
print of a cat’s foot. Sick at heart, I left the
scene of misery and desolation, vowing an awful
vengeance against cats in general.
“ BLUEY ”
CHAPTER V
‘“ BLUEY ”: * A TRUE STORY OF THE VERY BEST
PET BIRD
THE scene was laid in an abandoned apple
orchard, situated in a snug little valley, surrounded
on all but the southern side by heavily timbered
hills; these kept constant guard, ever ready to
check the advance of the cold north wind, that
enemy of the spring vegetation. Here it was that
the sun’s rays were held captive during the many
hours of the steadily lengthening days, so that birds
flocked in great numbers, in quest of the many
insects that were brought to life by the generous
warmth ; here also the first buds were to be found.
They peeped out as though frightened, and the
birds took advantage of these delicacies and ate
liberally of the supply so easily procured.
With one exception all the birds were spending
the long, bright days (many celebrating their return
from Southern quarters) in flying about, singing,
and enjoying the Heaven-sent sunshine of spring—
the power that was coaxing the leaves from their
protecting sheaths, to clothe the woods once more
in a rich green covering, the covering that must
protect the more delicate flowers from the scorching
heat of the midsummer sun.
All nature seemed to be rejoicing in the death of
* Never published before.
76 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
winter with its hard, relentless fury, that had smitten
the woods and hedgerows as though with a poison
breath, and bared all trees save the sturdy ever-
greens, alone able to withstand its furious onslaught
without striking their colours.
It was the middle of April. Here and there in
the woods, where the sun’s rays had not yet
penetrated, might be found small patches of snow,
the gravestones of the departed winter ; near these
the bloodroot, white as though born of the melting
snow, lifted its leaf-encircled stem, and the Dutch-
man’s breeches, with its lace-like leaf and rows of
queer little nodding flowers, sprang from the rich,
leafy mould. These, with the many tinted hepatica,
whose hardy leaves withstand the coldest winter,
were the harbingers of spring, sharing together the
honour of announcing to other plants that ‘twas
time to rise and make ready, for the season was
advancing, and the country must be decorated for
the coming gala months so near at hand.
Among the birds who came to the old apple
orchard so sheltered from the wintry fierceness of
the north winds that insects hatched out earliest
here and the buds first opened and offered delicious
morsels to the Bluebirds, were the many visitors who
would tarry but a few short days before once more
resuming the journey to their northern breeding
grounds. From these they would return in a few
months, accompanied by one or more broods of fully
grown youngsters all joining in the great procession
that would later on be journeying southward—when
the nights began to be cold, and the trees (by
changing their dress from green to colours that
“ BLUEY ” 77
in their brilliancy and variety would outrival the
tints of the setting sun) began to give warning
that autumn had come, and cold weather might
soon be expected.
While many of the birds, as we have already
noticed, were only visitors, by far the greater
number were old friends that had come once more
to build their nests, rear their young, and fill the
woodlands with song. What would the woods be
without the soft melody of the feathered choristers ?
The early morning and the evening, too, would be
robbed of their greatest charm.
Notwithstanding all the attractions offered by
nature in such profusion, at this, her happiest
season, Mrs. Bluebird, who had taken up her
quarters in a soft nest of grass snugly arranged in
a dark warm cavity in the dead branch of an apple
tree, now sat there true to her trust day after day,
imparting her life-impelling warmth to her five pale
green treasures, smooth and round and more precious
than the richest jewels. For nearly two long weeks
sat this expectant mother, a model of patience and
constancy, never for a moment leaving her charge
except when it became necessary to satisfy her
hunger. No less constant was her mate, who kept
his watch near by and sang soft love songs to his
patient little wife. He too was awaiting the time
when the longed-for young would emerge from
their shells. The great day came at last, the day
of days. The soft winds of spring murmured as
they carried the sweet perfume of the early flowers
through the orchard. Mrs. Bluebird felt a delicate
trembling sensation beneath her feathered breast,
78 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
an egg moved, a tiny atom had outgrown its con-
fining shell, its bill already protruded when the
mother glanced among the feathers to see that all
was progressing favourably. Who shall say what
were her sensations when she saw that first sign of
life, the reward of her long vigil to which she had
been so untiringly faithful? Can we ask whether
she realised what was happening, this great mystery
of life which was being enacted in that branch of
the apple tree ? Did she take it all as a matter of
course, just an episode in the day’s work? Perhaps
so, but it was none the less important to the new
mother. Should you doubt this statement, call to
mind, if you can, seeing a bird interrupted at this
crisis, what anguish is displayed, actually heart-
rending in its pitiful intensity, and doubt if you will
whether or not there is an appreciation of the over-
whelming importance of this family event. Even
after the young are partly grown the parents have
their welfare so deeply at heart that they will risk,
yes, and even court disaster to themselves rather
than allow any harm to befall the precious young-
sters. What is more pathetic than the bird that
pretends to be disabled in order to coax the
intruder to follow her, that her young may have
time and opportunity to hide themselves. With
seemingly broken wings or broken legs dragging
painfully behind her she flutters along a few yards
ahead of the pursuer, until in some unknown way
she is assured that her young are in safety. Then
what a change! Off she flies and is soon lost
to view. All of this demonstrates how seriously
birds regard the responsibilities of parentage. Let
“ BLUEY ” 719
us peep into the Bluebirds’ nest as one by one the
eggs open.
For many days these tiny creatures will have
but two ideas, eating and sleeping. These to them
represent life, and they respond with wonderful
rapidity to their inspiration. Now that the hatch-
ing has come at last, great indeed is the excitement
while the industrious parents keep up a steady
search for insects with which to feed their ever
hungry brood. With the first light of day they are
out, searching diligently for the early insects in the
dew-laden grass, and not until long after the sun
has disappeared behind the western hill do the
hungry youngsters stop crying for food.
At first the fledglings were anything but beauti-
ful—small, fat, shapeless, naked bodies with long
slender necks, and heads so much too large, and
with closed eyes that but added to their grotesque
appearance. At the slightest sound all their heads
would be instantly elevated, and with sundry
squeaks their mouths would open so wide that it
looked as if they could swallow themselves. If no
food was forthcoming, the heads, after swaying
unsteadily for a few moments, would one by one
drop, and once more form part of that hot, heaving,
shapeless mass. Rapidly these youngsters grew,
assuming shape and gathering strength; feathers,
too, began to appear, and by the time they were a
few days old their eyes were open, and the naked
bodies were partly clothed. It does not take long
for young birds to attain their full size; each day
makes a difference in their appearance that must be
seen to be realised. What pleasure must the change
Laboratory of Oriitholouy
159 Sapsucker Woods Road
Cornell University
Ithaca, New York 14850
80 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
have given to Mrs. Bluebird! How proud of her
family must she have been! That is, if we can judge
the bird’s point of view from what our own would
be under similar conditions. Perhaps to do so is
entirely wrong. And yet, after close study of birds
and animals one is forced to realise that the differ-
ence between theirs and human characteristics is
not so great as many would suppose. For, jealousy,
individual likes and dislikes, selfishness, generosity,
the sense of common responsibility—all of these
are to be found in even the smallest of birds.
