. [Articles about birds from National geographic magazine]. Birds. 188 THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE. © 190; \\'illiam L. Finley and H. T. Bolilman A RUFOUS HUMMING BIRD TAKING LUNCH ON THE FLY He dropped into the garden like a shooting star. By our filling the flower cups with sweetened water, he was lured to the geranium and "shot" by the camera man. saw the bands returning. How these sights kindled my imagination, these pro- cessions, so full of mj'stery, that moved up and down tlie highway of the clouds! The land where these flocks lived lured me Hke "castles in
. [Articles about birds from National geographic magazine]. Birds. 188 THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE. © 190; \\'illiam L. Finley and H. T. Bolilman A RUFOUS HUMMING BIRD TAKING LUNCH ON THE FLY He dropped into the garden like a shooting star. By our filling the flower cups with sweetened water, he was lured to the geranium and "shot" by the camera man. saw the bands returning. How these sights kindled my imagination, these pro- cessions, so full of mj'stery, that moved up and down tlie highway of the clouds! The land where these flocks lived lured me Hke "castles in ; It was a lure I have never forgotten. One spring we followed the trails across the southern tip of the Cascade Range from Ashland, Oregon. The morning of the fourth day we came down the eastern sIo]:)e to the edge of a ridge that over- looked the basin of the Lower Klamath. Stretching to the east and south, almost beyond the limit of vision, lay the marshes. The Klamath River threaded its way in and out of the green maze. Beyond were the Lower Klamath and Tule or Rhett Lakes, cutting at the lower end into the lava beds of northern California. To the northeast lay the great basin of the Upper Klamath. Here lay the land of my dreams. After nearly 20 years of waiting, I was looking out over this place of mystery that lay far beyond the northern rim of my home hills. From the distance where I stood the marsh was a level sea of green. As I dis- covered afterward, it was absolutely de- ceptive as to its real character. The ocean surface tells nothing of its thousand hidden wonders ; so the marsh. The plain yields to the plow, the forest to the ax, but the immeasured stretch of these tules is the same as when Lewis and Clark blazed a trail into the Oregon forest. I hope the marsh will defy civilization to the end. The trapper and the hunter have plied the streams and the water of the lake itself, but the tules lie untouched, a maze forbidding, almost impenetrable. The lure of the
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