THE NORTH SHORE 75 
ends with tules. The blind was built at the opening of 
the season and the ducks were accustomed to seeing it. 
It was all right to hold the North Shore as a refuge for 
the home-raised birds early in October, but now the 
Northern flight was on, it made but little difference. 
The North Lake was nearly round. Mountains, 
great heaps of almost barren volcanic rock, lined the 
north and east sides of the lake, giving an air of grandeur 
unusual to ordinary duck shooting surroundings. 
Northward was a dry country and our two fresh water 
lakes held out welcome and inviting inducements to 
stay awhile, to all wildfowl on their autumn migration. 
After we put out the decoys and were fairly settled, 
Jimmy started to wade ashore to see some friend of his 
who lived a mile from the lake about buying a horse. 
It was very still and I could hear Jimmy’s feet splash- 
ing in the water, until he nearly reached the bank. 
The boat I was shooting from was a very comfort- 
able one with a swivel chair in the stern. A chair with 
a back and arms and better than all a comfortable 
cushion. Sitting there with the decoys in front of me, 
it was only necessary to turn the chair enough to suit 
conditions as each duck came to the decoys. It was 
really most luxurious. 
With my field-glasses I could plainly see a black raft 
of ducks a mile west. They were flight ducks. Most of 
them had come in from the North during the night or 
early in the morning. They were tourists and tourists 
are always fair game. I hoped to see more of them a 
little later, if they proved sociable. 
There were two guns in the boat, my time-scarred 
double and a new companion, an automatic, a recent 
acquisition. The recoil pad, while helping some, had 
not cured the double of a recoil, that not noticeable a 