It was on the fourteenth day that two of the brood,
being somewhat stronger and larger than their
companions, climbed to the entrance of the nest
and took a general survey of the surroundings.
What thoughts were theirs as they saw for the first
time the beauty of the great world! They balanced
themselves with considerable uncertainty, standing
with much of their weight on the tarsus (heel), for
their feet were still very weak, but owing to the
extreme sharpness of their toe-nails, they were able
to hold securely to the rough bark.
It was at this time that we came into the story.
While strolling through the orchard in search of
material for bird photographs and study, we saw
the two young birds at the entrance of their nest.
Here was the chance I had been looking for—a
young Bluebird that could be pictured periodically
to show its growth and development. The fact
was very evident that if we wanted one of this
brood for a pet, and an object for study, there was
no time to lose, for within a few hours they would
all be leaving the nest ; accordingly we selected one
“ BLUEY ” 81
that seemed tame and tractable, and carried him
home that very day. The parents did not appear
to notice the theft, for the kidnapped bird uttered
no sound as we carried him off.
From the very beginning he bore promise of
having a somewhat unusual disposition; tame,
confiding, affectionate and full of little tricks that
were an endless source of pleasure to us all.
Knowing what his colour would be in the near
future, though at present he was spotted with tints
of bluish gray, we by common consent bestowed
the name of “ Bluey ” on our pet, and it was not
long before he feathered himself to suit his name.
Of course all young birds require feeding by
hand until after they reach their full size, and
Bluey was no exception to the rule, but, unlike
other fledglings, he was by no means content to
sit on his perch and be fed in the regular way.
He demanded far more attention and, if you
please, must needs have a person’s finger upon
which to stand, while he received mouthful after
mouthful of mashed potato and egg. The quantity
he ate was out of all proportion to his diminutive
size ; in less than two days he would consume an
amount of food about equal to his own bulk. As
he grew older less food would satisfy him, but still
his appetite remained most excellent.
Looked at from the standpoint of an orthodox
cage bird, Bluey, during the first few months,
could not be considered a success; in fact, he
objected thoroughly to being confined to a cage,
and fought continually; this, however, was our
own fault, as we allowed him so much freedom
W.L.C. G
82 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
that he was a regular spoiled child. His cage,
with several others, was hung in a large wire
enclosure, and of this domain Bluey considered
himself absolute monarch; he would go into his
cage only for food and water, or to drive out some
intruder, for he was cock-of-the-walk, and the other
birds gave way to him, even those that were larger
and stronger; Fluff and She, the pair of rose-
breasted Grosbeaks, were frightened into a state
of abject terror when Bluey threatened them, and
this he did quite frequently, seeming to enjoy their
complete discomfiture. Any attention which we
might pay to other birds called forth an angry
remonstrance from this little autocrat. He even
objected to any bird sitting on one’s shoulder—
a perch he considered his own right and privilege,
and one that he fully intended no other bird should
share.
At times it became necessary to shut him in
his cage, and he would then content himself for a
few moments by giving vent to his displeasure in
repeated calls—sharp, impatient notes that always
showed his lordship was angry. If no one paid
attention to him, cage fighting would begin, and
he would bang his head against the wires. It was
not long before he had torn out all the forehead
feathers, and with his little bald head he was not
an object of beauty. After taking a bath, which
he did once or twice each day, his appearance was
positively ludicrous. His mind, however, was far
above such things as personal looks, and he became
more and more affectionate and companionable,
always happy if only allowed to nestle snugly in
“ BLUEY ” 83
a person’s partly closed hand. Then he would go
to sleep as peacefully as a child in its mother’s arms,
uttering a peculiar little chirp as he cozied himself
into a comfortable position. He was very particular
never to sit in a hand except with his head towards
the fingers; occasionally by mistake he got in
facing the wrist, but he would immediately hop out,
and, turning round, assume his regular position.
When in a particularly affectionate mood he liked
to rub his beak repeatedly on one’s fingers, before
going to sleep. This seemed to be a mark of
endearment, somewhat after the manner in which
a dog rubs his nose against his master’s hand. It
must be an unusual habit, for in all my experience
with small birds I have known of no similar case.
At times, but by no means often, Bluey per-
formed a little trick that was as remarkable as it
was beautiful. Ifone of us held up a hand (and
no stranger need apply) and called him by name,
he would immediately fly down, and after hovering
for some seconds, singing the while, alight and rub
his bill several times, usually on the first finger.
It was noticeable that he always perched so as to
face the fingers, and never, even by accident,
departed from this rule. Why this should be was
a constant source of speculation, and one that I
fear must for ever remain among the many
mysteries of bird-life. We try, generally in vain,
to discover the reasons for the actions of birds, but
it is difficult, as we have but our own experiences
to go by, and, while birds do most undoubtedly
think, they probably do so in a totally different
manner from ourselves. When Bluey saw his bath
G 2
84 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
being made ready he knew perfectly well what it
meant, for he would sit on my sleeve as soon as the
large glass tray was taken, and there wait while it
was washed and filled with water. The moment it
was full of clean water, and even before it was
placed on the ground, he would jump in and
immediately splash the water in all directions—for
he bathed most vigorously, so much so, indeed, that
at frequent intervals he had to pause to regain his
breath. Our other birds seemed more or less
suspicious of the bath, hopping round about it in an
undecided manner and getting in and out in a way
most aggravating to us who had taken the trouble
to give them the pleasure. One bird will never
take his bath in the presence of an onlooker, while
another always requires to be sprinkled before he
ventures in. But then Bluey had more sense than
any bird 1 have ever known; he seemed almost
human as he looked into one’s eyes, as though he
could read one’s very thoughts. When called by
name he always answered with a chirp, and when a
certain note was whistled he knew full well that it
was to him we called, and he would reply with a
short song of four or five notes, accompanied by a
quick flapping of one wing.
That Bluey had within him a soul for music
there can be no doubt. The piano in particular
appealed to him, for whenever it was played he
would sit either on the top of the instrument, on
the keys, or sometimes on the arm of the player.
No amount of banging disconcerted him. There
he sat, with feet widespread and head tilted
slightly to one side, as though in thorough
“BLUEY ” 85
enjoyment of the music. We were never able to
discover whether he had a preference for any
particular class of music—Wagner or Mendelssohn
or ragtime seemed to suit him equally well.
