206 The Water-fowl Fauily 



of fall and winter it is hardly worth while to 

 waste much time on Canada geese, but when 

 wind and storm drive the flocks low down under 

 the lee of land the chance is afforded. 



The Currituck Club is the club for geese, and 

 here many are killed every year. They have the 

 habit of leaving the quiet shelter of the bay for 

 the ocean, where they spend the day, crossing the 

 outer bars and dunes on the journey back and 

 forth, often low down, coming close to the inner 

 shore on these trips. Here sink boxes are placed 

 in the more favorable locations ; when storm- 

 driven the restless flocks lead to and fro, seeking 

 in vain a shelter. This is the chance, and it 

 doesn't come often. Eight or ten trusted honkers 

 from the goose pen at the club are boxed up. A 

 large swan goes along, too, for luck. These are 

 taken to the blind and carefully tethered on the 

 flat, or if in shallow water a platform is driven 

 just under the surface, as swimming all the time 

 gets monotonous. The sink box is now put in 

 shape, — it likely needs bailing out, the edge 

 probably requires a little tinkering, — some sand 

 is thrown up around the front, or possibly sea- 

 weed and sedge ; then every vestige that could 

 arouse suspicion is removed. If everything is 

 favorable, and it's mighty seldom it is, the gunner 

 hasn't long to wait. Likely the first intimation of 

 anything out of the ordinary will be a honk from 



