i8S 



RECREATION 



the fast flying snipe. The ducks come in on 

 the lake about the middle of November, and 

 stay till after the ist of January. The old 

 squaw and fish ducks stay all winter. 



Three of us have a boat and a lot of de- 

 coys that we keep at the lake and have had 

 good success shooting blue-bill from an old 

 pier covered with slag from the steel mill 

 at South Chicago. 



One day last week I killed six ducks in a 

 few hours. 



I have a light Remington hammerless 

 C grade 16 gauge and it is real sport to stop 

 a blue-bill with it going at the rate of 60 

 miles an hour. 



Our ex-Mayor, Carter H. Harrison, was an 

 ardent sportsman and had an ordinance 

 passed last year allowing hunters to shoot 

 game in the city with a shotgun if 500 feet 

 from a residence. This is a privilege that 

 all of us appreciate and sincerely hope none 

 will spoil. 



William T. Skinner. 



SUCCESSFUL IN NEW BRUNSWICK 



Editor Recreation: 



Dear Sir. — I am a subscriber to your 

 magazine in my son's name, Arthur Lyle, 

 and read it with a great deal of interest, be- 

 ing quite an ardent amateur hunter myself. 

 Having hunted deer in Northern Maine for 

 several years I thought I would try moose 

 hunting in New Brunswick this fall. I, 

 with two companions, spent about three 

 weeks there in September and October. I 

 was very successful, killing a moose that 

 came very near being a record breaker, I 

 was told by a taxidermist of St. John, it 

 having a 60-inch spread, 15-inch pans and 

 26 points. I also killed a cariboo with 4- 

 foot horns and 21 points, which I was told 

 up there was a very rare specimen. 



James Lyle, Washington, Pa. 



THE LURE OF THE CANADA GOOSE 



The air has a tinge of frost in it; clouds 

 point to a flurry of snow in the near future, 

 and as the sun bursts through occasionally 

 with its warm rays, the glory of the wonder- 

 ful Northwest Canada fall is in full swing. 

 Brown prairie to the north, the west, the 

 east and the south, stretches itself to the 

 horizon, and even beyond. Rolling, wind- 

 swept, dry as tinder, sandy here or there, a 

 few rancher's shacks off towards the low ly- 

 ing hills of the south Souris, a bit of bush 

 to the southwest, if you look carefully and 

 know it's there — that is all there is to it. 



The marshes are to the southwest, too, and 

 a bronco-buster from Wyoming, who has re- 

 cently come through the hay-sloughs and big 

 flats to the south, says there are "geese 

 a-plenty for 'em 'at wants 'em." 



The barracks duty of a son of the saddle is 

 mighty tedious — they mend outfits, clean 



guns, get ready for winter and play like a 

 litter of big pups. "Nothing to it but the 

 same old thing," said Crary, as he was lay- 

 ing his troubles before me. He spoke to the 

 inspector, on my suggestion, and obtained a 

 few days' leave for shooting. We had our 

 guns out and cleaned anew, inspected am- 

 munition, filled our saddle-bags with some 

 grub and sat up that night 'till eleven, hunt- 

 ing geese — around' the stove. 



A bit colder it was at four, next morning, 

 and dark, too. The wind was low and 

 clouds still flying. Our horses were soon 

 ready, and we were off, the wind to our 

 backs. A Savage was in my off saddle-scab- 

 bard and my repeater, with forty-inch barrel 

 running through the opposite scabbard, 

 looked like a sword in a too small sheath. 

 We rode for Jackman's ranch, some few 

 miles from the best shooting and yet close 

 to the shallowest and best of the small 

 marshes surrounding. Thirty-one miles of 

 hard saddle in nearly five hours got us ready 

 for proper meeting of the ranch cook. I 

 wanted to try a few shots at the flying geese 

 as we rode down into the hay and marsh 

 lands, but Crary urged me to hold up. Jack- 

 man's welcome was, as ever, cordial, and we 

 gave him the latest Montreal and Winnipeg 

 papers. The cook brought on something hot 

 and filling which we cared for, honestly. 

 That Chinaman was one who knew how to 

 feed men ! He'd been in the section for 

 eight years and learned a man's appetite per- 

 fectly. 



"How's the geese, Jackman?" asked Crary. 



"Good, down by the big marshes, and tol- 

 erable fair at the point." 



"That's what we came for," said Crary, in 

 reply. 



A minute or two later we had passed the 

 stable shacks and Jackman was with us. A 

 few geese were in the air, but we expected 

 more when we got out in the scow. I 

 walked to the big blind at the further end of 

 this small marsh, something like two thou- 

 sand yards on, while Jackman and Crary 

 set out in the scow, poling around through 

 the rushes and grass from one spot to an- 

 other. Shooting commenced with them be- 

 fore I reached the blind. This was so hid- 

 den I could hardly find it. Soon my gun 

 began to boom, and a few dropped here and 

 there, though many shots never made a kill. 

 I changed from fours to twos, and results 

 were better. They were hard enough to 

 kill, however hard hit, and no matter what 

 size shot was used. 



At first they flew easily, but after circling 

 a few times and being put into the air again 

 and again' they became wilder, and swifter 

 of flight. Then the canvasbacks began shoot- 

 ing by like rockets, and after I had carefully 

 judged their speed a few dropped before my 

 "Long Tom," as Crary called it. I could 

 hear Jackman and Crary shooting as if it 