All birds are more or less observant, and Bluey,
being highly developed, noticed most things. Any
unusual change in the dress of those he knew was
instantly observed and carefully scrutinised ; even
a necktie of unusual colour required investigation,
while the wearing of a thimble, or a glove, might
and usually did arouse suspicion, and he would not
venture near the hand thus adorned. Many birds
object seriously to any shades of red, but Bluey, so
far as we know, had no such prejudices.
During the summer, when kept in the large
wire enclosure, it often happened, through the door
being inadvertently left open, that Bluey would
get out; but so tame was he, that after a short fly
about the grounds—where the wild birds chased
him, according to their usual habit when a cage
bird escapes—he would return to any one he knew.
As summer drew to a close (the end of August)
Bluey moulted ; his spots, which were the signs of
his youth, disappeared, and in their place came a
fine coat of feathers coloured and patterned like the
mature Bluebird. The blue on the head and back
was at first bright in colour, but as the year waned
there appeared rusty edgings to the feathers,
and these somewhat marred the beauty of the blue.
His throat, breast, and sides were coloured like
terra-cotta, which bordered on the white of the
under parts.
Towards the end of autumn we had a severe
86 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
fright on our pet’s account, and that day will be
ever memorable to us, for we thought the end
had come. Bluey’s death would have been a real
blow, for he had so endeared himself to every
member of the family that the loss would have
been well nigh irreparable. What had happened
no one at the time knew, but Bluey was found on
the ground, limp and dazed, apparently in a dying
condition. At first we thought he had struck
himself against something, and that he was
stunned. A little diluted whisky was adminis-
tered, and he gradually recovered, but for some
hours he remained very quiet, sleeping peacefully
in the hand of his mistress. When night came,
and it was time for him to go to roost, it was with
great difficulty he was induced to leave her hand,
for he clung to it, as though disliking the idea of
being alone.
The following day Bluey seemed to have quite
recovered, and he was, as usual, allowed the freedom
of the house. It was not long before he repeated
the performance of the previous day: while in the
act of flying, he dropped down in a fit, and again
we thought him dying, for he lay on his back with
feet upturned and beak wide open, gasping for
breath, his eyes shut. Lifting him gently, we
tried to do something; but we soon gave up all
hope of his recovery. After a little while, how-
ever, his little heart began beating with greater
strength ; he opened his eyes, and to our great
relief and astonishment he yawned, shook his
feathers, nestled in my hand, and went fast asleep.
The next day passed and he seemed perfectly
“BLUEY ” 87
well, and we congratulated ourselves upon what
seemed to be his complete recovery. But our hearts
sank when during the following morning the poor
little chap had two further attacks. In despair we
consulted a bird fancier, who told us that it was no
uncommon occurrence with soft-billed birds. This
was some small consolation, but the remedy recom-
mended did not at allappeal to us. Rush of blood
to the head was, he said, the cause, and the cure
was to let out some blood by cutting the toe.
Needless to say this was an operation the per-
formance of which we dreaded, but then Bluey
must be cured at any cost, and if this was necessary,
as the bird man declared, it must be done—and
done it was the very next day. The patient did
not seem to object at all at the time, although the
next day his foot was slightly inflamed. To us the
most painful part was that he was not cured, for
on both the following days he had fits, proving
absolutely that the operation had been in vain. In
giving these unpleasant details, it is with the hope
that if any one reads these pages, and chances to
have a pet bird that is subject to fits, he, or she, will
not adopt the above method in trying to effect a cure.
We next tried giving Bluey a complete change
of diet; hitherto he had had moist “ mockingbird
food,” which is very rich; now we tried the dry
preparation freely mixed with grated carrot, and
from that day he was perfectly well and happy, to
the infinite relief of all his friends, for he was
looked upon quite as a member of the family.
For some months all went well. Bluey was
himself again, a healthy, affectionate, and lovable
88 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
hird, but another mishap was in store, and it was
one that very nearly proved fatal. He had been
allowed the free run of the house, and spent his
time in flying about from room to room, investi-
gating everything, devouring any stray flies,
crawling in each nook and cranny and nestling
for a few moments in places that were to his fancy,
—and no one could tell what places he might
choose. Those that had been most carefully arranged
with special reference to his supposed wants were so
entirely ignored that we came to the conclusion that
we understood not his whims and fancies. But this
capriciousness had nothing to do with the accident
that occurred when he was flying through the hall
one morning, with the evident intention of joining
us at the breakfast table. Someone banged the door
just as Bluey was about to enter ; he was struck in
mid-air and uttered such a piercing cry that we all
thought he had been killed. By sheer good luck,
however, the door had only bruised the side of his
head, thereby changing its shape completely and
distorting his beak, so that his whole appearance was
altered. For many days he kept very quiet, neither
singing nor caring to be petted; but gradually the
swelling went down as weeks passed by, and his head
resumed its natural size and shape. The result of
the accident was shown by his no longer being able
to snap his bill (the points not coming quite together)
as he used to do when eating. He took his food
quietly ; even a fly would be caught without the loud
snap so characteristic of the bluebird when feeding.
Bluebirds being almost entirely insectivorous, we
had to keep Bluey well supplied with various kinds
“«“BLUEY” 89
of insects. Flies, grasshoppers, beetles, and small
moths seemed to be most in demand. Flies he
would catch with wonderful dexterity. They were
swallowed instantly, often before being killed.
Grasshoppers we caught and let loose in the
enclosure, and it was extremely interesting to
watch the systematic way in which he went about
the work of eating them. If several were let loose
at once, he would instantly pounce down on them,
and deliberately kill one after another by ham-
mering them with his beak. When quite satisfied
that they were all hors de combat, he would shake
off the legs of each one in turn and swallow the
bodies, each at a gulp. Finally he would gather
up and eat all the legs; not one would escape his
keen eye. The number of grasshoppers he could
devour at a meal was out of all proportion to
his size. I have known no less than eight to
disappear down that beautiful throat within a few
minutes.
His method of disposing of a large number of
hopping insects shows a great amount of reasoning
power (though birds are not supposed to reason).
He knew full well that were they not all killed in
the shortest possible time some would surely escape.
Curiously enough this was not the result of long
experience, for when he was but a few weeks old we
gave him several grasshoppers, and when he saw their
powers of jumping, he then and there made up his
mind they would get away ifnot immediately killed ;
and he promptly proceeded to kill.
Two years after Bluey’s arrival we moved to
a house that we had built near a delightful
909 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
little village fifty miles from New York. It was in
April, when the bluebirds had just arrived from
their southern winter trip. As usual Bluey was
allowed his freedom, and greatly did he enjoy flying
about the apple orchard, searching with his keen
eyes for insects which were to his taste. One day
while on an outing he met a little Miss Bluebird.
Need more be said? When we called him he simply
laughed at us, laughed and scolded as he sat with his
bride on the roof of an old barn. There was nothing
for us to do but submit to the inevitable. Love had
conquered, as it always will, and so we lost our pet—
the dearest of little companions whose song had so
often cheered us and whose delightful ways had
been a constant source of pleasure during the two
years he had been with us.
