BLACK-FOOTED ALBATROSSES NEST ON THE SAND OF THE SEA BEACH

The black-footed albatross (Diomedea nigripes) is the species most commonly seen at sea in the north Pacific. These birds are more graceful than the Laysan albatross-
and have natures much more irascible. They scoop out their nests on the exposed beaches where the winds sweep violently. It is a common thing to see them sitting on their nests
all facing into the wind. Both parents help in the work of incubation, while one is on the nest the other is out at sea catching squids, and they seem to take joy in their
housekeeping

392

The white albatross does scarcely any nest building, but as the bird incubates the single egg she gradually scoops a levee about her, using mud and grass and scattered
fish bones in the masonry. These levees often stand the Laysan albatross in good stead for it chooses the gentle slopes and the flats bordering the salt lagoon in the center of the
island as the place to rear its young. As the island is saucer-shaped with a high ridge around the edge, the excessive rains often cause floods over large areas. The birds obsti-
spoiled.
nately continue incubating, even when the water is so deep that they are nearly floated a way, and it is surprising how much dampness the eggs will stand without becoming
Thousands of eggs are necessarily abandoned each year, much to the enjoyment of the bristle-thighed curlew who grows fat on the plunder

393

ON THE
MARGIN OF
THE CENTRAL
LAGOON

Of the two spe-
cies of albatrosses
on the island the
Laysan (Dio-

medea immuta-
bilis) is by far

more numerous.
Probably twenty-
five thousand of
the long-winged

wanderers were
busily attending
to home duties
during our visit.
and thousands
of young were
raised, thus help-
ing to fill the
void caused by
the ravages of
poachers. The
albatrosses spend
the greater part
of the year on
the high seas, sel-
dom frequenting
land, but they as-
semble from the
sea in the late
fall for the nest-
ing season, the

Albatrosses are great fliers and remain on the wing for hours at a time but they find difficulty in taking-off from either land or water, and run into the wind for some distance
before rising. Their flying consists for the most part of soaring or sailing with or against the wind and they are able to quarter a breeze only with great difficulty. These birds
while away long hours on the island dancing, each bird striving to out-do the others in making noise as well as in assuming grotesque postures (see photographs of dancing
albatrosses, AMERICAN MUSEUM JOURNAL for April, 1913, "The Albatrosses of Laysan")

395

Inspired by the story of the life of Alexander Wilson, a Kentucky boy of today has searched until weary alone through the woods to find the Kentucky warbler, a bird discovered and named by Wilson which James Lane Allen makes typify the boy's self. The boy dreams:

Then there stepped forth into the open the figure of a hunter, lean, vigorous, tall, athletic. He discovered Webster and with a look of relief stood still and smiled. There could be no mistake. Webster held imprinted on memory from a picture those features, those all-seeing eyes; it was Wilson -weaver lad of Paisley, wandering peddler youth of the grey Scotch mountains, violinist, flutist, the poet who had burned his poem standing in the public cross, the exile, the school teacher for whom the boy caught the mouse, the failure who sent the drawing to Thomas Jefferson, the bold figure in the skiff drifting down the Ohio-the naturalist plunging into the Kentucky wilderness and walking to Lexington and shivering in White's garret-the great American ornithologist, the immortal man.

He came and stood before Webster and

looked down at him with a smile:

"Have you found him, Webster?"

Webster strangely heard his own voice:

"I have not found him."

"You have looked long?"

"I have looked everywhere and I cannot find him.

"Why do you look for the Kentucky Warbler?" Webster hesitated long:

"I do not know," he faltered.

"Something in you makes you seek him, but you do not know what that something is?"

"No, I do not know what it is: I know I wish to find him."

"Not him alone but many other things?" "Yes, many other things."

"The whole wild life of the forest?"

"Yes, all the wild things in the forest-and the wild forest itself."

There was silence. The forest was becoming more wonderful. The singing of the unseen birds more silvery sweet. It was beyond all reality. The hunter hurled questions now with no pity:

"Would you be afraid to stay here all night alone?"

"I would not."

"If, during the night, a storm should pass over the forest with thunder deafening you and lightning flashing close to your eyes and trees falling everywhere, you would fear for your life and that would be natural and wise; but would you come again?" "I would."

"If it were winter and the forest were bowed deep with ice and snow and you were alone in it, having lost your way, would you cry enough? Would you hunt for a fireside and never return?" "I would not."

"You can stand cold and hunger and danger and fatigue; can you be patient and can you be persevering?"

"I can."

There was silence for a little while: the mood of the hunter seemed to soften:

"Come," he said, as with high trust, "I will show you the Kentucky warbler."

Quoted from James Lane Allen's The Kentucky Warbler, pp. 164-70