Snow Wings

Boys' Life, March 1928

Death floated softly over the tops of the spruce trees, death in the form of snow-white wings and talons black as jet. The Arctic snow owl was abroad, most feared of all the winged marauders of the North. Slipping in between shadowy masses of spruce, he skimmed like a phantom close to the snow, searching, always searching for that which might mean food. From the rocky pine-clad shores of Lake Superior to the bare frozen tundras of the Arctic, he reigned supreme, and over it all the swish of his great feathered pinions had become an omen synonymous with tragedy.

For hours the great killer had winged his way over the frozen stillness, seeing nothing but the glittering moonlight and the long dark shadows of trees upon the crusted snow. Where once had been game in abundance there was now only a trackless waste, and since the last big snow, hunting had been poor. Partridges were lying deep in their snowy tunnels and the white snow-shoe rabbits which formed the major portion of his fare had all but vanished from the earth.

Even for Snow Wings, used as he was to going long without nourishment, not eating was becoming monotonous. As he drifted along, watching the moonlit sufrace, he would have welcomed anything in the form of food. Night after night is had been the same, the endless winging over hills and valleys, and the return to the resting place in the black spruce swamp, with nothing but an empty stomach. He was getting thinner and thinner, and had it not been for nature's generous provision of thick fluffy body feathers, he would not have been pleasant to look upon. Hunger he had known before, but never as acutely as now, for his was an appetite that could be quenched only by hot blood and flesh still reeking with life.

Below him lay a grassy swale, a welcome break in the endless monotony of pointed tree tops. He swerved slightly, and as he did so a movement caught his eye. Swooping down on muffled wings, he circled the opening slowly, rising and dipping over its ragged border of balsam and spruce. Two brownish animals, locked fiercely together, rolled over and over upon the snow, tearing cat-like at each other's vitals. Engrossed with their battle, they did not see the shadow wings that drifted over them. Snow Wings took in the situation at a glance and desperately hungry though he was, knew better than to attack. Circling the swale once more, he then soared to the top of a tall dead tamarack from which he could have full view of the opening. There he waited, content to bide his time, knowing that sooner or later, he would taste the blood of one of those below him.

The coming of the great snow had wrought hardship upon the four-footed eaters of flesh as well, and starvation had stalked boldly among them. The killers had at last been forced to nature's most awful resource, cannibalism, and the great snows had been witness to many an unnatural tragedy. That evening, two martens in the course of their hunting, had been attracted to the edge of the swale by the warm scent of a red squirrel. There they had met and in the greater blood lust that had engulfed them, their prey had been forgotten. The fact that they were of the same breed mattered not. Closing instantly, even though one was much the larger, they fought with the savage intensity that only the great weasels know.

For a time neither had the advantage, the weight of one being offset by the greater quickness of the other. At times they completely buried themselves in the deep snow, only to reappear again at some other point, fighting as fiercely as ever. The gruesomeness of the combat was augmented by the fact that not a sound escaped them, for, like all of their kind, they fought and killed in deathely silence.

Of a sudden they broke away from each other, the smaller pursued, running swiftly for a dense clump of spruce at the edge of the swale. A huge Norway pine stood about half-way and a little to one side of his course. He ran desperately, but with every jump, the distance between them lessened. Finally realizing the futility of trying to reach his objective, the fleeing marten turned slightly from his course and ran directly for the big pine. He reached it a bare two jumps ahead of his pursuer and ran swiftly up the trunk. Hoping that his lighter weight would enable him to reach a branch inaccessible to his enemy, he climbed until he reached the very tip of one of the highest, almost sixty feet above the snow. Here he crouched, every muscle tense, clinging desperately to the rough scaly bark. Weak from loss of blood and terribly torn about the head and throat, it was all he could to do keep himself from slipping.

The larger marten had followed closely, and was now crouched at the base of the branch that held his prey, glaring his malevolence. For a time he did not stir, secure in the knowledge that escape was impossible. Then almost impercetibly he began to move; belly flat to the bark, the short powerful leg muscles barely rippling, he crept along a fraction of an inch at a time, till at last he was within two feet of his victim. The hunted marten now turned his head, ever so slightly, and their eyes met in a gaze of mutual hatred and ferocity. Keeping his gaze fastened on the object of his venom, the hunter advanced a few inches further. The branch swayed dangerously and bent until the foremost was hanging head downward, legs and claws wrapped tightly about the bunches of long pine needles. Only a small space separated them now, a distance relentlessly being cut down to nothing.