P.S.—Nearly a year has gone by since the fore-
going was written. A strange thing has happened.
In a bird box fastened outside my studio a pair of
bluebirds have taken up their quarters. While
watching them as they sat on the branch of a dog-
wood tree that grew near by I called as I used to
call Bluey. To my surprise there came the
familiar reply and the fluttering of the wing.
Was it our old pet? I believe so, for surely no
other bird would have answered as he did. For
two summers he stayed with us, and whenever I
called he would nearly always answer, but we were
less to him than his mate. He had tasted freedom,
and he liked it better than the restriction we had
imposed on his wilful spirit. He was living the
life for which he was made, and we could not find
it in our hearts to quarrel with his choice,
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS
CHAPTER VI
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS *
A true account of an experience with a chicadee family.
CHICADEE, chicadee, chicadee-dee-dee came from
among the branches of the swaying silver birch.
The same note was echoed from another tree near
by. This was in the woods where the ground was
dark and damp from the rains of early spring, there
was as yet but scanty vegetation, which might be
seen trying to force its way through the thickly
matted leaves of the year that had gone for ever.
The ground was so entirely covered with these
reminders of the departed year that one wondered
whether this budding spring would have the
power to hide the numerous dying skeletons. The
trees were in all the tender glory of their new green
covering, each one vying with its neighbour in its
effort to shade the ground, and to keep the ever-
increasing heat of the sun from burning the delicate
plants that were coming into life in the soil formed
by endless years of dying leaves. In all things was
the inevitable sign of life. The birds’ songs filled
the air to the accompaniment of the soft rustling of
the leaves.
Again came the sweet call of the chicadee, with
the tenderest of answers—“ Dee-dee’’—and through
the interlacing branches flew a small ball of black,
* First published in Hverybody’s Magazine.
94 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
white, and grey, that perched here and there on
the twigs until he came to his mate. They were
as alike as two peas in a pod, yet from their actions
one could tell, without question, which was which.
The one demanded instant waiting on and
attention ; that was Mrs. Chicadee. The other
attended to her every want, and this was Mr.
Chicadee. They had evidently been mated for but a
short time, for as yet no nest had been built, but
then the year was young and there was ample time,
so why hurry? Already other birds had young,
some were even building their second nest, but were
they any better off for all that hurry? Some had
had their nests destroyed by the frequent rains, and
the chicadees, perhaps, wondered why these birds
persisted in building their nests on the ground when
the woods were full of trees in which holes of almost
any size might be found; and was not a hole in a
tree a much safer and more comfortable place for a
home than a nest on the ground, no matter how
well it might be built? So thought the chicadees
as they busied themselves hunting among the
many partly decayed birch trees, searching for a
suitable hole. At last one was found that appeared
to answer all the requirements of our house-
hunting couple. Perhaps it had not “ all modern
improvements,” but what care birds for such things ?
Enough that the entrance was of the proper size
(about two and a half inches in diameter) and inside,
with a very little excavating, there would be room
for the expected family of seven. The hole was
rather deep, running down from the entrance
nearly eighteen inches, but by the time the nest
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 95
was built it would be about right. Also the stump
was a trifle low, being not more than four and a
half feet high, but it is better not to be too
particular: he who would search until he finds
perfection dies while he is yet searching.
As arule no bird likes to build its nest while a
human being looks on, for well do they know by
past experience, that is but too sad, what danger
lurks in the human form. How many tales of
desolation and misery could they tell if speech was
in their power ; tales of hopes blasted at the moment
when all seemed most promising, of wholesale death,
of entire families wiped out by the thoughtless act of
some human creature. Surely is it safer to have little
trust and faith in both man and beast. The man
will destroy without object or reason, while the beast
at least has the excuse that he does so for food! It
was, therefore, a surprise to me when Chicadee and
his mate began their building operations. After
hopping about on the thinly-leaved bushes, and
occasionally coming within a few feet of my head,
always replying to the call note that I whistled
by way of an introduction, they set to work.
“ Dee-dee” I had called, and “ chicadee-dee-dee ”
was the answer.
So we were introduced, and they might now get
to work, for there was much to be done and only four
short days before the first egg would be laid, and a
fitting nest must at all costs be made ready. The
sky was clouding over and there was the possibility
of rain, which would delay the nest-building, as by
making the materials wet it would unfit them for a
Chicadee’s nest, that should above all things be
96 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
dry. Sothe pair began work, and to watch them
was a pleasure that cannot be expressed in words.
Such devotion, such patience, such untiring energy,
and withal such intelligence, would have com-
manded the respect and attention of even the most
cold-hearted and indifferent person who claims
to care for nothing in nature besides man and
his works. Many birds have I had the good
fortune to watch during their nest building, some-
times surreptitiously and sometimes openly, but
never was I impressed as I was by the Chicadees.
Evidently moss was considered a most excellent
material with which to lay the foundation of the
nest. So Dee-dee, as I call Mrs. Chicadee (for it
was in that way she so often replied to her mate),
flew to the foot of a partly dead maple tree, whose
exposed roots were well covered with a thick coat
of short, curly and nearly dry moss. Then with
her entire energy and strength she commenced
gathering pieces of the moss in her tiny beak.
When she had as much as she could carry, she flew
to the nest hole, and, without hesitation, dis-
appeared through the entrance, to reappear after a
few moments, when she flew directly to the moss-
covered roots and once more began gathering
material. Just then Chicadee (her mate), who had
been absent for some minutes, arrived, carrying in his
beak a small greenish caterpillar. Seeing his mate he
called, ‘“‘ Chicadee, chicadee-dee-dee.” ‘ Dee-dee,”
in the softest of tones, came from the bird at the
foot of the partly dead maple, and he flew down
to tell her that he had brought food. She already
had several tufts of moss in her beak, and could not
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 97
therefore accept the proffered morsel, rather must
she continue her work, for the clouds were gathering
in dark masses that promised at least a heavy
shower when her moss-gathering must cease. In
vain did Chicadee coax ; it was all to no purpose !
she must work. Her beak full, she flew to the nest,
remained there as before a few minutes and then
reappeared. This was Chicadee’s opportunity, and
he hurried to her before she had a chance to gather
any more of the much desired moss. With the
most delicate manner imaginable he once more
offered the dainty morsel, and she accepted it with
a graceful flutter, just as a young girl might on
accepting a gift from her lover.
