A sort of gray, gloaming-like darkness filled the
valley, the huge walls were out of sight, all ordinary sounds were
smothered, and even the loudest booming of the falls was at times buried
beneath the roar of the heavy-laden blast. The loose snow was already
over five feet deep on the meadows, making extended walks impossible
without the aid of snow-shoes. I found no great difficulty, however, in
making my way to a certain ripple on the river where one of my ouzels
lived. He was at home, busily gleaning his breakfast among the pebbles
of a shallow portion of the margin, apparently unaware of anything
extraordinary in the weather. Presently he flew out to a stone against
which the icy current was beating, and turning his back to the wind,
sang as delightfully as a lark in springtime.
After spending an hour or two with my favorite, I made my way across the
valley, boring and wallowing through the drifts, to learn as definitely
as possible how the other birds were spending their time. The Yosemite
birds are easily found during the winter because all of them excepting
the Ouzel are restricted to the sunny north side of the valley, the
south side being constantly eclipsed by the great frosty shadow of the
wall.
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