
SeEDSSOUAN. SSTOOLING. 
JOHN BOYD, 
I will tell you of shooting that duck of 
many names, known locally here as ‘“‘Cow- 
heens.”’ He is the same sturdy little fel- 
low that shooters on the Atlantic seaboard 
call the “Old Squaw,” and in other local- 
ities as “South Southerly,” “Long-tailed 
Duck,” “Organ Duck,” or “Old Wives;” 
while among scientists he is simply Clan- 
gula hyemalis. 
Only in the very late: fall, and in the 
winter do we find these on the Great 
Lakes, and then they are seen in myriads, 
on waters that would be entirely avoided 
by the rest of the Duck tribe. 
On Toronto bay, with its tooting ferries, 
surging steamers, and numerous sailing 
craft, they find suitable feeding on the 
small shell fish and minnows with which 
it abounds. They come in from the open 
lake early in the morning and remain till 
the evening. During this interval they 
are continually disturbed, but this does not 
drive them away, and they stay till night. 
The sight from my window of so many 
ducks was so tempting that a plan was laid 
for an afternoon in their midst. My im- 
agination failed to count the difficult, 
though successful shots that would be reg- 
istered by my mate and I when we turned 
homeward the following day. 
The plan was to anchor our skiff in the 
open water, without blinds, and put out a 
few decoys; not that we expected these to 
be of much service, because these ducks 
do not decoy to any extent, then wait 
developments. 
Next afternoon we put our ideas into 
practice, and soon the sport commenced. 
These ducks can carry off more lead to the 
square inch than any bird that flies, and 
come back the next minute and taunt you 
for more. 
We had hardly got our seats arranged 
when a solitary bird came down the wind, 
and Will gave him both barrels, but he 
passed on. Another shooter further up 
the bay fired as he approached, and he 
turned again towards us. This time I got 
ready and fairly covered him as he quar- 
tered, pulling as he was about 30 yards 
away and scoring a miss; not a clean one, 
as feathers to the extent of a handful float. 
_ ed off mockingly on the wind. This was 
a bad start, but soon a flock of 5 approach- 
ed, and we made ready to redeem our ill 
luck. Each of us singled a bird and fired; 
one turned a somersault, but recovered as 
he touched the water, and was soon mak- 
ing wind astern in his efforts to overtake 
his companions. 
“Thunder!” said Will. “These are surely 
| charmed! 
It 
That one I pulled on had no 
possible chance of escape, yet he never 
winced as the shot struck him.” JI nodded, 
being too perplexed to speak, and we each 
mechanically inserted new shells and closed 
the breeches of our guns. 
Shortly we saw a single bird on the 
water, so Will pulled the skiff in that di- 
rection. By rowing when it dove down, 
and stopping when it came up to breathe, 
we managed to get within 25 yards of 
where it was. It got up to fly, and as the 
wings began to beat I fired; it rolled over 
and over, then sat up looking surprised. 
We rowed up nearer and it dived, and as it 
came up lively as ever, I gave it a barrel 
at 20 yards. Down it went once more. 
Up again, and the full choked leit sent a 
close hailstorm against it. Once more it 
disappeared, and as it reappeared another 
charge was sent at the same range, but 
failed to quiet him. However, there is an 
end to all things, and the next shot put 
him on his back. This was 5 shots at one 
bird, but we took him in with as much sat- 
isfaction as if it had been a canvas-back 
or mallard, knocked over at full speed. 
We had many such exploits that day and 
the following, and while not killing many 
birds we had lots of sport, and vastly 
more experience; which were of benefit 
to the cartridge manufacturers. 
It was a rare thing to bring the birds 
down stone dead at one shot, and our ex- 
perience was the same as other shooters on 
all sides of us. It only happened once, and 
the credit fell to my companion. Even yet 
there is a buzzing in my ears from his big 
10 bore which boomed suddenly at a flying 
bird that came along, and was not seen un- 
til close to us. It doubled up and came 
down straight, dead and done for. 
A marked peculiarity was the short flights 
the birds took—they were continually shift- 
ing from one place to another, and the fu- 
silades they received each time they passed 
were of little warning. This has been at- 
tributed to stupidity, but I regard it as 
want of fear, as the inhabitants in their 
breeding place, seldom if ever kill or mo- 
lest them. 
They stay with us all winter, and as I 
write, there are fully 5,000 of them in sight 
from where I sit, and there they will like- 
ly remain until the bay freezes over and 
drives them to the open lake. Hundreds 
are there taken by the fishermen daily in 
their nets, and it has become a practice 
with these hardy tars to feed their pigs on 
the drowned birds. 
They are not tasty nor tender eating, 