So many writers and others criticise in a severe
manner the growing tendency towards seeing, or
making believe to see, habits in birds that bear re-
semblance to our own. In other words, they object
to what they call the Awman side of birds. They
consider the claim for it absurd, without foundation,
and existing only in minds inclined towards senti-
mentality. That the tendency may, like all tenden-
cies, be carried too far, beyond the bounds of reason,
is quite true, but, Mr. Critic, have you ever observed
birds, whether at large or in captivity? If so, you
must surely have little powers of observation, or
perhaps you see through the spectacles of prejudice,
for otherwise you could scarcely fail to find in birds
counterparts of both our faults and our better
qualities. Jealousy is nearly as strong in birds as
it is with us, and we find it shown in exactly the
same ways. Anger, good-nature, suspicion, confi-
dence, constancy, inconstancy, hatred, love, selfish-
W.L.C. H
98 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
ness, generosity, all these we see in the most
humble of birds. There are, in fact, but few traits
in man’s character that have not their counterpart
in birds, and yet you object to what you term with
derision “the human side of birds.”
Watch birds during the spring season, and see
how the male bird tries by every way in his power to
make himself attractive to the object of his affec-
tions. If occasion demands—and frequently he
will search diligently for an occasion—he deems it
his duty to fight, and thus show off his superior
power and strength, just as in the days gone by,
men, dressed in all the finery of knighthood, threw
down the glove and fought for the maid, whose
hand they hoped to win. Watch the male bird’s
gentleness and gallantry as he offers his partner
any chance tit-bit that he may find, and notice well
that seldom, if ever, does the one of the gentler
sex make any advance. Perhaps you may call
attention to the fact that, with birds as with
animals, it is the male that has the greater beauty.
It is he who makes the show and display. Quite
true, but it is not so very long ago that with the
human race it was the man who used to adorn his
person and endeavour to make himself an object of
beauty, and the woman that lacked the adornments.
You will still find it so among some of the bar-
barous tribes. There must be reason for the male
bird having the fine colours; were the female as
conspicuous as the male she would be in greater
danger from her enemies, especially during the
period of incubation. This alone would be suffi-
cient reason for her more quiet dress. But to
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 99
return to our Chicadees. No sooner had Dee-dee
swallowed the morsel of food and wiped her beak
on a twig, than she began again to gather moss,
while her attentive mate, after watching her in an
admiring way for a few seconds, flew off in search
of further dainties for her who worked so hard.
Throughout the two hours or more before the rain
came he would continually bring caterpillars and
other delicacies and, when he found her busy,
would with admirable patience wait near by until
she was at liberty to accept them. Never once did
he eat the food, even though at times she kept him
waiting as much as five minutes while she gathered
moss and arranged it to her satisfaction in the dark
hollow of the stump.
At the end of these two hours, large drops of rain
fell, gently at first, then gradually faster and faster,
until from each green leaf the drops hung like clear
round crystals, that were shaken off whenever the
cooling breezes passed by and moved the gem-laden
branches. It was no time for nest building, and
Chicadee and his mate flew off among the trees and
were immediately lost to view. The next day was
bright and clear after the rain, and the Chicadees
had resumed their interrupted labour long before I
arrived. More moss had been gathered and placed
in the hollow of the decayed birch stump, and on
the top of the moss was placed a thick layer of a
strange material, nothing less than the silver grey
hair of the *possum,* stolen, no doubt, from some
* All the chicadees’ nests that I found in this locality (South
Orange, N.J.) contained quantities of opossum hair. It is curious,
because "possums are by no means common in the vicinity.
H 2
100 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
mother ’possum’s nest in the hollow of a tree or
among the rocks. Wherever obtained, it seemed
to be exactly what Mrs. Chicadee wanted, judging
from the number of loads she had brought.
In all it took four days to build the Chicadee’s
nest, and when completed it was the softest and
coziest of homes. Some sheep’s wool and some
soft, silky plant-down had been used with which to
finish it. It was a suitable receptacle for the tiny,
speckled, pinky eggs that were placed in it, seven of
them being hidden in the soft bed of wool and
down. Onthese the old birds sat by day and by
night, seldom absenting themselves from the self-
imposed task that must at best have been tedious.
Whenever I visited Dee-dee as she sat in the dark
obscurity of the hollow stump, she would look up
in an inquiring way, her whole appearance seeming
to beg that I should not disturb or injure her. Was
she not, in the performance of her duty, carrying out
the great law of the propagation of species? Know-
ing full well how helpless she was, penned up in
the partly decayed stump, she placed herself and
her precious eggs entirely at my mercy. Needless
to say she was not disturbed in any way. On
holidays, when thoughtless boys roamed the wood,
bent only on having what they considered “ a good
time,” sparing nothing that came their way, I
would stay within sight of the Chicadee’s nest to
see that no harm should come to it. No boys
would have been likely to discover the nest, simply
because they would think it improbable that any
bird would build in such a decayed, fungus-covered
stump, but in passing they might have pushed
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 101
against it, and that would have been the end of one
brood of these cheerful little acrobats of the
summer and winter woods, and by just so much
would the world have been the poorer.
Days passed. Days of sunshine and days of
showers, all helping in the fulfilment of the
promises of spring. The trees became more thickly
covered with leaves, and on the ground the dead
leaves were almost hidden by the new growth that
was daily becoming more abundant. The earliest
flowers had come and gone, and in their place were
the drying seeds, on which the flowers must depend
for their continuance. Another year must we wait
before the many-hued hepatica, the snow-white
blood root and the nodding yellow bells of the
adder-tongue would again grace the woods. The
violets were now flowering in all the glory of their
royal colours, and here and there might yet be
found clusters of pink azalea scenting the woods
with their delicious perfume. In the damp, woody
swamps the fragrant clammy azalea was just about
to burst into bloom, to give the summer foliage
the appearance of having received a slight fall of
snow, so white were its flowers. Birds were busy
carrying food to their different broods, pausing
between whiles to sing each one its own particular
song of exultation, from the soul-stirring chant of
the wood-thrush to the jerky notes of the red-eyed
vireo ; each doing what lay in his power to ring up
the echoes of the summer woods.
Among all the songs the small but exquisite note
of the Chicadees sounded as they searched dili-
gently among the leaves for food. A newly-arrived
102 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
brood had at last rewarded their long patience.
Backwards and forwards flew these devoted parents,
giving no heed to anything save feeding and watch-
ing over their young. What else was there to think
of? For nearly a month they would do nothing else.
All would be devoted to the rearing of their off-
spring ; everything sacrificed, and apparently with
pleasure, too, to their welfare.
The young Chicadees grew apace as is the habit
of young birds. From tiny grey atoms, large-
headed, blind and naked, having in them but the one
instinct—that of raising their heads at the slightest
sound and opening their mouths for the frequent
meals, they gradually turned into small, open-eyed,
down-covered balls of fat. Then pin feathers began
to cover their growing bodies in lines that ran
lengthways, leaving bare places between. Then
the pin feathers opened, and from them emerged
the soft young feathers. Hour by hour showed the
covering up of the bare places by the spreading of
the feathers ; and the small bodies were clothed.
