FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



ON THE MOULEE MARSH. 



W. T. D. 



After being cooped up in an office all 

 winter, I naturally enjoyed my ist outing 

 of the season exceedingly. I do not be- 

 lieve in spring shooting, though to get into 

 the country, I usually spend at least one 

 day on the marsh. I prefer the woods, not 

 because of the woods, but for the action and 

 the unexpected whir of a partridge or quail. 

 To lie in wait for a duck, seen afar, coming 

 dead on, is, to my mind, " too Indian." 



My friend and I left Trenton, and with 

 a Northwest wind made the 8 miles to the 

 marsh just below Huron river, in time for 

 breakfast. No record of time was kept, but 

 we could not have been 2 hours in making 

 the trip. Our boat, a 16-foot open skiff, 

 was old and heavy, but a good sailer, stiff 

 in the water. 



After breakfast we walked down the 

 beach and punted through the marsh, not 

 trying to kill birds, but lazing around. 

 Away back in the marsh were thousands of 

 pintails, and although 2 or 3 miles away, 

 we could hear them rise with a roar known 

 well to duck hunters. 



The Moulee marsh is probably one of 

 the best ducking-grounds in the country. 

 Members of the club there kill hundreds 

 of ducks in a day. It is said that Harvey 

 Brown, of Cleveland, who is the best shot 

 in the club, shoots 3 guns and kills with 

 every barrel. I have heard of his getting 

 28 teal out of one flock.* 



We killed more time than birds, but had 

 a good time. Late in the evening we heard 

 the birds coming into the marsh. An oc- 

 casional mallard would fly over with a 

 " quack, quack "; then we heard it repeated 

 away back in the marsh. The teal would 

 whiz by, disappearing in an instant. This 

 kept up until long after dark. 



Many an evening, in the fall, have I spent 

 in the marsh to catch the flight, when I 

 shot so fast my gun barrels became too hot 

 to touch. For half an hour it is good sport. 

 When you are through you find you have 

 killed, in the short half hour, enough mal- 

 lards, grey and black ducks, to satisfy you. 



The next afternoon we started home in a 

 gale. Three other hunters, who were at the 

 marsh, came with us: one in our boat. 

 We took in a lot of stuff that loaded us 

 down, but being accustomed to wind and 

 water we hoisted sail and flew before the 



wind. One was kept busy bailing. Several 

 times, when the wind came too strong, we 

 had to let the sail fly out in front, like a 

 flag; even then we made great time. Once 

 a big wave covered our bow, six inches. 

 My friend was at the tiller and saw it com- 

 ing. He was afraid one of us would see 

 it and move; then all would be over, per- 

 haps, with all of us. I had a few pails of 

 water to bail out, as a result. Our next 

 trouble was going through a bed of bowl- 

 ders. I don't know how we got through 

 and will not try to tell. 



We stopped at Story's bay and looked 

 back for the other boat, but they were not 

 in sight. For a time we were worried, but 

 after a time we saw them coming and they 

 were soon with us. We then held a council 

 on the beach. 



" Now what shall we do? " said one. We 

 had made only about 3 miles. 



" Let's go into Story's, leave our stuff 

 and have him drive us to Trenton," I sug- 

 gested. All agreed, and that was what we 

 did. 



The gun that Story — an old market 

 hunter — has is a murderous weapon. It is 

 4 gauge, nearly 8 feet long, with a big pad 

 on the stock. Story said he had killed 42 

 ducks at one shot. His load was 12 ounces 

 of shot — could shoot 14, but it kicked too 

 much. From a boat, he would get in line 

 with the ducks, rest the muzzle, hold the 

 stock against him somewhere and let it go. 

 The recoil would send the boat flying 

 through the water and save him. I am 

 thankful the law prohibits the use of such 

 guns, now. 



* There are many club men who are also game hoes. 

 Mr. Brown, if this report be true, may not squeal for his 

 food nor put his feet in the trough when he eats, but he 

 has all the other characteristics of a first-class hog.— 

 Editor. 



FROM LAKE CHELAN. 



Trapping in this section last winter was 

 not good. Several men were engaged in it, 

 but no good catches were made. The coun- 

 try about the lake has been trapped every 

 winter, for the past 7 years, and marten 

 are getting scarce. The Pearl brothers 

 wintered in the Stehekin valley, at the head 

 of the lake, and caught a few marten, a 

 fisher or 2, several mink and 5 lynx. This 

 last named catch is curious. In the winter 

 of '88 a party of 4 trapped at Railroad creek 

 and got 31 of these whiskered cats. A few 

 years later one of the same men and I 

 hunted and trapped there 2 winters. We 

 got a large number of marten, some fishers, 

 a dozen wolverines and a varied assortment 

 of other fur; but only 1 lynx. Nor did 

 any of the other hunters catch anything 

 feline except an occasional bob cat. 

 Lynxes have been caught in several local- 

 ities, lately, and some people believe they 



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