Snow Wings, from his perch on the dead tamarack, not forty yards away, had been watching their every move with keen excitement. He had been sorely tempted on several occasions during the struggle, to swoop down in an effort to carry off one of the fighters, but each time had withheld in the hope that a better opportunity would present itself. Now with the two hanging helplessly upon the end of the branch far above the ground, he realized that at last his chance had come. Leaving the tamarack, he sailed swiftly through the intervening space, but the flash of his wings had been seen. As the great owl struck, the hunted marten loosed his hold and plunged downward, legs and feet widely spread, to the snow beneath. The other followed instantly, striking the crust not two feet away from the first. Dumbfounded by their move, Snow Wings flapped wildly for an instant to regain his balance, then soared back to his perch.

Here he watched again the pursuit across the snow, as the smaller tried to reach his first objective, the spruce thicket. The distance between them was cut down rapidly, and once more they closed, fighting now a battle to the death. Snow Wings could stand it no longer. His taste for blood had been roused and regardless of consequences, he could not wait. Down he came and hovered like an angel of death over the two fighters, watching for a chance to strike. Suddenly the greater marten gained the advantage and throwing his adversary to the side, he dashed in, secured a throat hold, and tore savagely at the life blood underneath.

Just then came a swoop of wings, battering them both to the snow. For an instant they were enveloped in a cloud of white from whose softness extended curved claws, sharp as steel. The topmost killer felt a vise-like grip in his neck and back and squirmed in agony as he was lifted clear of the snow. Twisting and doubling, he did his utmost to free himself, but his struggles availed him nothing. He then gave vent to a snarling screech so venomous and filled with hatred that all the evil in the race of killers might have for that one instant been concentrated in the body of one.

His weight was too great, however, even for the big snow owl and after laboring along mightily for a few rods, with the tail and feet of his victim dragging, he was forced to earth. Wings widely spread, he nevertheless retained his hold upon the squirming beast and struck fierce slashing blows with his powerful beak at its head and eyes. The thrashing of the now sorely wounded animal increased until finally it was all the owl could do to hold on. With a last desperate effort, the marten doubled up and wrenched himself free from the murderous talons. Blinded with his own blood, and crazed by the terrible laceration he had received, he hurled himself at the white phantom before him. Snow Wings, however, had anticipated the attack, and knowing that should his enemy ever secure a hold upon his slender body, he would be doomed, had taken to the air at once. He circled wlowly over the swale, and once more resumed his perch on the old tamarack to wait until his victim weakened.

The smaller marten who had been dazedly watching the strange combat from the shelter of the spruce thicket, toward which had had fled, now came stealthily forward, belly to the snow, and revenge in his blood-reddened eyes. His once powerful enemy, now crawled slowly around in a circle, stone blind, his eyes nothing but gaping bloody pits. For an instant the avenger gloated, then sprang in, fastened his teeth in the already torn throat and drank the hot blood that soon would have been enriched by his own, had not fate intervened. After eating his fill of the warm red flesh, he left the carcass and melted away among the ghostly shadows of the spruce trees.

Snow Wings now dropped to the kill and ate ravenously. When he had gorged himself to repletion, he flew again to the tamarack and sent forth a call for his mate. He had not long to wait for although Yellow Eyes was miles to the northward, she heard the resonant booming notes distinctly and knowing that they meant food, came winging her way swiftly over the popple covered ridges and spruce choked valleys. Instinctively she found her way to the exact spot from which the call had come, and dropped without a sound beside her mate. Although Snow Wings was large, she was even more huge, for among the Arctic owls, the female is always the larger of the species. Nature for once had been lavish in her gift of strength to the sex whose chief duty is the protection of its young. Yellow Eyes rested only a few moments, then flew down and devoured the remainder of the torn carcass, fur and all, leaving only the largest bones.

Leaving the scene of the kill, they then flew slowly back toward the swamp from which they had begun their hunting, some hours before. By the time they reached their resting place the east had begun to redden and the semi-darkness of the winter's dawn was fast disappearing before the light of day. In the very center of a thick clump of spruce they went to roost and there dozed sleepily during the glaring hours of sunlight.

The killing of the marten marked the end of the winter's long starvation. Food became gradually more plentiful. The days grew steadily longer and under the burning heat of the bright March sun, the drifts began to sink. Squirrels came out of hiding and chattered gaily from the cone-laden jackpines and partridge forsook their burrows in the snow to feed boldly upon the buds of popple and birch. Even the snowshoes ventured forth, to bask again in the grateful warmth, so long denied them. Hunting was no longer the haphazard pastime it had been, during the long nights of midwinter.

It was then that the two great owls regained their strenth, and not a night passed but that they feasted in plenty. The snow melted most rapidly on the southern slopes and here it was, on the long jagged stretches of brown earth, that they found their best hunting. Still as white as they had been all winter long, the rabbits stood out plainly against the brown background of last year's leaves. Upon sighting game one of the hunters would skim close to the earth like a plummet. As the needle-pointed claws sank in, the defenseless creatures would scream with terror.

