depot closest to the nesting, Wisconsin Dells 
became the center of the hunt. Trainloads of 
netters and shot gunners came to make their grim 
harvest. As one account reads: 
"Embarking on the 10:00 AM train, we headed for the 
great pigeon roost stretching from Kilbourn City on the 
Wisconsin River for scores of miles beyond. Having made all 
needed preparations the night previous we were called to arms 
and headed for the roost. The idea was to get into position 
before daylight. The indescribable cooing produced by 
uncounted millions of pigeons arousing from their slumber, 
was heard as the hunters made up their foraging parties. 
Creating an almost bewildering effect on the senses, as it was 
echoed and re-echoed back by the mighty rocks and ledges of 
the Wisconsin bank. As the first streaking of daylight began to 
break over the eastern horizon, small scouting parties of the 
monstrous army of birds then darted like night spirits past our 
heads. Soon the skirmish line, or perhaps more correctly 
pigeon bummers, swept past in small and irregular bodies. 
Our guide now told us to get into position as quick as possible 
as the large flocks would follow in rapid succession. We 
quickly ranged ourselves along the crest of a hill overlooking a 
cleared valley through which the birds would fly on their 
outward passage. 
"And now arose a roar, compared with which all 
previous noises ever heard are but lullabies, and which caused 
more than one of the expectant and excited party to drop their 
guns, and seek shelter behind and beneath the nearest trees. 
The sound was condensed terror. Imagine a thousand 
threshing machines running under full headway, accompanied 
by as many steamboats groaning off steam, with an equal 
quota of R.R. trains passing through covered bridges- 
imagine these massed into a single flock, and you possibly have 
 
a faint conception of the terrific roar following the monstrous 
black cloud of pigeons as they passed in rapid flight in the gray 
light of morning, a few feet before our faces. 
"So sudden and unexpected was the shock that nearly the 
entire flock passed before a shot was fired. The unearthly roar 
continued, and as flock after flock, in almost endless line, 
succeeded each other, nearly on a level with the muzzle of our 
guns, the contents of a score of double barrels was poured into 
the dense mist. Hundreds, yes thousands, dropped into the 
open fields below. Not infrequently a hunter would discharge 
his piece and load and fire the third and fourth time into the 
same flock. The slaughter was terrible beyond any descrip- 
tion. Our guns became so hot by rapid discharges, we were 
afraid to load them. Then while waiting for them others threw 
clubs-seldom, if ever, failing to bring down some of the passing 
flock. 
"Ere the sun was up, the flying host had ceased. It 
continued scarcely an hour in all. Below the scene was truly 
pitiable. Not less then 2,500 birds covered the ground. Many 
were only wounded, a wing broken or something of the kind, 
which disabled, without killing them. These were quickly 
caught and their necks broken." 
When the pigeon harvest of 1871 was fin- 
ished, a total of 1.6 million birds were shipped 
from the Dells. Smaller flocks came back in the 
1880s, but the passenger pigeon was already on its 
way to becoming a symbol of waste and abuse of 
a natural resource. Wisconsin's last passenger 
pigeon was shot near Babcock in 1899 and the last 
passenger pigeon died in a Cincinnati zoo in 1914. 
 
44 
 
Threshing on the 
Nemitz farm near 
Davis Corners, 
1880s.