Men speak of the solitude of the wilderness.

But they speak without knowledge. There is no solitude in nature. Try and see! Wander into the high hills where no sign of man is found. The Katuz Creek emergency fire trail is such a route.

For two miles you skirt the base of Tumtum Mountain through the twilight of tall timber. There the Western Winter Wren, tiny and brown, keeps you company with his bashful "Chip! Chip!". The Harris Woodpecker drums a salute. The Douglas Squirrel scolds noisily. Then you enter an old burn on the ridge top. Pale trees peer ghoul-like through a fitful mist. Surely here is solitude--desolation. But a Sooty Grouse "hoot hoots" that thought in derision. The female struts fussily into view, clucking nervously.

The fog lifts a little to disclose one of nature's choisest miracles. To your left rises the Bridal Hill. Fire has robbed it of its mantle of trees but summer has thrown a filmy robe of perfumed Bear Grass over its naked breast. In undulating folds this fragrant veil cascades in a long train far down the valley.

But still no solitude. A musical throb comes to our lestening ear. A Hummingbird comes dancing up. Darting fairy-like from flower to flower he pauses to pirouette gracefully at the observer's knee. Then humming his own accompaniment, he sways lithely on about his aerial ballot.

As if at a signal all the birds in the vicinity begin to chatter and dart from tree to bush and back again. A lone Mountain Bluebird lights rather heavily in a slender tree top. Juncoes, Sparrows, Robins, the petite Yellow-breasted Warbler and many of their lesser cousins flutter busily about. A pair of Grosbeaks come "cheeping" querously by. They are always on the move and only pause a moment.

"Whit whee haw", says the Olive sided Flycatcher from a tall tree top.

Suddenly a sinister shadow passes over the land. A Marmot whistles imperatively from the ridgetop. A chorus of twitters, birds dart hither and thither and then all is still. The bandit of the sky, apparently a Cooper Hawk, sees the observer and flies on about his banditry and the birds soon resume their business.

Over on the next ridge six solemn Marmots on one big rock eyed the intruder doubtfully. But they were as curious as the observer and so we approached until only ten feet separated us before the hoary patriarch of the family squeaked uncertainly and waddled for shelter.

Solitude? You are never alone in the high hills!

L. G. Richards

A small flock of Western Evening Grosbeaks paid the Park Administration Building a visit on July 17th. They seemed to find the green lawn a novelty and alighted upon it, industriously searching for worms. Their rather shrill call, resembling somewhat the call of a young chick lost from its mother, soon gained much attention for them.

The Grosbeak is one of the brightest birds of the Park. The bright yellow of the forehead, black of crown, wings and tail combined with large showy, white patches on the wings serve to identify it. The bill is very large and light colored while their movements are very erratic--they are constantly in motion.

Charles Landes, Ranger-Naturalist.