Oft times they surprised a covey of partridge, roosting in a spruce tree, or if in the early evening, picking buds in the top of a bare birch. Yellow Eyes was then in her glory. Down she would swoop into their midst and the poor bewildered birds would go fluttering and squawking off into the darkeness. Seeking out the fattest she would fasten her talons while still in midair and continue her flight.

Spring came at last to the North country, the enchanted time of year when life resumes again its natural course and all nature unites in one cosmic effort to attain tranquility. The hillsides became bare of snow and only in the shaded valleys and swamps did it linger at all. The nights were filled with the sweet music of trickling rivulets and the hollow gurglings of hidden springs. Songs of returned migrants sounded everywhere and long lines of geese flew by high in the heavens, their discordant clamor heralding their approach. Sap was flowing fast and the buds were fairly bursting with their eagerness to unfold. The very air, filled with the smell of melting snow and wet brown earth, seemed pregnant with the surge of awaking life. The harsh struggle for existence was forgotten by the dwellers of the wild.

Snow Wings and his mate grew more and more restless as time went on, for they felt again the age-old call of the Arctic. Each year they had nexted far to the North, at the very edge of the barren lands; where the scrub spruce gives way to the dreary expanse of moss and willow, known as the tundra. They could wait no longer. It was time to leave the land of the great Superior watershed.

Then something happened which changed their plans completely. Winter, not content with lingering through the blustery days of March and early April, descended again in one final attempt to regain the kingdom it had lost. The soft breezes from the southwest suddenly changed to biting cold from the North, and the patter of raindrops gave way to the stinging lash of hail and sleet. For three days the fury lasted and when at last it was over every vestige of spring had disappeared, and the earth was covered again with a blanket of snow.

Then came days and nights of bitter frost, killing the new born buds and blighting the hosts of tender green shoots that had already sprung up through the covering of last year's leaves. For two weeks wintered stayed on, and then, as though worn out by its last outbusrt, departed almost as quickly as it had come, leaving the earth once more to its rightful heritage of sun and warmth.

The two snow owls had spent the unusual period in dumb stupefaction, unable to reconcile the cold with their natural instincts. All thought of going North had been immediately abandoned and during the cold they had stayed on in the shelter of the swamp that had been home to them all winter. With the return of warm weather, Snow Wings grew restless once more, but now to his great wonderment Yellow Eyes refused to move. One warm starlit night he started off alone on his way to the North, but was forced to return because she would not follow. Days of uncertainty passed and Yellow Eyes acted more queerly than ever before. Occasionally she would disappear to be gone for hours at a time, always returning, however, to the old roosting place in the swamp. Her mate was sorely puzzled at such unudual behavior, particularly at a time when they should have been winging their way northward, bending every effort toward reaching their old nesting ground in the Arctic.

He was soon to see the reason, however, for one day he followed and found her on the bank of a creek, sitting contentedly underneath a huge cedar log. Here, in a natural hollow, protected from the wind and rain, she had built a nest of leaves and grass, lined with down from her own breast. At sight of the intruder she reffled her feathers, stretched to full height, and snapped her beak viciously. There was reason for her fierceness because under her lay four whitish eggs, so light in color that in their bed of down they were almost invisible. Snow Wings knew now the reason for her hesitance. They had tarried too long and for once their pilgrimage into the Far North had been thwarted.

In the barren grounds Yellow Eyes had alaways built her nest upon the ground for the simple reason that nowhere were trees large enough to hold one, and though now in a country heavily timbered, it had not occurred to her to vary her habit. She did not realize that dangers entirely new and strange would threaten her eggs and thought that she had chosen wisely.

Snow Wings philosophically accepted his astounding discovery and promptly forgot his restlessness, in the added duties that now confronted him. His mate now seldom left the nest, depending almost entirely upon him for food and he hunted tirelessly, bringing in field mice, rabbits, and occasionally a fish that he had pounced upon in the creek below.

One night he succeeded in killing a large showshoe much too heavy for him to carry. He called for his mate and though she hesiteated at leaving her eggs, finally joined him a short way up the creek. After eating their fill, they hurriedly winged their way back to the nest. There, to their horror, they discovered that two of the eggs had been broken. Both owls were frantic. Round and round they flew, snapping their great beaks in rage and searching every possible hiding place for the marauder, but try as they might, no clue or trace could they find. Yellow Eyes could not understand it, for in the Arctice she had often left her next unprotected and never once had her eggs been molested. Instinctively, however, her vigilance increased, and it was seldom from that time that she left her eggs even to feed. In spite of her watchfulness, however, the remaining two were found broken on the following day. The stricken birds were dumbounded and felt helplessly unable to cope with a menace new to them both. In time, three more eggs were laid in the nest of down, and these more jealously guarded than the first. Then for days nothing happened and it looked as though they would raise the rest of their brood in peace. Both lived, however, in constant fear that a reperition of the crime that had robbed them of their young would occur.

