The Water Fairy

The Water Fairy By Wreno Bowers One day, while following a deer path that wound along the hank of a canyon stream, I came suddenly upon a small bird standing upon a half-submerged rock in the center of the seething current. The water rushed madly by, dancing, boil- ing, foaming over its boulder-strewn bed. As I stopped abruptly, surprised at the small fellow-creature on the rock, in the middle of the dashing torrent, the bird slipped into the water and went whirling down through the foaming eddies. Ah, poor thing! had I frightened it to death? Surely the wild current had beaten all the life from the delicate body that went whirling down, like a leaf among the beaten foam- bells. But no — for out of the water, a dozen feet below, scrambled the bird. He stood upon a slippery, rounded stone, bending his leg-joints and dropping his plump litttie body for a second, then bobbing up to his fullest height, down and up, down and up, he repeated the performance again and again. Then he burst out into a song as joyous as the meadowlark's when he "mounts to hail the rising sun." That was the beginning of a long acquaintance with the little water fairy. It was also the first of many social calls upon a whole colony of water ouzels that lived in the cascades, a quarter of a mile up the stream from my tent. Rain or shine, winter or summer, these water fairies are the sunniest, cheeriest folk to be found anywhere in the mountains. We grew to be such great friends that I moved my tent up by the water falls where I could be with them. It was good to live there among them, with the moun- tains at our backs and the cascades at our feet, and peace breath- ing in every breeze or brooding silently over the place at twi- light. The little water ouzel, smaller than a robin, is the most remarkable of feathered creatures, a very wizard in turning its powers to almost every form of bird doings. It is the one American, at least, who escapes the taunt which foreigners are wont to fling at the peculiar genius of our people — that we are jack-of -all-trades and masters of none; for it is a master in the several vocations of bird craft, whether of song or of flight, or of gymnastics in air, on the land, or in water. No wonder it is called "the wonder bird of America." By day I used to listen to them, hours at a time, as they sang their blithesome songs. No snow-storm, however violent, can discourage the ouzel; for in the midst of it, when men are

THE WATER FAIRY 981 cold and pitying him, thinking how cold he must be, he will suddenly dart away, light upon a half-submerged rock, and break out into a joyous song. It is in winter, when the streams are frozen, that he sings most cheerfully — as if he knows that the mountains are brighter for his singing. I used to watch them at their curious teetering on the rocks in the middle of the seething current, diving under the water, and searching among the mosses and submerged rocks for their favorite food. Their food is comprised both of insects and vegetation. Ouzels swim dexterously when necessary, although they are not web-footed, and dive long distances, although they are nothing like a duck or a loon. Since their feet will not aid them in propelling themselves while diving under water, they must use their wings for this purpose; and they use them with great skill, either against or with the current. Indeed, it is fascinating to watch them as they float upon the gentle-moving current, or flit about in the curtain spray, or dive in the foam- ing eddies. These fine, brilliant, fearlesss, dexterous, poetic, and mu- sical birds are fairly common in the Rocky Mountain West. The ouzel is the only dipper bird found anywhere on this con- tinent, and is peculiar to the West. It is the only member of the dipper family in North America — there is one species in Europe and another in South America. Since the first day I made the acquaintance of the water ouzel I have never visited a waterfall, or cascade, whether among the ice peaks or warm foothills, without finding this singularly joyous and lovable little fellow. No canyon is too cold for him, none too lonely, providing it is rich in falling water. Find a fall, or cascade, or rushing rapid anywhere upon a clear stream, and there you will surely find its complementary ouzel. The cascade is his home and he never leaves the mean- dering brook, never being seen to alight in trees, although he has the claws of a perching bird. He is ever vigorous and en- thusiastic, yet self-contained, never seeking nor shunning your company. But of all the ouzels, — and there were many that I soon recognized, either by their songs, or by some peculiarity in their plain waterproof suit of bluish gray, — the most interesting was the one who first plunged into* the water, where the turmoil was maddest, and went spinning down, just to show me how it was done. I soon learned to distinguish him easily, by the tinge of chocolate on his head and shoulders. Then, too, he was more friendly and fearless than all the others. His mate was much shyer than he; it was several days before I noticed her dipping in the foam-bells. I soon learned that her nest was built among the rocks, behind a cascade; for

982 IMPROVEMENT ERA I often watched her coming and going. I have no doubt that the little ouzel with the chocolate cap would have welcomed me to see the nest without fear; but his mate never laid aside her shyness about it, and I knew he would like me better if I respected her little secret. So I never saw the nest, though it was scarcely fifty yards from my tent, until after the young had left it, and the ouzels cared no more about it. I knew the rocks in which it was, close by the deer path. It was a mossy, bulky, oven-shaped struc- ture, and in order to keep out storm was open only on the side. One day, not long after I had moved up among them, as I sat at a late breakfast after a morning's hike, I heard a strange cry that arose from the creek. I went out to see what it was, and there on a tiny ledge, level with the water, stood four baby ouzels in great excitement. Four plump little bodies bobbing excitedly down and up, constanly watching the water as if ex- pecting somebody. No doubt they were; for out of the water, upon the ledge beside them, scrambled at that moment the mother ouzel. She gave a poke into one of the wide open mouths, then slipped back into the water again. A hundred times I have had a heart-warming over the little family, as the mother searched among the mosses, lichens, and submerged rocks for their favorite food. She began by mounting one of these slippery, rounded stones and thrusting her head under the water up to her shoulders. Holding it there for a few seconds, apparently looking for something, she would then plunge in where the turmoil was maddest, pick something from the bottom, and, returning to the ledge, give it to one of the hungry babies. She never even shook herself. The food which she brought, every few minutes, looked like minute insect larva. Time and again this hard working mother jumped into the brook where it was shallow, ran down it, half under water, and stopped on the very brink of the lower fall, where one would think she could not even stand much less than turn and run back against the current, which she freely did. Now and then she ran or flew up the stream, entirely under water, so that I could see her only as a dark colored moving object, and then come out all fresh and dry beside her babes, with a mouth- ful of food. The little ouzels grew amazingly, and no wonder! The kind mother was always feeding them, they were always hungry. They grew fat and sleek, and, were soon doing all kinds of gym- nastics among the foam-bells. The last I saw of them, when I left the mountains for another year, they were flitting about like water fairies in the spray. And the little friend with the chocolate cap was standing on a rock at his curious teetering, or "curtsying," and singing as cheery as ever. Kmmas, Utah