26 
a il —————— ao a 
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FOREST AND STREAM. 
EE 
[Aue 7, 1884, 
flock each supposed he alone knew about, and had kept 
secret, But such troubles are usually settled between such 
boys by a good-natured ‘‘How in thunder did you come to 
know of my partridges?” ‘‘Your partridges! wal, 1 guess 
Tye watched them all summer!” And then they agree to 
hunt together, So much the worse for the poor birds. There 
will be but few left for the sportsman who comes later. 
Concerning quail, the reports are meagre and conflicting. 
The cry of Bob White was to be heard on every pond along 
the south shore at the nesting season, and even up to July 4, 
but the month of July has not been so cold and wet within 
the recollection of that ‘‘oldest inhabitant,” still those best 
posted in the habits of the quail are of the opinion that the 
chances for fall shooting are good, since the birds will have 
ample time to pick up by the opening of the season, Oct. 15. 
For the poor woodcock the hunter is already abroad, 
though with what success it is too early to lell, since the 
open season began Aug.1. Woodcock have already been 
seen in market, with the suspicion lurking about them that 
they were killed too early; but the law is off and who 
knows. SPECIAL. 
ON CALIFORNIA LAGUNAS. 
ob A: let us take a run up to Santa Margarita Valley 
next week,” said Paul §. one beautiful evening in 
January of last winter, as we sat trying to kill time and 
recounting former scenes of sport in the upper country, 
“Tye never been there, and they say that ducks and geese 
are overrunning the valley. Can’t we get a few by going up 
there?” 
“Well, I should smile,” I replied, ‘‘am glad you spoke of 
it as I've been wanting to propose going for some time, and 
did'nt waut to be disappointed by ycur refusmg. You 
make all the arrangements, Paul, and lll arrange my shop 
work so that I can get away for three or four days of next 
week, if that will suit you.” ‘All right,” he said, and the 
matter was ended—as far as preliminaries went. 
One foggy morning just a week later, an early riser might 
have seen a light wagon, occupied by three mufiled up 
figures and loaded down with guns, tent, and camping out- 
fit, slowly leaving town ina northerly direction—and the 
evening of the same day found us just riding down into San 
Luis Rey Valley, distant forty-five miles from San Diego, 
We were looking for a lake or a laguna, as Californians term 
if, near San Luis Rey Mission, owned by a Frenchman, Be- 
gare, and said to be the hest known ground for geese and 
ducks, We found the laguna, which comprised about ten 
acres of very muddy ground, inthe center of which was 
probably about fonr acres of water about two feet deep, The 
laguna was situated ina little valley, and an ordinary ob- 
server would have said that not even a frog would have staid 
there, it looked so Torbidding, 
“Well,* I said, as we slowly got out and released the tired 
horses, “this is about the worst L eversaw. What idiot told 
you we could find geese here, Paul?” 
“Well, this is one of the lagunas, and according to Begare 
there are plenty of geese here every night, and ducks too,” 
he said, ‘‘and | for one propose to camp right here and find 
out.” 
“All right, old boy.” 
We picketed our animals, cooked supper, and had about 
made op our minds that we were ‘‘left,” as we could hear 
nothing that sounded like geese, when Morg jumped to his 
feet. ‘‘Hark,” he said, and we held our breath and quietly 
reached for guns and cartridges, as away off somewhere we 
heard the onk-honk of many highflyers. ‘Hunt cover,” 
and no sooner said than men and dogs were out of sight in 
tules and salt grass. We waited, it seemed to me, an hour, 
and then away over the hills agajnst the crimson sunset in 
the west I could seeafast thickening line, momentarily 
growing larger and longer. : 
“Here they come,” | whispered exultantly, as I looked 
around to see how everybody was located. 
