The Water-fowl of the Pacific Coast 507 



any of the larger ponds to spend at least one 

 night, and that in doing so they would be joined 

 by as large a horde that had been out feeding in 

 the vast corn-fields of the prairie. To be almost 

 mobbed with such a combination tearing the air 

 around your head, while you stood struggling 

 with a muzzle-loader, was a common experience of 

 the last hour before dark ; while a highly respec- 

 table attempt to duplicate it in getting out of bed 

 in the morning was almost a certainty. Decoys 

 would have been an absurdity at such times. 

 And the thousand lines of hissing wings that 

 came plunging out of the sky, or swinging up out 

 of the horizon, curled, twisted, and darted in so 

 many directions at such tremendous speed that 

 one was treated to every combination of shots of 

 the hardest kind. 



I cannot find that any such flight shooting has 

 ever been seen on this coast, and all that I have 

 seen in twenty-seven years has been tame by con- 

 trast. Yet the difference is not all loss. On the 

 prairie there was little to cheer the soul of the 

 tyro. Without the slightest difficulty he could 

 burn up all his ammunition only to see an occa- 

 sional tail feather part its hold, with its owner 

 flying all the faster for being relieved of it, and 

 possibly see a wounded duck plunge into the 

 shades of night where even his dog could never 

 find it. Even the expert had to struggle with 



