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here. Take notice.” Both birds of the pair gave each call. I was lucky to catch a glimpse of 837 trying to hide. Her red shoulder patches gave her away as she squeezed herself into the thick branches of a spruce some one hundred yards away, but she was not hidden well enough. The territorial birds found her even there, and a long vociferous aerial chase ensued, as their calls receeded into the distance. Soon all was quiet again, and the bait was deserted. Our bird was driven away—but not for long.
    In twenty minutes, she was back, still alone, sleek, nervous and agitated, pecking on the branches at her feet and scanning nervously in all directions. After ten minutes, she hopped down to the meat, again eating fat as if she hadn’t eaten in days. After snacking for a while, she flew off, holding as many pieces of suet as a raven bill can hold. At 9:28 A.M. , the territorial pair returned and stayed for forty-two minutes. They still did not feed, all the while giving their long “I’m here” calls. Number 837 stayed away from the bait, but my magic instrument, the radio receiver, told me with beeps that she was still near, apparently hiding. Well, most of the time. Once she gave a yell—the call that recruits. A bad move—as far as I knew, there wereno ravens nearby to recruit, except the vicious adults. They immediately pinpointed her, and another vigorous aerial chase ensued.
    There were no birds near for a long time after that, and I lost radio contact with our bird. Suddenly, I heard some resonant monotones from the skies far above. Knowing no birds were nearby, I took the risk of stepping out of the blind for a better view and saw what I guessed to be the territorial pair—two specks against a patch of blue sky amongst dark, drifting clouds. The two circled side by side, wing-tip to wing-tip. Occasionally, they dove and turned in formation, then ascended in circles again. Higher and higher they went, thousands of feet up. I followed them through my binoculars for as long as I could until they faded into a hole in the sky among billowing, cushiony clouds, still dancing side by side. This dance moves me more than any human dance performance ever could. This one has been performed for millions of years and will continue for a long time to come.
    At 12:24, the pair returned, first making the rasping “Get out” quorks and then, for the next eighteen minutes, an almost continual series of the long undulating “I’m here” quork s. The calls came from a half mile to the south of the bait, then from the west side. Then they ceased as the pair left. Eight minutes later, Number 837 was back and snacking lightly. She obviously could feed at this bait despite the territorial defense of the adults. She just couldn’t feed whenever she wanted to. Presumably, this situation could change if the adults started to use this as their main food supply. So far, they did not seem at all interested in feeding. I was surprised that they went to so much trouble to defend a food site at which they were not feeding, though I thought it might be on their checklist as a possible future feeding site.
    Would Number 837 not recruit at all, given that she was able to feed successfully? Our bird’s failure to recruit might not seem very exciting, but we were not just raven-watching. We were also hypothesis-hunting. It might turn out, given everything about this bird and this situation, that lack of recruitment would be the most exciting result of all.
    At 1:12 P.M. , another unanticipated event made us rethink the original hypothesis. Two ravens flew over, then quickly descended tothe woods nearby. One of them called loudly, but I knew it could not be one of the pair, because these two did not make any territorial quork s. Instead, for the next twenty minutes I heard a completely new spectrum of sounds, a steady singsong of slow rasping quork s intermingled with rolling, gurgling calls. There were also many series of rapid, percussion-like