CHAPTER XI 

 IN THE HAUNTS OF WILD FOWL 



We had dropped our anchor in the deep 

 water at the head of a channel in one of the 

 innumerable shallow bays of Tidewater 

 Virginia. We were in the midst now of the 

 haunts of almost every wild fowl that spreads 

 his wings along the Atlantic Seaboard. 



The prayer of the huntsman in search of 

 ducks, geese and brant is for cold, stormy 

 weather. 



It is impossible to get many wild fowl in 

 mild weather. They will not decoy, but 

 will drift around the bay in great masses 

 talking, laughing, screaming and joking at 

 fool hunters they can see plainly squatting 

 in blinds surrounded by wooden humbug 

 birds. They never come closer than a mile 



