106 Unexplored Spain 
The essence of success lies in ascertaining precisely the exact 
areas where fowl in quantity are “strongly haunted,” by day and 
night, together with their regular lines of flight thence and 
thereto. Obviously such exact knowledge in these vast marismas, 
devoid of landmarks, demands careful observation, and it must 
be remembered that these things change with every change of 
weather and water. Having located such well-frequented resorts 
or flight-lines, the degree of success will yet depend on the strength 
of the “haunt.” It may happen (despite all care) that the 
partiality of the fowl for that special spot or route is merely 
superficial and evanescent. A dozen shots and they have cleared 
out, or altered their course. In the reverse case, so strong may 
be their “haunt” that no amount of disturbance entirely drives 
them away, and even those that have already been scared by 
the sound of shooting will yet return again and again. 
By night ducks feed in the slobby shallows and oozes, 
but concealed by the samphire- growth which flourishes in 
such places. Hence the use of the stancheon-gun is not here 
available as in the case of bare, plant-free, tidal flats at home 
and elsewhere. 
In the dusk the ducks have arrived at these feeding-grounds 
in quite small trips or bunches. But as the stars pale towards 
the dawn, they depart in larger detachments, often numbering 
hundreds in a pack. Still, such are their enormous numbers 
that, even so, their shifting armies form an almost continuous 
stream in the direction whither they take their course. But 
where is that? That is the problem on the solution of which the 
fowler’s success depends. We will presume that you have so 
solved it. In that case, you will have witnessed, between an 
hour before sun-up and half-an-hour thereafter, as marvellous a 
procession as the scheme of bird-life can afford. 
Let us follow the fowl throughout that matutinal flight. 
Away through leagues of empty space they hold their course, 
now high in air where vistas of brown samphire loom like land 
and might conceal a lurking foe, anon lowering their flight where 
sporadic sheets or lanes of open water break the tawny monotony. 
Beyond all this, stretching away in open waters like an inland 
sea, lies a big lucio. That is their goal. One by one, or in 
dozens and scores, the infinite detachments re-unite to splash 
