Bird-Life in the Klondike BY TAPPAN ADNEY Author of ' The Klondike Stampede,' etc. IT is less from the point of view of the naturalist than of the miner that I know the birds of Klondike — we were all 'miners,' in a sense, who went to Klondike in the midst of that unparalleled ex-
- itement. So strenuous were the exertions required to keep body and
soul together that there was small time to think of anything which did not supply one with food or raiment. We were somewhat like the >avage who names only conspicuous and useful birds, and throws aside
- he rest as unworthy of notice. In summer many birds might escape
jbservation ; in winter, in the dead silence of arctic winter, it would 5eem, surely, that no stir of any kind would fail to be noticed. Yet a
- rained observer, the author of one of the best books relating to the
human affairs of that country, who used to pass my cabin on Bonanza
- reek almost daily, has written : ' The Raven and the little Starling are
the only birds, except the game birds, that one ever sees or hears for sight long, dreary months.' 'Game birds' doubtless means Ptarmigan; ' Starling,' I cannot guess. Surely a short list. In the Raven, however, he has pointed out what I should call ' the bird of the Klondike.' In winter and in summer this great Corvus is everywhere seen and its hollow, metallic ' klonk ' is the most characteristic sound. Conspicuous its black flapping against the white snows, its uncanny croak falling upon the ear; to the traveler along the dreary wastes of the frozen Yukon, it seems so fitting a part of the somber landscape that the impression is not readily effaced. Partaking of the cautious disposition of its relative of the cornfield, nevertheless in winter it visits the cabin yards of the miners in search of the few waste morsels of food and it follows the hunters and the roving bands of wolves, feed- ing on the offal of moose and reindeer which they kill. But it ever remains a mystery how life is sustained during those long, dreary months. In summer they build their nests and rear their young upon the tall inaccessible cliffs which line the Upper Yukon. Had I known my friend was about to write, virtually, ' there are no birds in Klondike,' I could have taken him, almost any day in winter, to the door of my cabin and this is what he might have seen and heard. First let me describe the spot : Bonanza creek, coursing through a V-shaped cleft in the almost barren hills, reaches the broad alluvial valley of the Klondike river. This flat is covered with tall spruce, many being a foot in diameter, and growing as thickly together as anywhere in the world. Among the evergreens are thickets of small white birches, nowhere whiter or more (196)
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