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 154 THE CONDOR Vol. XV But to get back to our muttons. It is confessedly a dull year here in Santa Barbara. Migrations have been quite unostentatious. There has been nothing like the stir and bustle in movement that there was last year. Moreover, the (lay chosen, May 5, was a week too late for this latitude. With the exception of the Limicolce, the migrant "hosts" were absolutely gone. Add to that a day severely handicapped by weather conditions, fog and wind, and you have a gloomy out- look for a record. William Ornithologicus, Jr. (Aet. i3), and his dad rose at 4 A. r. (our east- ern brethren start at 2:3o), yawned peevishly at the closely investing fog, noted a temperature of 49, woke up the Jolly Ellen, who in turn coughed sulkily .with the fog in her "pipes," and set out up Mission Canyon over an "automobiles for- 'bidden" road to the mouth of the new water tunnel, which pierces the Santa Ynez range at an elevation of 18oo feet. The first bird to peep is Anthony Towhee, at 4:37- House Finch follows at 4:4I, and San Diego Towhee a minute later. By the time the tunnel is reached at 5:45, we have risen above the fog bank and have 27 species to our .credit. Here we leave the machine and take to the trail which leads up through the dense chaparral, piercing cover which a week ago was swarming with migrant warblers and flycatchers. The fog-ocean rolls at our feet and we are monarchs of all we survey; but alas! it is a silent paradise. Not a single species is added for half an hour's work. Our guests are all gone. We plunge into the fog again and fight ou r way down into Mission Canyon for the sake of confronting a cliff which contains at one time and within the circuit of a flung hat, Cliff Swallow, Violet- green Swallow, White-throated Swift, Western Redtail, and Pacific Horned Owl, all nesting. Check, check, tally. All in. And a Nuttall Woodpecker just below for luck. The cool depths of the Canyon yield nothing else new save two nestfuls of shivering baby Allen's; but we know we shall not see these elsewhere, and the extra half mile is worth while. Fog! Fog! We bless the fog for our beautiful cool summers, but it certainly does give one a slow start on a spring bird horizon. We are back home at 8 o'clock with only 39 species brought to book. (I have recorded 9 species in Ohio by the same hour--but wait!) Nevertheless we doggedly resume at 8:3 o. A Phainopepla frets in a neighbor's yard, and two kinds of Kingbirds, Cassin and Western, rise from the same fence rail. The next objective point is Laguna Blanca on the Hope Ranch property, where I have seen fifty species of birds at one time on a winter's day; but need of gas and a road as smooth as a billiard table tempts us farther west,--first to Goleta and then to La Patera cat-tail swamp, where we pick ,up the three blackbirds and Cinnamon Teal, with Least Bittern for a plum. At ten o'clock the fog burns off (as it always does), and we hurry back to reap a harvest at Laguna Blanca. Faugh! It is a watery desert. Coots, Ruddies and a few blackbirds comprise almost its entire population. These with a Sora and a passing Kingfisher--the latter a rare bird hereabouts, thanks to the jealous fisherman--scarcely reward us for our effort. The City proper yields English Sparrow; and Stearn's Wharf, where we lunch, gives access to lingering Scoters, Shags and Gulls, much prized in a spring list. The Estero, usually crowded with birds, is ahnost deserted, and only a waif Phalarope redeems its sordid stretches from utter disappointment. On tle beach opposite the outfall sewer sits a mixed company of gulls, always worth lookifig over. This time it is the Glaucous Gull (Larts hyperboreus) which commands attention. There are two individuals among the crowd of lesser Westerns, one