‘When they settle give’em Hail Columbia,” says Morg, 
and you can just calculate we did. Bang-et-ty-bang-bang 
went barrel after barrel, as goose after goose came swirling 
earthward, and the dogs were frantic. Well, I thought I 
had seen seese, but for a solid half hour the feathered beau- 
ties came flying in until the air was full of moving feathered 
bodies, and their cries were absolutely deafening; but the 
noise of our guus kept them higher than we could reach, 
and they circled round and round until the eye became 
bewildered in trying to follow their movements. We tried 
keeping still, but it wasnogo. They were toosmart. They 
wouldn’t light or come within range, so we reluctantly gath- 
ered up our spoils and went back to camp. It was by that 
time nearly 9 o’clock, and so dark that we could hardly find 
our way back to the camp. " 
‘Paul, did you ever see anything like it?” Lasked, as we 
sat over our pipes later on 
‘‘No, by thunder,” he replied, ‘‘I never did, but wont we 
get to them in the morning,” and he got up and again picked 
up his gun and fondly patted it. 
“Oh, shucks, you fellows don’t know what geese are,” 
spoke up Morg from out the darkness, ‘‘on the river 
Platte ve seen a thonsand geese to every one we say to- 
night in one band, and it was a derned poor goose year too.” 
Paul groaned aloud, ‘Why don’t some one put him out,” 
he said, as More came forward and took a seat near the 
fire and propped himself up against a big sycamore log, pre- 
paratory to unravelling about the river Platte, 
“You need’nt laugh,” he growled, “I tell you for each 
and every goose we savy to-night, I’ve seen a thousand in one 
band,” 
"Draw it mild, Walt,” I said, ‘‘as we want some sport to- 
morrow, and if I thought some fellow on the river Platte 
was getting a hundred geese for cach one I got, I believe I 
should go back to town.” 
“Oh, go to sleep,” says Morg, as he pulled himself off 
into the brush, and soon a heavy snore from the darkness 
told us that Morg, the ‘“‘boss of the black brant” was 
wrapped in oblivion. 
“Wake up, boys, the geese are all leaving the Jaguna,” 
was the first thing I heard about daylight, and poking my 
head from out the blankets I found everything as wet as 
water aud every object hid by a dense fog. 
“No goose would be fool enough to fly off this kind of a 
morning,” I growled, ‘‘why did not you Ict us alone?” and 
I did feel growly, too, for every bone in my body ached 
svith a cold, which seemed to have settled all over me. 
We crawled out, rubbed our hands until they felt limber 
and took our guns and, followed by our whining dogs, 
started for the scene of our last night’s glory. We hadn't 
gone a hundred yards until honk, honk we heard, and swish, 
swish went many heayy wings as an immense flock of geese 
soared heavenward, startled by our voices or scent. They 
were followed by the cries of hundreds upon hundreds who 
were resting on the water or feeding around on the muddy 
banks, Just then the fog lifted ever so little and we stood 
spellbound for an instant, for not thirty yards in front stood 
a goose, and beyond him the ground was gray with geese, 
and they seemed to be as much astonished as we. 
_it is hardly necessary to say that those geese were in the 
air almost as soon as our guns came to our shoulders, but 
some didn’t get away at all, as nine we picked up could 
show. It seemed wonderful that we only killed nine with 
six barrels where there seemed to be thousands of geese; but 
a goose is a large object, and once he is in the air, a gun to 
get more than one must do it as they get in line or a head 
shot strikes. However, we felt well paid for our trouble, 
and went back to breakfast hungry and happy. 
“Well, Morg, how do you feel now about geese?” says 
Paul, after we had breakfasted and were discussing where 
to go next. 
“Pooh! that’s nothing, once in Nebraska, near Beatrice, 
I killed eighteen geese with one shot; scooped ‘em in in a 
cornfield; got their heads all lined up and picked up eigh- 
teen, and I'll swear I saw a dozen more wounded.” 
“That wasn’t on the river Platte, then,” 
“Never you mind the river Platte. If the boys had you 
back there, they’d teach vou how to shoot,” retorted Morg, 
to whom the ‘‘river Platte” was getting rather tiresome. 
While in town, Morg had so often regaled us with ‘“‘goose 
hunting on the river Platte,” that we were disposed to joke 
him a little when we could; but as Morg was a rattling good 
“pard” on a hunt and good fellow all around, we were care- 
ful not torub him too hard. 
