HUNTING & SHOOTING IN CEYLON 



Coming to my own experiences, I will endeavour to give 

 instances of sport incurring a good stalk or a good shot, or 

 any out-of-the-common incident, as much as possible. 



I remember some years ago, during a trip with two 

 planting friends and neighbours, Fred Brockman and Harry 

 Cater, we had camped in a very remote " park," consisting 

 of a few abandoned little tanks and village sites now get- 

 ting rapidly overgrown with jungle, but still containing a 

 fair amount of grass land interspersed with trees and bushes. 

 Our tent was pitched in a tiny plot of grass, surrounded 

 by jungle, just under the " bund " of a tank alongside the 

 breach whence the water made its escape, and which con- 

 tained our only water supply, a very pea-soupy looking 

 puddle, about 20 yards long by 5 or 6 yards wide. The 

 surrounding country beyond the, perhaps, 200 acres of 

 fairly open land was forest for many miles, and too thick 

 to traverse beyond the one and only pathway through it. 

 In the evening of our arrival, after pitching camp, we set 

 off for a stroll, I and Brockman and a tracker in one direc- 

 tion, Cater and another guide in another direction. Before 

 I and Brockman had gone very far we sighted a nice little 

 herd of deer, and soon made out a good buck which I 

 made up my mind to bag if possible. With a little care, 

 stooping, crawling, and taking advantage of every bit of 

 cover, I got to a good position within about 60 yards, and 

 as soon as I had steadied myself and got my breath (you 

 will soon find how such an approach in a tropical country 

 will take it out of you), I " drew a bead " on its shoulder 

 with my good little " Savage" rifle and fired. It fell to 

 the shot, but, getting up again almost immediately, made 

 off at speed in spite of a broken shoulder. I reloaded, by 

 my magazine action, like lightning, and as the deer was 

 going straight away, using that most deadly of all sights, 



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