Along Shining Shores 77 



fore a curlew is seen or heard. I take a 

 crack at them to get my hand in for Mr. Jack 

 Curlew. The calico plover is a fine practice 

 shot, for he is swift as lightning unless he 

 sees fit to decoy perfectly. 



At last the mud-flats are all covered and 

 the hour has come for the flight to begin. I 

 am on the lookout for a scout. The curlew 

 send out a scout to survey the ground to 

 which the great flocks are coming. If things 

 look suspicious, he goes back and reports, 

 and they change their flight ten or twenty 

 miles in another direction. 



No scout appears. I wait an hour and 

 begin to grow uneasy. The tide is slow, a 

 westerly wind has spoiled the flow, and not a 

 curlew comes within five miles of me. 



I try the next afternoon, and the wind 

 jumps around to the east, the tide covers all 

 creation and runs me out of my hole before I 

 get a shot, even at a calico. 



Again, not a curlew came to the marsh. 