We ‘‘hooked up” our team and decided to pull across the 
mesa to Santa Margarita Valley—Don Juan Foster’s home, 
The jovial old Englishman, who had located there some 
thirty years ago, and who had his thousands of herds all 
over these hills and beautiful valleys, and who, although 
counted one of the wealthiest men of Southern California, 
lived in a ‘‘doby” or adobe house with dirt floor until late 
years, when, the country around settling up, Don Juan built 
a fine mansion house on an eminence overlooking the valley 
for miles around; and eastern tourists coming down the 
valley on the California Southern Railroad, often remarked 
yaa a fortunate man he was to own the beautiful ranch and 
house. 
Santa Margarita is a beautiful spot, well watered, wooded 
and stocked; and the Californian who passed its door with- 
out partaking of the hospitality of Don Juan or Donna 
Ysabel must be indeed unfortunate, Since the death of the 
old Don, in 1882, the ranch has been owned by arich firm in 
San Francisco, who have wire-fenced it and posted “‘No 
Shooting” all over the ranch, and advertised $500 reward for 
the conyiction of parties hunting on it without permission 
from the present owners. Rather a gloomy outlook for goose 
hunters this; but Mr, O’Niel, the manager, never fails to 
accede to the demand of a bona jide sportsman, who goes to 
him in the right way; and many a good day's sport can be 
credited to the kindness of Richard O’Niel by Eastern and 
California sportsmen. The notices and rewards were posted 
in order to keep off ruthless marauders, who, while camped 
on a man’s property, will burn his fences, leave open his 
gates, and shoot his stock with as little concern as they would 
ground sluice a bevy of half-grown quail. 
We drove down to the ranch house about 9 o’elock, and 
meeting a dark-celored yvaquero mounted on a fiery broncho, 
Paul asked in Spanish as to the whereabouts of Mr. O’Niel, 
Quite a conversation ensued, during which Morg and I kept 
silent. Suddenly Paul turned and said in English, “He 
says O’ Niel went up the road we came down; did either of 
you see him——” ‘‘Yez must have met him, fur he wint to 
San Luis this mornin’,” broke in the vaquero in such broad 
Milesian that we all three roared out in laughter, and were 
joined by Pat, who relaxed his features into a broad grin 
after he saw the joke. ‘‘Begob, I thought yez wur powerful 
white fur greasers,” said he, ‘‘an’ I don’t blame ye fur mis- 
taken me fur one with this toggery on.” After finding out 
that we could neither buy nor steal some hay or barley for 
our tired team, we droye down to the upper laguna and 
pitched camp for an indefinite time. ' 
In every direction we could see ducks flying, and as the 
valley was covered with little ponds of water and small run- 
ning streams, we knew that duck hunting was plentiful, 
while in almost any direction flocks of geese, brant, and 
sandhill cranes could be seen grazing on the hillsides or fly- 
ing through the air, and a beautiful sight it was to see thou- 
sands of white brant feeding on the green hillsides, and 
looking in the distance like myriads of snow-white sheep 
browsing on the beautiful hills. ; 
“Somebody must drive back oyer to San Luis Rey and 
bring over a bale of hay,” broke in Paul, and we pulled 
straws to see who was to be the unlucky one. 
“Just my luck,” I groaned, as I prepared to ‘hook up” 
again for a nine mile drive and back after hay, ‘Well, you 
fellows take care of yourselves,” and with on long, lingering 
look at Morg, who was buckling on his armor and putting 
No. 6 shot shells into his belt, I drove off. On arriving at 
Goldbaum’s store at San Luis, he quickly loaded on a bale 
of hay, and I went to the store to get some No, 1 and BB 
shot in case we ran short, I tarried a while to talk goose 
and get posted as to the best part of the valley to find the 
honkers, and was fully enlightened by a ‘‘native,” who in- 
formed me that he and a brother had ‘“‘slewed a wagon full 
last month, down by the ocean, and you ean find afew 
swan there too; I killed one,’’ he said, while I was mentally 
noting all the roads he was telling me of. ‘Sauntering out 
after an hour’s chat, I found that a herd of cows were having 
a fiesta on ty bale of hay, now growing beautifully less, 
while a crowd of natives were languidly reclining on a fence 
across*the way and looking too lazy to spit. 