The young birds were growing very large for the
snug nest and without doubt must soon be thinking
of seeking the wide world, where there was room
and to spare. Day by day I had watched them as
they grew, and my watching was very nearly the
cause of a most unfortunate accident. In my
endeavours to see inside the nest I, quite uninten-
tionally, broke off a large piece of the decayed bark,
thereby exposing the nest and its valuable contents,
very much to my own and the Chicadees’ disgust.
Loudly did they express their feelings as they flew
about my head. Evidently they expected to see
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 103
me devour their entire brood. To mend the nest
was the next step. It was easily accomplished,
for all the necessary materials were close at hand.
A large piece of birch bark was peeled from a
tree that had been blown down during a recent gale.
This I put on the stump, sleeve-fashion, lacing it,
on the side furthest from the opening, with a piece
of wild smilax vine. After cutting a hole in the
birch bark patch and inserting a few broken twigs
here and there, and generally making the new
patch look as much as possible like the bark on the
decayed stump, I retreated to a little distance that
I might watch the effect. There was, however,
but little to watch. Both Mr. and Mrs. Chicadee,
first one and then the other, entered the repaired
nest after only a casual glance. Evidently they
_had no objection to the change, and so once more
things went on as usual, though it was only for a
few more days; the time was drawing near when I
was to prove whether or not I had gained the
confidence of my Chicadee friends.
The day came at last, a fine, bright, sunny day,
though intensely hot, and the young birds were to
make their bow to the great world. I had brought
with me all the necessary photographic paraphernalia
with the hope and expectation of obtaining portraits
of the Chicadee family. Hitherto I had only secured
photographs of the parent birds going in and out of
their nest, and these, though interesting, were as
nothing compared with what I imagined I should
get. It is well to be sanguine, to hope for things
that never will be, for otherwise even our greatest
enthusiasm would be short-lived and our successes
104 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
would be even fewer than they are now—so my hopes
were placed on the topmost rung of the ladder.
Chicadee and his mate were both present when I
unfastened the birch bark sleeve that I might see if
the youngsters were, as I fully believed, ready to
leave their warm nest. Not for long was I left in
doubt. As I placed my finger gently beneath one
of the small living balls of fluff there was a quick
movement, a fluttering of small untried wings, and
seven tiny Chicadees were instantly scattered
among the surrounding bushes. Such an excite-
ment as there was! “ Chicadee ! Chicadee! Chica-
dee-dee-dee!” called the parent birds as they flew
backward and forward, up and down, from bush to
bush, from twig to twig, up in the trees, then down
on the ground, urging the young birds to greater
efforts, helping the weaker with emphatic bird-
words of advice. All was confusion. All the birds
in the neighbourhood arrived, each one willing but
powerless to offer any assistance. The yellow-
breasted chat, whose nest was in the huckleberry
bush near by, let her young go hungry for a time,
while she came carrying their meal in her beak,
adding her cries to the many that filled the air.
From all sides could be heard the distressed calls of
the birds ; vireos, cat-birds, tanagers, warblers of
many kinds, blue-jays, wood-thrushes and many
others, each one excited and trying to outdo his
neighbour in vocal remonstrance. Suddenly, and
with no apparent reason, the Chicadees quieted
down, when immediately all the other birds became
silent, and one by one returned to their homes and
their duties.
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 105
Now it was that my work began. In vain had
I attempted to follow the various courses of the
fledgelings, but nature had allowed me only two
eyes, a number quite insufficient to keep up with
the vagaries of seven Chicadees, young and inex-
perienced though they were. There was nothing
to do but to institute a long and careful search, a
test of patience against instinct, the former gaining
the day, for in about an hour I found all of the seven
youngsters. It is curious that, once found, these
Chicadees no longer seem to entertain that keen
desire to get away which characterises most young
birds under similar conditions. On the contrary,
they behaved most admirably, being quite content
to sit on my hand or on any branch I might select,
provided only they were shaded from the fierce
glare of the sun; and just here lay my greatest
difficulty, for instantaneous photographs are not
made in the shade, and the movement of birds is
so rapid that one twenty-fifth of a second is about
as much exposure as one may safely indulge in.
This means that the subject must be well lighted,
a condition which my little Chicadees thoroughly
objected to. IfI placed them, one or all, on my
knee, and my knee happened to be in the sunlight,
without a moment’s hesitation they would scramble
to the nearest shade, even should it be but a fold in
my clothes.
Both Dee-dee and Chicadee seemed somewhat
astonished to see their young ones sitting so com-
placently on my knee, and doubtless they wondered
what next would happen. So far they had seen no
reason to fear me, for I had done them no harm,
106 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
but now that I had their young so clearly in my
power it might be different ; at any rate, they were
determined to watch me, and for this purpose they
stayed very near, calling occasionally “ Chicadee,
chicadee-dee-dee,” to which the youngsters in quaint
imitation would reply, but “ Chica-chica-dee ”—or
about as near as they could get to it—seemed
to please the old birds. It required some time to
prepare for the photographic work, but at last,
everything being ready, I had only to wait for the
parent Chicadees (who by this time had become quite
used to the very novel situation) to come on to my
knee, for that was the sort of picture I wished. It
is needless to say that I was surprised to find how
little coaxing was required. Only one call from
the young, and Dee-dee replied in person by
coming on to my knee, where her children were
bunched together, just as though it was the most
natural thing in the world for her to do. She
brought no food with her, however, so the seven
youngsters fluttered, chirped, and opened their
yellow-lined mouths in vain. Evidently Dee-dee
came with the single idea of satisfying herself of
their complete safety ; this being assured, she flew
away to receive from her mate a caterpillar of that
kind commonly known as the inch worm. This she
prepared by eating both the ends, which are armed
with feet. Scarcely a minute being required for this,
she came directly to theimpatient brood still wonder-
ing in expressive tones at the unusual delay of their
meal-time. Perching on my knee, she singled out
one of the seven, apparently without any particular
reason, while the remaining six looked on with
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 107
quaintly dismal and dejected expressions. ‘l’o
silence and satisfy the entire brood seemed now
the one thing necessary, a fact which appeared
to be thoroughly appreciated by both the old
birds, for they worked as though their lives de-
pended on it. Over and under each branch they
climbed, examining both sides of every leaf, and
woe to the caterpillar or spider that tried to hide
from their bead-like eyes, for instantly he was
seized and brought to appease the young hungries,
until, one at a time, they were all filled and asleep,
for with young birds sleep follows food just as
surely as summer follows spring.
I had secured several photographs of the family
on my knee, and now I wanted some that would
show them on my hand, so after allowing my
young charges ten minutes’ sleep I began by
placing one of them on my hand, at the same
time holding the bulb (that released the shutter of
the lens) in the same hand, but before I could pick
up a second fledgeling, Mrs. Chicadee came, with-
out food, and perched on the nozzle of the bulb, so,
not wishing to lose the opportunity, I pressed the
bulb and secured a photograph of the unique
situation.
