Duck-shocting in IFermland, Sweden, 57 



The two places to which I have alluded lie at equal distances 

 from where 1 live, about live English miles j and as this is almost 

 too far to shoot the grounds properly in one day, I have a boat a 

 each place. We drive over in the morning (the horse and cart 

 cost me ninepence), take our things with us, shoot all day, camp 

 out at night, shoot next day, and home in the evening. I enjoy 

 these little outings greatly — not so much for the sake of the shooting 

 we get, but because they are the nearest approach to the dear old 

 bush life that we can make in these civilized countries. The ground 

 to the right (excuse the bull) is a bight of the Lake Wenern, 

 studded with islands, and there are several small inlets fringed with 

 reed-beds, in every one of which we are sure to pick up a pair 

 or two of ducks j but the best bit of all is a large plain of bulrush 

 flags, and the great water horse-tail grass (in which the ducks 

 are sure to be in the early season), of about a couple of hundred 

 acres in extent. It is impossible to wade this, although the 

 water is not deep, for the bottom is spongy — in fact, a kind 

 of shaking bog ; and in many places the reeds are so thick 

 and high that it is next to impossible to get the boat through 

 them. Of course, this place being almost tabooed ground, 

 is the resort of all the ducks in the neighbourhood. There 

 is much luck in shooting this reed-bed ; but it does so happen 

 fhat if we find the ducks out in the horse-tail grass (and this often 

 happens if we are on the ground a little after daylight) we do gel 

 some rattling shooting. There is a capital snipe country round 

 here, and six couple of snipe and four to five couple of ducks is 

 my average day's work on this ground. I have done more, and I 

 have done less. I have got a capital camping-place here on a little 

 island ; plenty of wood and good water at hand 5 no rent or taxes 

 to pay, and no questions asked j and I have often wondered — as I 

 have lain out on a warm night on a bed of dry grass under the lee 

 of an old stack of dry bulrushes (wherefore it was put here I never 

 can tell, because I have known it here as long as I have known 

 the place), with my face turned up to the heavens, watching one 

 little star after another twinkling in the clear blue sk) — why the 