“Why couldn’ some of you have driven off these cattle?” 
Tasked, indignantly, as I filled the air full of clods, stones 
and clubs. 
“Ye want to know, do ye?” said one, with a grin, ‘‘case 
them cows is mine, and what derned fule wouldn’t gin his 
stock a feed when he could,” and his compatriots all smiled 
in sympathy. , 
Muttering a blessing on all such apologies for men, I drove 
off, followed by the laughter of all of San Luis Rey and 
about a thousand cur dogs. I arrived in camp late in the 
afternoon and found it deserted and with an addition of a 
dozen brace of ducks. Then I took my gun for a short 
stroll up the valley, where I could hear every once In a 
while a faint bang. I got up duck after duck, and after 
knocking down two or three 1 decided to go over among the 
trees, where 1 could see band after band of Canadas fiying 
to and fro over a certain line of flight. : 
On arriving near to the place I spied a large tree with an 
immense bunch of mistletoe near the top, and I happened to 
conceiye the brilliant scheme of climbing up and getting into 
that mistletoe to see if I couldn’t ‘get to” some of the geese 
flying over so invitingly hear and just out of range from the 
ground. What aclimb it was; but I got there, and waited 
and waited until Thad almost made up my mind that the 
flight was over, when,’ happening to turn, I saw heading 
directly for me, not more than seventy-five yards off and no 
more than thirty feet higher than my perch, about twenty 
Canada geese, Waiting until they were nearly over me I 
raised my gun suddenly, and asI did so every individual 
goose seemed to be climbing an imaginary ladder straight up 
in the air, and very anxious to put a deal of space between 
him and that tree in as short time as possible. I laughed 
to myself as I glanced over the barrels and gently pressed 
the trigger as the head and neck of a gray old ‘thonker” met 
my eye, and swiftly turning I caught a glimpse of another 
as he climbed heavenward. Well, I kilied from that bunch 
of mistletoe that afternoon, in about two hours’ time, five 
more, and got back to camp in good time to welcome Morg 
and Paul, who had each his load. 
We shipped back to San Diego by rail that night just 180 
pounds of ducks and geese, not bad for a two days’ hunt, 
and we had only just begun to learn the ground, After 
supper we decided not to goto the laguna that evening, 
although we could hear thousands of geese splashing the 
water, but to wait until the ensuing night, when we could 
take our time and organize a systematized hunt after them 
as they came in at night to find a safe refuge from coyotes, 
foxes and wildecats. 
About daylight the next morning I was aroused by the 
deafening report of a No, 10 gun in the hands of Paul, who 
had awakened just in time to see a band of honkers as they 
had taken flight from the laguna and had headed directly 
for our camp. Morgan jumped to his feet with a yell of 
delight. as Paul discharged the left barrel; and a second 
goose came down with a broken wine. 
“Hurrah for us!” yelled Morg again, as he tore frantically 
around the camp, scattering things “end west and crooked” 
as he vainly endeayored to find his belt containing his No. 1 
shells. Bang! bang! went my gun at a band of ‘“‘sprigs,” 
which came sailing down with the wind, ready to light and 
failing to see us through the trees until a double charge of 
No, 5 shot came hurtling through their flight and bringing 
three down to our welcoming arms. 
“Good enough before breakfast,” said Paul, as he picked 
his geese up and commenced to kick the fire together, while 
I went to work among the bedding and Morg fed and watered 
the horses and brought the water for coffee, and we all hit 
the ‘‘chokebore” one for luck for an appetizer for our break- 
fast of goose livers fried in lard, home-made bread and excel- 
lent coffee. After that we felt equal to tackling anything from 
a cinnamon teal up to his royal highness, the king of them 
ali, the grizzly, and I intimated as much, regretting that the 
last grizzly had been killed in this country some ten years 
ago. Paul smiled as he asked me if 1 remembered a black 
bear I had once seen on ‘‘Old Baldy,” among the pines of 
the San Bernardino range, and I—subsided. 
