DUCK SHOOTING ON THE BEAR RIVER 
SWAMPS 
Everyone interested in sport who has spent any 
time in America has heard of the Bear River duck 
shooting. It was my luck to be thrown in contact 
with Young, who had shot there often, and we ar- 
ranged to visit the place together. He had told 
me of the thousands and thousands of birds killed 
every year; of the market hunters, who for weeks 
at a time killed several hundred a day per gun, and 
of the wonderful variety of birds to be seen. 
On September the 29th we left the railway and 
drove some eighteen miles to a house near the 
mouth of the river where sportsmen could put up. 
Our road for the first few miles led through mead- 
ows, then it was continued as a trail across a 
weary alkaline plain. We left behind us the fine 
rugged Wasatch range, but to the west and beyond 
the lake other and less rugged mountains arose. 
On this drive we saw a remarkable mirage; a mile 
or two ahead lay a beautiful well-wooded and well- 
watered country, but illusive as the rainbow. The 
meandering river at times came close to the road, 
when numbers of ducks could be seen, but out on 
the plain, an occasional hawk was the only sign 
of life. As Bear River approaches Great Salt 
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