So far neither of the parent birds had actually
perched on my hand, but judging from their former
behaviour I felt not the slightest doubt that they
would do so. Dee-dee, seeing that the little one
sitting on my finger was in that chronic state of
hunger so peculiar to young birds, left with the
evident intention of finding something with which
to satisfy him. Chicadee had, however, anticipated
108 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
her, and brought an insect suited to the needs of a
fledgeling. Dee-dee approached him, fluttering
her partly closed wings just as the fledgelings did
when they wanted food.* She was evidently
begging the food from him, and he, being of an
unselfish turn of mind, gave it to her with a flutter
and a soft note which seemed to say, “It is yours,
do what you wish with it,” and he followed her
almost to my hand, as she came flying in response
to the calls of the handful of fledgelings. Seeing
her approach, each one struggled to be nearest to
the promised morsel. Just before she perched on
my hand, I pressed the bulb with the result shown
in illustration. Having delivered herself of the food
to the great satisfaction of only one of the young-
sters, she stood still a moment and looked up at
me with a quizzical expression, and then flew off.
Scarcely had I changed the plate in the camera
when she came back again and remained on my
hand for some time. After having once come to
me, and finding nothing to fear, she came often, and
so did Chicadee. Sometimes they sat together on
my shoulder or my hat, and whether I moved about
or remained quiet made no difference to them.
Sitting there in the clearing that adjomed the
woods in which was the nest of this interesting
family of Chicadees ; surrounded by sweet-scented
myrtle and the huckleberries, whose tiny green
fruit was hanging in small clusters; at my feet the
exquisite waxlike balls of the stagger bush, than
which there are few more dainty or beautiful flowers,
* This is a rather peculiar habitiof the adult chicadee, which
may be noticed during the spring and summer months.—A. R. D.
Chicadee flyiny to my hand, in which sit the Hungry Brood.
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 109
I thought that for once at least I must be fairly
close to nature in one of its happiest moods, and
in all the splendour of the fullness of summer. For
there were birds, both young and old, trusting me
with confidence, the old ones flying about as though
thoroughly agreeing to this strange friendship; now
on my hand, now on my shoulder, sitting so close
to my face that I could with my cheek stroke both
Chicadee and his confiding mate. Their soft feathers
against my skin, and their small warm feet on my
fingers gave a thrill that went through my system,
leaving a glow of pleasure such as one seldom has
the good fortune to experience.
What was it that gave this pleasure? Only the
immediate presence of some very small birds, birds
that so many people know not even by name.
What was there in this to give that strange thrill ?
Each time a bird comes to me of its own accord I
feel it, and am repaid a hundredfold for any hard-
ships I may have encountered in trymg to make
them realise my friendly intentions. At first, as
a bird comes near, inquiry showing in its every
move, one’s heart throbs with the great pleasure
of anticipation, that pleasure which is so often the
end of our dearest hopes. Nearer and nearer comes
our would-be friend, and harder and harder does
the heart beat, until we dread that its throbbing
may frighten away the bird, and we hold the
breath and wish the heart would make less noise.
There is a choking sensation in the throat, such as
one feels when listening to beautiful music, as the
bird finally comes on one’s hand, and the realisation
of a thing accomplished seems to release the heart,
110 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
and breath comes freely. The bird has touched
one’s hand and—well, what more is needed ?
‘The day had been a fortunate one, and one that I
would always remember with the greatest pleasure,
for it had seen the culmination of the most delight-
ful friendship I have ever had with any birds, and
besides that I had secured some interesting photo-
graphs that would prove to my sceptical friends
how tame the birds had become.
Before leaving the Chicadees I had replaced the
youngsters in their nest, in the hopes of finding
them there on the following day. How long they
remained in their comfortable quarters I never
knew, for early next morning when I visited the
nest it was empty. Was it possible that any
accident had happened to them? If so, perhaps
I was to blame. While thinking this over and
regretting having fallen into the temptation of
making friends with these birds a small clear voice
from a tree near by called “ Chicadee-chicadee-
dee-dee,” and there was one of the old birds, and
with her on the same branch sat two of the young
ones; that the others were not far off I felt sure,
and a little searching soon discovered them. They
were all safe and very busy, for they had much to
learn, and I watched them during many hours as
they climbed among the branches, learning from
their parents all the acrobatic feats of their kind,
but eating nothing except what was given them.
It would be a couple of weeks or more before they
fed themselves, and long before that time they
would be full grown and exact counterparts of their
parents. Judging from the fact that Chicadees are
*
One of the Young Chicadees.
MY CHICADEE FRIENDS 111
so often found in small flocks of seven or eight, it
seems more than likely that each family remains
united until the approach of spring and the nesting
season.
The last I saw of my Chicadee friends was
towards the end of summer, when the glory of the
year was passing. The leaves on the trees had lost
their fresh green colour, and most of the plants had
finished growing. Insects were searching for places
where they might safely hide their eggs until the
following spring should come, and the Chicadees, as
they hunted for these insects and their eggs, were
doing their part in the great order of the things of
nature.
>
4 4 4
: Saas
> a 7 » * > >
7
nee ™ eH _ -
BPS AAP a ae
- '
a * mis i
7 -& aren, Th See Sten PIPL ceert ct Caan ke
%
A if oT: tue, Tiel en sete Oe Ae
i. cae: ary x este y ae ey
-
oe
ma
7 * - : Ce sone
ui
i . » sas) a ee ef ay cee
ee ie Pros Ley aera
s
7 v.° pee way 7 Ra . rea Th
t ol
it: Fe re en
a = ge
° es an
“es - = git: - 2 aft
.
tlt) Bel) to ‘ - By + clue
A ‘A a od eee ae oe) ail ae
” a
» = oe ea : s a 19 2. pends ae
: Paws
E
a
» y
2 ; ;
ca
2: 4 =
1
-
¥ c : -
aes 7 7 4
s
7 a ee a Se
: 7
- ' a 1
¢ . Uhr: er
a tig ears
0
b J
: 6
é 7 - it id - :
sae : Sisal
THE WARBLER FAMILY
W.L.C.
CHAPTER VII
THE WARBLER FAMILY
A hitherto only partly published account of my first intimate friendship
with a wild bird; the photographs being probably the first ever made
showing the extreme tameness of these shy birds (1900).
To form a friendship with any bird, no matter
how common a bird it happens to be, is a privilege
that unfortunately but few of us human beings
enjoy. But when the object of one’s friendship is a
bird that may be considered rare, that is unknown
except to the comparatively few who are directly
interested in bird life, the privilege is greater and
therefore much more to be appreciated. So it was
with my little friends the pair of worm-eating
warblers (can we pardon science for having bestowed
such a name on this graceful bird ?), who, with their
family of four, lived not more than a few hundred
yards from our home. It was entirely by chance,
as is usual, they say, with important discoveries,
that I had the good fortune to meet these birds.