We spent the morning cleaning up generally for a grand 
hunt that afternoon and eyening, intending to finish the next 
morning and then start for home; and after eating dinner, 
we started out with the understanding that the lowest num- 
ber of ducks and geese brought into camp by one hunter by 
9 o’clock that night was to stand the oysters on our arrival 
home. We had a .38 Kennedy along, and no one as yet de- 
sired to use it as we had brought it with the expectation of 
hunting deer; but that afternoon I saw so many geese feed- 
ing on the hillsides and plains that we were unable to reach 
with our guns that I decided to take both and try solid lead 
on the beauties. Morg and Paul decided to ¢o up the valley 
one on each side, and | then said I would take the lower end 
of the plains. I struck out, loaded down with two guns, 
about one hundred shotgun shells, and a box of cartridges 
for the rifle. I hadn’t gone over half a mile from camp when 
T spied, about two hundred yards off to my right, quietly 
feeding, some thirty or forty white brant, and dropping on 
oue knee, I commenced to pump the bullets into them, and 
was delighted to find that 1 hada ‘‘left” two on the ground; ~ 
and on examination found that I had shot them both square 
through the body, and I am satisfied the same bullet killed 
both birds, as I saw none drop after my first shot. 
I merked the place and cached my game and went on, 
and ere long struck another band of geese, safe this time, 
they were the old time ‘‘honkers,” the regular Canada geese. 
They were ona small pond well covered on one side with tules. 
I crept up and was delighted to find that after about ten 
minutes hard work, the geese, about eighteen in all, were 
directly in front of me and within fair gunshot distance. 
By chance I got two with my first barrel, and as they 
climbed upward I brought the leader down with a thud 
which would have made your eyes dance. As the boys had 
taken the dogs, I was compelled to wait until my two geese 
drifted within reach, which they did in the course of half an 
hour, and in the meantime killed a couple of brace of canvas- 
backs which came swirling by within easy gunshot. I 
could hear every once ina while, gunshots up the valley, 
and could imagine the sport Morg and Paul were having, 
but consoled myself with the reflection that my best hunting 
was yet to come by waiting until dark when the geese would 
come into the lower Jaguna to rest, 
1 waited patiently, getting an occasional shot at a band of 
ducks or at a stray goose, but meeting with only ordinary 
luck until just about sundown, when the fun commenced. 
IT got shot after shot into whirling bands of geese, which 
came in so rapidly that their numbers were astonishing, and 
l actually got tired of loading so rapidly, and the continued 
report of my gun had made my head ache fearfully . Besides 
it had grown so dark that I could not tell when I hit any- 
thing at all, as the geese were so high that it was possible 
to see them only very faintly, and an occasional thud or 
splash told when one or more would come to terra-firma. I 
skirmished around as well as 1 could, and retrieved twelve 
geese in all, and, if Lremember rightly, cither six or seven 
ducks, making fifteen geese and twelve ducks I had shot at 
the one pond. I cached them in among the tules and started 
back for camp, picking up my game which I had left-early 
in the afternoon, Iwas rather surprised to find them un- 
disturbed by coyotes or wildcats, as I had feared the latter, 
being very numerous, had found them. On arriving in 
camp I was greeted witha yell of laughter by Paul and 
Morg as they saw my two brant, and Morg says, ‘‘You’re a 
good one, old boy. Where’s your game? i heard you shoot 
about a thousand times,” 
“J didn’t get any, Morg, where’s yours?” Lasked. “‘Come 
over here and I'll show you,” and he took me to an immense 
sycamore tree, and hanging from a Jimb_ which grew almost 
in a horizontal position, was the prettiest lot_of honkers, 
brant, and big ducks | believe 1 ever saw- “Where'd you 
buy em?” I asked, ‘‘and how many have you got? 
