THE NORTH SHORE 
“Up they rose with cry and clamor 
With a whir and beat of pinions 
Rose up from the reedy islands 
From the water flags and lilies.” 
LONGFELLOW’s Hiawatha. 
THERE was an unwritten law that no one should shoot 
on the North Shore early in the season. The native 
ducks needed the North Shore as a resting place and 
refuge. It was different when the Southern migration 
was on later in the fall, as the Northern birds were here 
to-day and gone to-morrow and could take care of them- 
selves. It was early in November. The flight birds, 
canvasbacks, redheads, and blue-bills, were arriving in 
goodly numbers, so Jimmy and I decided to try our 
luck that day on the North Shore. Rowing was a 
pleasant exercise in the sharp biting wind, but four miles 
of it was plenty. 
The blind was a boat blind, as wide and two thirds as 
long as our boat. It was made of dry tules, tied to a 
frame of willow wands that were stuck securely in the 
mud. As we rowed up, a slightly wounded mallard, 
hiding in the blind, started to fly. It was no trouble to 
down him. At the shot a damaged redhead swam out 
from the blind and scurried off. Jimmy tried to catch 
him but the redhead could swim too fast. I gave him 
another shell. 
We had two birds to start with as we pushed 
the skiff into place for the day and covered the 
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