From the nest, perched as it was on the bank of the creek, they could easily see the water flowing over a rapids below them. It was the time of year when pickerel and Northern pike were ascending the streams in search of spawning beds. The rocks in the rapids formed an almost inaccessible barrier to their ascent and they gathered by the score in the deep pool below, awaiting their turn at the riffles. Occasionally one more adventurous than the rest would separate from the school, hurl himself out of the quiet water into the swirling shallows above, where he would splash and flop, till he had either forced himself over the obstruction or had by his own misdirected efforts worked himself back again into the pool below. Sometimes a luckless fish, in his frantic struggling, would throw himself clear of the water out upon the rocky bank, and Snow Wings, who was always on watch for just such an emergency, would sail down the slpe and pounce upon him. After eating what he wanted, he usually carried a portion of the carcass back to his mate, but when her part was too heavy a load, she would come at his call and hurriedly gulp down huge mouthfuls of the cold sweet flesh, never tarrying longer than to barely satisfy her appetite.

Then one day toward evening, just when the soft spring twilight was settling over the valley, they were startled by a tremendous splashing in the shallows below. Not having eaten since the night before, both were more than hungry and alert for anything that might savor of food. At the sound they both looked toward the creek. There in plain sight was a great pike, flopping helplessly between two boulders. Snow Wings slipped down softly and perched himself on a rock close by. As soon as the fish lay quiet, he dropped upon it and sank in his long black talons. At the feel of claws the imprisoned pike redoubled his thrashing and almost succeeded in dislodging his assailant. Only by flapping his wings wildly did the owl keep his balance at all. Then he tried to rise, but try as he might the weight was more than he could manage. Again and again he tried, but was finally forced to relinquish his hold entirely.

Yellow Eyes, who had been watching interestedly, was very hungry and though she knew it was hazardous, could resist the temptation no longer. Leaving the nest, she spread her wings and floated down quietly to her mate now perched upon a rock watching his prey. Larger and stronger than he, she had little trouble in dislodging the fish from the crevice in which it was wedged. Together they fell upon it, tore it to bits and ate ravenously of the still quivering flesh.

No sooner had the big female left her nest than a small reddish brown animal, with a long feathery tail, left the protection of a black spruce top close by and climbed swiftly down the trunk. Before leaving the tree it stopped, looked carefully around in all directions and then, as though satisfied that danger had flown, approached the next iwht long jerky jumps. The closer it drew the more cautious it became and once out of sheer nervousness it ran swiftly up a small sapling close by, where it chattered foolishly. Then as if ashamed of its timidity, it leaped to earth once more and ran boldly forward.

For days the tiny red robber had awaited his chance. Since his last raid upon the nest ordinary food had seemed tasteless and the remembrance of the stolen delicacy rankled strongly within him. During the day time there had been little chance for only at the approach of nightfall did the vigilance of the pair relax. Even then, if one left the nest, the other was sure to stand on guard. His long looked for chance had come, however, when Yellow Eyes had finally left to help her mate in the killing of the pike. Barely waiting till she was out of sight he had left his hiding place for one more desperate attempt.

He stopped again before reaching the nest and carefully surveyed the ground before him. The raucous chattering of a bluejay in a tree above half startled him out of his wits. Nervously he covered the remaining distance and with one last bound was in the nest. He proceeded at once to gnaw a hole in the first egg he touched, and as he tasted its delicious contents he became oblivious to the world about him and drank greedily.

A scratching sound on the log above attracted his attention. When he looked up, the sight that met his eyes, transfixed him with horror, for there crouched ready to spring was a long sinuous form, golden brown in color, his most dreaded enemy, the pine marten. Terrible scars still naked of fur extended from muzzle to throat and lent to the mild dog-like face an unnatural ferocity. For an instant the squirrel was petrified, then with a wild leap he cleared the distance between him and the closest tree, a slender balsam, and like a flash scurried up into its thick interlacing branches. Climbing rapidly, he did not stop till he had reached the very topmost sprig, and here clinging terror-stricken he waited for his pursuer.

The marten had reached the balsam not two feet behind his quarry. As a climber he had no equal and of all the killers of the weasel family, except perhaps his cousin the fisher, he alone could catch the squirrel in his native element. He climbed leisurely and soon reached the top in spite of the fact that the slender brances swayed dangerously with his weight. The little red watched his progress till he could bear it no longer, then launched himself out into space. This was exactly what his enemy had been waiting for and both struck the ground at almost the same instant. One swift bound and the sharp pointed teeth of the killer closed. A brief struggle and it was all over. The marten then drank of the hot blood and ate what he wanted of the tender red meat. After carefully burying what was left of the tiny carcass, he continued his way down the creek. His great debt to Snow Wings had been paid in full.