212 WILD-FOWLING AFLOAT BY NIGHT 



another, somewhat scattered, pack of widgeon, 

 which are quietly feeding on some shallows in a 

 corner of the lower mudbanks, allow us to creep 

 within range, and a further handsome addition of 

 brilliantly plumaged birds is made to our already 

 well-filled punt.' 



Such is the record of one of the best nights I ever 

 experienced when punting abroad, and one indeed 

 which for sustained excitement could not be sur- 

 passed. On our own coasts, of course, excepting in 

 winters of the most severe type, the punter's rewards 

 are on a smaller scale ; but whether the bag consists 

 of a dozen head of fowl or of fifty, the fowler will 

 feel just the same keenness, and be just as contented, 

 if he be satisfied that he has made the most of his 

 opportunities. The same outlay of patience, skill, 

 and endurance is required in making a small bag as 

 in effecting a big shot. 



There is, however, another side to these midnight 

 sketches. Sometimes, despite the most untiring 

 patience and perseverance on our part, luck will set 

 dead against us and nullify our most skilful efforts. 

 Let us remember, for instance, that night when the 

 wandering curlew on ghost-like pinions flew silently 

 over the creek in which we were lying prone in our 

 punt awaiting the flowing tide to carry us in shot of 



