. Then the tree died and gave up
its branches, one by one, to repair the nest above. The jagged, broken
ends showed everywhere how they had been broken off to supply the hawks'
necessities.

There is a curious bit of building lore suggested by these broken
branches, that one may learn for himself any springtime by watching the
birds at their nest building. Large sticks are required for a
foundation. The ground is strewed with such; but Ismaques never comes
down to the ground if he can avoid it. Even when he drops an unusually
heavy fish, in his flight above the trees, he looks after it
regretfully, but never follows. He may be hungry, but he will not set
his huge hooked talons on the earth. He cannot walk, and loses all his
power there. So he goes off and fishes patiently, hours long, to replace
his lost catch.

When he needs sticks for his nest, he searches out a tree and breaks off
the dead branches by his weight. If the stick be stubborn, he rises far
above it and drops like a cannon ball, gripping it in his claws and
snapping it short off at the same instant by the force of his blow.
Twice I have been guided to where Ismaques and his mate were collecting
material by reports like pistol shots ringing through the wood, as the
great birds fell upon the dead branches and snapped them off. Once, when
he came down too hard, I saw him fall almost to the ground, flapping
lustily, before he found his wings and sailed away with his four-foot
stick triumphantly.

There is another curious bit of bird lore that I discovered here in the
autumn, when, much later than usual, I came back through the lake.
Ismaques, when he goes away for the long winter at the South, does not
leave his house to the mercy of the winter storms until he has first
repaired it. Large fresh sticks are wedged in firmly across the top of
the nest; doubtful ones are pulled out and carefully replaced, and the
whole structure made shipshape for stormy weather. This careful repair,
together with the fact that the nest is always well soaked in oil, which
preserves it from the rain, saves a deal of trouble for Ismaques. He
builds for life and knows, when he goes away in the fall, that, barring
untoward accidents, his house will be waiting for him with the quiet
welcome of old associations when he comes back in the spring. Whether
this is a habit of all ospreys, or only of the two on Big Squatuk
Lake--who were very wise birds in other ways--I am unable to say.