w-storms, lingering here and
there to feed on huckleberries and frost-nipped wild cherries growing
on the upper slopes. Thence down to the vineyards and orchards of the
lowlands to spend the winter; entering the gardens of the great towns
as well as parks and fields, where the blessed wanderers are too often
slaughtered for food--surely a bad use to put so fine a musician to;
better make stove wood of pianos to feed the kitchen fire.

The kingfisher winters in the Valley, and the flicker and, of course,
the carpenter woodpecker, that lays up large stores of acorns in the
bark of trees; wrens also, with a few brown and gray linnets, and flocks
of the arctic bluebird, making lively pictures among the snow-laden
mistletoe bushes. Flocks of pigeons are often seen, and about six
species of ducks, as the river is never wholly frozen over. Among these
are the mallard and the beautiful woodduck, now less common on account
of being so often shot at. Flocks of wandering geese used to visit the
Valley in March and April, and perhaps do so still, driven down by
hunger or stress of weather while on their way across the Range. When
pursued by the hunters I have frequently seen them try to fly over the
walls of Lee Valley until tired out and compelled to re-alight. Yosemite
magnitudes seem to be as deceptive to geese as to men, for after
circling to a considerable height and forming regular harrow-shaped
ranks they would suddenly find themselves in danger of being dashed
against the face of the cliff, much nearer the bottom than the top. Then
turning in confusion with loud screams they would try again and again
until exhausted and compelled to descend. I have occasionally observed
large flocks on their travels crossing the summits of the Range at a
height of 12,000 to 13,000 feet above the level of the sea, and even in
so rare an atmosphere as this they seemed to be sustaining themselves
without extra effort. Strong, however, as they are of wind and wing,
they cannot fly over Yosemite walls, starting from the bottom.

A pair of golden eagles have lived in the Valley ever since I first
visited it, hunting all winter along the northern cliffs and down the
river canyon. Their nest is on a ledge of the cliff over which pours
the Nevada Fall. Perched on the top of a dead spar, they were always
interested observers of the geese when they were being shot at. I once
noticed one of the geese compelled to leave the flock on account of
being so