5 g Life in the Open 



sees nothing), and then literally shoots up through the air 

 in a climb into the empyrean. I shall never forget my 

 first experience with this manoeuvre. I sat and looked 

 in sheer wonderment, and when my old darkey com- 

 panion, who lived in Hampton, on the creek, asked me 

 why I didn't fire, why, I gave it up. In the old days 

 these birds could be seen in large numbers in all the 

 lagoons along shore, becoming rarer and wilder as the 

 country became settled, and towns and fantastic cities 

 rose in a night in the lagunas and swamps that once 

 knew them well. 



The commonest bag along shore is the green- 

 winged teal. No one can watch its flight, its dash and 

 swiftness, without becoming enamoured with it as a 

 game bird. I have seen a flock whizzing along, have 

 fired and missed, recovering from my surprise only to be 

 thrown into deeper chagrin and confusion as the same 

 flock that had dodged my ammunition came whirling 

 back at me, so near that I threw up my hands, figura- 

 tively, and let them go. I was not out for murder or 

 sudden death without an excuse or justification. 



The mornings out on the edge of the lagoon are 

 often cool, but soon the fog creeps away, the sun comes 

 out, and all the life of the tule appears. Coots make the 

 acquaintance of your distant decoys. Wilson's snipe 

 come whirring in and alight near you in the mud, and 

 the solitary sandpiper flies down from the pasture lands 

 where it has been feeding to leave its footprints in the 

 soft mud. 



