FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



ON A CALIFORNIA MARSH. 



Three years ago I received an invitation 

 to have a day's shooting on the Canvasback 

 Hunting Club's preserves. A drive of 10 

 miles brought Charley and me to our des- 

 tination, where we found several gunners 

 awaiting us. The Canvasback is the crack, 

 nay, the swell, club of this city. Its rules 

 are rigid and are strictly followed. Among 

 them is one that no snooting shall be al- 

 lowed the evening before a general hunt; 

 so we were content to watch the ducks 

 and geese pass from one lake to another. 

 Shortly after supper the wind began to 

 rise, and it was soon blowing strong from 

 the Southeast, the rainy quarter. In the 

 morning a gale was blowing and the rain 

 was coming down in torrents. Rain had 

 not been thought of, the day before, so 

 Charley and I were the only ones who had 

 been thoughtful enough to carry rubber 

 outfits. 



After breakfast we started for the nearest 

 lake, in a rain so dense it was difficult to 

 see 10 feet ahead. As we neared the pond, 

 the noise of many geese told of a good 

 day's sport before us. 



My stand was at the farther end of the 

 lake, and as I started from the shore I 

 scared hundreds of geese and ducks from 

 my end of the lake. I was delighted to 

 find that the blind was so substantially 

 built as to almost entirely keep the wind 

 out. I put out my decoys and settled down 

 to wait for day to break. I had hardly 

 seated myself when a flock of ducks alight- 

 ed among the decoys. They were followed 

 by others, and soon I was surrounded by 

 ducks and geese. 



It is a trying experience, in duck shoot- 

 ing, to have flocks of ducks and geese 

 among your decoys, and you unable to 

 shoot. It seemed ages before it finally be- 

 came light enough to see, and then it was 

 all I could do to keep from shooting at a 

 flock of mallards, a short distance away. 

 Remembering the warning given me by 

 an old duck hunter, to drive all the birds 

 off the lake before beginning to shoot, I 

 stepped from my blind and was almost 

 deafened by the roar of wings. 



I had hardly returned to the blind when 

 a flock of green-wing teal, full 200, whizzed 

 by, coming from behind. They no sooner 

 caught sight of the decoys than they made 

 a beautiful turn and came back, passing 

 within 25 yards. I let go the first barrel 

 into a bunch, and dropped a single bird 

 with the second. As a result of the shots, 

 I had 8 teal for a starter. 



I had hardly loaded when a steady 

 " Honk, honk," warned me to keep down. 

 A flock of 10 gray geese were beating up 

 against the wind. I waited until they were 



over and a little past; then I made a double. 

 It would have been nearly impossible to 

 miss such a mark, for they were almost 

 standing still. 



With this flock the sport began in ear- 

 nest, and after the first few shots I would 

 shoot at only the choicest kinds of geese; 

 no yelpers or brant or white geese for me, 

 when I had only to wait a minute for a 

 flock of " speckled-bellies." With the geese 

 one shot was a repetition of another, for 

 they all beat up against the wind and 

 passed almost directly over me, generally 

 not more than 10 or 15 feet high. As flock 

 followed flock, it soon became monotonous 

 to shoot at such large marks, so I turned 

 my attention to the ducks. 



After a time the rain stopped, the clouds 

 parted and the sun made his appearance 

 for a few minutes. Shortly after this a 

 friend drove down to the lake and suggest- 

 ed that we take advantage of the let up 

 of the storm to start for home, as the oth- 

 ers were about to start. It was now a 

 quarter of 9, and in my hour and a half 

 of shooting I had killed 19 geese, 1 honker, 

 and 38 ducks. Excepting the first shot, I 

 did not kill more than one bird at a time. 

 At the house I found Charley, with 23 

 geese and 14 ducks. 



I used, on that morning's shoot, a 12- 

 gauge Daly gun, 3^2 drams of black pow- 

 der and one ounce of No. 7 shot, for ducks 

 and geese alike. When we quit, the geese 

 were still flying, while the air was filled 

 with ducks. At the risk of being called 

 a game hog, I must say I was loath to 

 leave, for the shooting was such as one gets 

 but once in a life time. * 



W. H. Young, Sacramento, Cal. 



SHOOTING GEESE IN A SNOWSTORM. 



Pawnee City, Neb. 



Editor Recreation: Last spring I was 

 staying with a friend, in Nebraska, about 4 

 miles from the Missouri river. He was a 

 good shot and a persistent hunter. We 

 became satisfied, by signs, that a storm 

 would strike us within 24 hours. We had 

 been talking of a hunt on the river, and 

 now thought the following day would be 

 our time; for the more disagreeable the 

 weather, the better for us. 



Carrying out our idea, we hitched a horse 

 to a road-wagon, loaded it down with the 

 necessary accoutrements, and started, about 

 4 o'clock in the afternoon, for a point 12 

 miles down the river. We chose this place 

 because of an invitation from another 

 friend to join him in- a hunt, and because 

 of its being a good lighting place for geese. 

 The river here is wide and there are long 



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