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Nature Magazine: Carolina number

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  • 292 NATURE MAGAZINE FOR MAY 1 93 I there is to the story of Dragonhead, for this is no animal epic abounding in drama and thrills. Rather, it reveals what one may hope to see on a fine spring morning on a Carolina lagoon; and all these things, and many others, you may see there—herons, ibises, water turkeys, bald eagles, gallinules, least bitterns and alligators. All these are typical of Carolina. But equally typical is the summit of Mitchell's Peak in the Black Mountains, the highest peak in the eastern United States, 6711 feet above sea level. There, instead of water turkeys and wood ibises, you will see Carolina juncos and mountain solitary vireos. Instead of the moss-curtained cypresses and glossy-leaved magnolias around the shores of Dragonhead's lagoon, the trees that Kittlefoot knew best in his high, windy mountain home were the balsam fir and the black spruce of the cold uplands and the northern forests. It was on Mitchell's Peak that Kittlefoot lived and perhaps still lives. I never saw Kittlefoot, but from what I heard about him and his methods it was not difficult to picture him in action. A black and white cow had wandered away from one of the valley pastures. Dusk found her grazing in a high, lonely cove below a balsam- clad ridge; the November winds were keen and before darkness fell she moved up into the woods to get into the shelter of the balsams. Just within the wood's edge she startled a ruffed grouse; some distance away in the forest a few belated chickadees and a lone bluejay were calling. Dusk deep ened to darkness; presently the moon rose above the encircling mountains, flooding the grassy cove below with ghostly light. An hour, two hours passed. Suddenly there was a crashing sound among the balsams on the ridge, and the cow burst from the cover and came plunging down the slope. Behind her came another shape, a great, black, shaggy thing, racing down the hill faster than the cow, gaining on her every moment. Suddenly she stumbled and fell, and in an instant the bear was upon her. Probably it took old Kittlefoot not more than a minute or two to kill her. This, according to the mountain hunter who told me something about Kittlefoot's ways, was a characteristic performance of that remarkable bear in his more ambitious moments. Unlike the general run of black bears, which are inoffensive creatures, he had a passion for meat, and he killed not only hogs, lambs and calves but occasionally even full-grown cows, terrifying them into flight and racing them over rough ground until they stumbled. I can not vouch for Kittlefoot's exploits, though I would almost take oath that the man who told me about him was a truthful man. But Kittlefoot's domain is there for all lovers of beauty and wildness to see and enjoy—a mountain empire of vast extent and indescribable loveliness. It is a far cry from Dragonhead's lagoon to the windy heights of Kittlefoot's mighty mountain, but Carolina abounds in such contrasts, and that is one reason why it THE STRAND AT THE ISLE OF PALMS Sub-tropical trees, flowers and shrubs clothe South Carolina's coast with strange beauty
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