They have no song with which to fill the wood-
lands and attract the attention of the casual passer-
by, only a chirp that is no louder than that of the
grasshopper ; in fact, it might easily be mistaken
for that insect’s peculiar note. Neither are they
arrayed in “crimson and gold.” Their dress is
quiet and inconspicuous, yet delicate and beautiful
in the extreme: olive-green back, buff-coloured
breast, while the head is light buff with very dark
stripes. Is it to be wondered, then, that a bird of
12
116 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA.
such subdued colouring and quiet habits should be
practically unknown? ‘The way I chanced to find
them was this :
While walking slowly through the woods I heard
the note of a downy woodpecker. ‘The note was
repeated with such frequency that I half suspected
a brood of young were starting out on their life of
tree-climbing. On the chance of seeing so interest-
ing a sight I made my way quietly through the
underbrush with which the hillside was covered.
As I came near to where the woodpeckers kept up
their steady calling, my attention was arrested by
a lisping note repeated at regular intervals; that
it was the alarm note of a warbler I had no doubt,
and I determined to discover which one of that
large and varied family it might be.
The heavy foliage of the trees served well to hide
’ so small a bird from view, and it was some time
before I finally detected a worm - eating warbler
perched on a branch within a few feet of my head.
From his manner, which showed great excitement,
I judged that either there was a nest near by or
that some youngsters were hiding in the underbrush
at no great distance. So, removing my evidently
unwelcome presence to a point of vantage, I quietly
observed the behaviour of these uncommon birds.
After watching for a short time, another bird
appeared, evidently the mate of the one I had
seen. The two consulted together, and after a few
more chirps one began descending, hopping from
branch to branch, each time getting nearer to the
ground, then suddenly she dropped among the
weeds and was hidden from view.
THE WARBLER FAMILY 117
Carefully marking the place, I hastened towards
it, but scarcely had I taken half a dozen steps when
up she flew, and once more gave voice to the note
of alarm. Thinking that of course I should ex-
perience not the slightest difficulty in finding the
nest, for that there was one I felt convinced, I
went straight to the place from which she had
flown, but no nest was there—at least I could find
none—so once more [ retired from the scene, this
time taking greater care to conceal my presence.
Evidently the warblers thought I had taken my
departure, for after a lapse of about ten minutes
one of them flew down and, alighting on a weed
stalk, carefully surveyed the surroundings; things
seeming to her entire satisfaction, she made straight
for her nest, but it was not within several yards of
where she had tried to mislead me into believing
it was. This time, however, I waited to make
perfectly sure, and as she did not appear again I felt
there could be no doubt about it, so I approached
quietly, and much to my delight discovered my
cunning little friend (that was to be) sitting on her
carefully concealed nest.
Not moving a muscle, she allowed me to examine
her minutely, and I wondered at her cleverness in
taking such advantage of the surroundings. The
nest was placed in a slight depression—whether
made by the bird or nature could not be known—
beneath the partly-exposed roots of a shrub. No
rain could possibly enter the nest, as the earth
formed a mound above and shed the water as it
trickled down the steep incline. A more perfect pro-
tection could not have been devised. Not wishing
118 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
to disturb the confiding and patient little creature,
I retired in ignorance of what she was guarding so
carefully.
The fact of not having seen either of the birds
carrying food led me to suppose she had eggs. If
so, it was to be expected that the following morning
by 8 or 9 o'clock the sun’s rays would creep
through openings between the tree tops, and, keep-
ing the eggs warm, would allow the small bird a
short rest from that self-imposed but surely tedious
task of incubating, and then I could get a glimpse
at her treasure, whatever it might be. And so it
happened, for when I returned in the morning
the sun had taken the mother bird’s task in keep-
ing warm the four pinky-white bespeckled eggs.
Taking one out of its casket I examined it with
transmitted light. Through the thin shell I could
clearly see that it would be but a matter of hours,
or at most one day, before the young would arrive.
The parents both seriously objected, I fear, to
this act of what I trust was pardonable curiosity,
so I quickly returned the frail egg to its proper
place, and stepping back a few paces watched the
excited birds; nor had I long to wait, for they,
knowing full well that their home was discovered,
made no attempt at concealment.
One of them—we must suppose it was the female,
but as they do not show any difference in colouring
or marking I could only surmise—made straight for
the nest and, after looking carefully at each egg
to see that no ill had befallen it, arranged herself
comfortably with feathers fluffed out, so that she
appeared nearly double her proper size. ‘Then she
as Qe 5 below Zero.
CAMPING FOR ALL SEASONS 309
being easily aired, but they allow too much cold to
enter, so for cold weather they are not to be recom-
mended. A light-weight waterproof outer cover-
ing, though not absolutely necessary, is by no means
to be despised. Heavy, loose-fitting, or, better still,
many suits of large thin woollen underclothes,
loose woollen stockings, and a toque cap complete
the necessary sleeping outfit, to which a loose-
fitting sweater may be added in case of very cold
weather. In the way of clothing there are many
differences of opinion as to what is best. Some
people contend that a suit of linen mesh underwear
should be worn next to the skin, covered by one
thickness of very heavy wool, a thick woollen shirt
and homespun outer clothes, to which the inevit-
able sweater should be added; while others think
it best to wear three suits of light-weight loose
woollen underwear, instead of the one heavier
weight and the linen mesh. Whatever underwear
you take, be sure it, as well as your other garments,
is of ample size; tight clothing is cold clothing,
and, besides being cold, it interferes with the freedom
of one’s limbs. Two pairs of heavy woollen stock-
ings should be worn, and of course with snow-shoes
moccasins are the only thing. These may be of
“beef,” buckskin, or green moose hide with the
hair on; the “ beef,” oil-tanned, are excellent, being
waterproof and strong. The buckskin is soft and
strong but porous, so that if the snow happens to
be at all wet you will be sure of damp, and conse-
quently cold feet. Cloth-lined rubber shoes such
as the lumber men wear are handy for use around
camp, but they should not be worn with snow-
310 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA
shoes, as they cut the webbing. For head-gear a
broad-brim felt hat or the toque may be used.
The former is useful in going through the woods
when the branches are snow-laden, as it keeps the
snow from sifting coolly down one’s back. In very
bad weather a woollen cap, which covers the head,
neck, ears, and cheeks, is a great comfort, as it keeps
the driving snow from stinging one’s face, and will
usually protect the ears from freezing. Such a
hood is also comfortable for a nightcap. Do not on
any account carry anything that is not absolutely
necessary. Snow-shoeing trips are not like
canoe trips. In a canoe a few pounds more or less
make but little difference, but on the snow, whether
you have a dog-sled, or draw the pack yourself,
you will find that extra weight counts in an alarm-
ing way.