THE NORTH SHORE = 
The first match was hardly blown out when four can- 
vasbacks came in a bee line straight for the decoys. 
The cigar fell in the bottom of the boat. I hardly was 
obliged to turn my chair an inch, as the ducks came head 
on in front of me. One dropped. Another wounded 
one started off, but I shot it again before it was under 
full headway. 
Then came a quiet smoke. The ducks seemed to like 
plenty of decoys. I gathered my victims and stuck 
them up on sticks outside the mud decoys. A mallard 
went by, coming from behind. Again my cigar sought 
privacy in the bottom of the boat. I tuned up my 
mallard call. Mallards generally fly away when they 
hear it, but this time, wonder of wonders, at the first 
note he circled and came towards me. Then turning 
back, he circled once more and on curved wings swung 
around right over the decoys and with head moving 
from side to side watched my flock to see which one had 
offered greetings. It was impossible to miss him. 
Suddenly I caught sight of a flock of ducks, flying with 
the wind, crossing the mountains to the north. They 
were canvasbacks. As I watched they came swooping 
down to the lake of fresh water. Seven other large 
following flocks crossed the mountains, one after the 
other. I thought a tremendous flight was on, and 
opened my shell box to count my shells. There were 
six small boxes of twenty-five each. The eight big 
flocks were very wild and shy. They alighted in the 
water east of me, but kept rising and then alighting 
again. It was some time before they settled down. 
With rafts of ducks on either side of the boat, the 
chances of a good shoot looked most propitious. 
In about twenty minutes another flock, all redheads, 
came over the mountains. As it happened they were 
