Feb. SI, 1889.] 



FOREST AND STREAM SUPPLEMENT. 



87 



NORTH CAROLINA WATERS. 



IT has been such a long time since I have seen anything 

 in your columns pertaining to duck shooting that per- 

 haps a few words about the waters of Albemarle, Pam- 

 lico, and Core Sounds, North Carolina, maybe of interest 

 to my fellow sportsmeu. I will try and recount as far as 

 possible my experience down there during the past three 

 winters on board my ducking sharpie yacht, theMadelon. 



One beautiful day in December, 1887, we found our- 

 selves in tow of a smart tug en route through the Albe- 

 marle and Chesapeake Canal bound for Eoanoke Island, 

 N, C. And a hard time of it did we have, indeed, get- 

 ting through that blessed old canal. It was a bitter cold 

 night, and oar tug captain seemed bouud to get through, 

 feckless of consequences to ourselves or anybody else. So, 

 after banging into numerous rafts at the risks of having 

 sOmn stray log punch a hole through the yacht's bottom, 

 and at other time swinging us so close to the shore that it 

 looked as if the masts and rigging would be torn out of 

 the yacht by the overhanging trees, it was with a sigh of 

 relief that the tug cast us "free to anchor off North Biver 

 light. We iay there all one day waiting for a favorable 

 wind,, and the next morning at daybreak set saih and at 

 wo o'clock that afternoon we found ottrselves safe in the 

 ittle harbor of Manteo, Roanoke Island. Having pro- 

 Cured guides; and niade some repairs to our rudder, We 

 set sail the next morning, and that afternoon we found 

 Ourselves at anchor in about three feet of water off New 

 Inlet, and about two iniles eastward of the Life Saving 

 Station; 



The waters of the Sbuhd for niany miles in this vicinity 

 are extremely shallow, being not niore than 2ft. deep, 

 and there is an abundance Of grass arid good feed for 

 ducks. I never saw so many brant in my life as seemed 

 to frequent those waters. They were in flocks of thous- 

 ands, and had we chosen to gun for them with brant de- 

 coys we could have loaded the yacht without difficulty. 

 We did indeed kill more than we needed from odd Hocks 

 that came to our redhead decoys. But the redhead duck 

 has always had a peculiar fascination for me, and there 

 is nothing more attractive to my eyes than to see the rig- 

 ging hung with numerous bunches of this splendid bird. 



It was not long before we had our sinkbox and 800 de- 

 coys placed in position out on a, shoal reef along which 

 the birds seemed to travel, and of course it was the proper 

 tiling to place my guest safely therein, so that he could 

 have the first chance at the birds. Now, W. is a mighty 

 good fellow and a splendid fisherman, and I think the 

 world of him, for a more jolly friend and better com- 

 panion in camp it is hard to find. But somehow W. does 

 not seem able to "catch on" to shooting out of a sinkbox. 

 The flight was superb, gang after gang of redheads came 

 sailing "along, set their wings, and dropped to the decoys. 

 Up would rise the head of W., bang! bang! would go 

 both barrels, and away would scud the flying ducks, 

 leaving not a feather behind. This we kept up long 

 enough to use up fifty or sixty cartridges, when W. con- 

 cluded that he could not "catch on," and signalled to me 

 to relieve him. I did so in double-quick time, but alas, 

 the flight was nearly over, and although I remained in 

 the ginkbox until dark, our entire bag for the day, in- 

 cluding four birds killed by W., amounted to just half a 

 dozen pair of redheads. 



The next morning was calm and foggy. About 10 

 o'clock the fog lifted, and it became as bright and balmy 

 as an April day, We left the yacht with the sinkbox, 

 expecting to put it into position at once, when there 

 occurred an experience not Uncommon in those waters, 

 but which was most Unexpected, and decidedly startling. 



Now, be it remembered that there was not a cloud in 

 the sky and the gentlest of breezes when we left the 

 yacht. Before we had gotten 500yds. away, a squall was 

 Upon us, the like of which I never saw before. It lasted 

 only about fifteen minutes, but must have blown at least 

 seventy-live miles an hour, The whole Sound was white 

 with foam, our sinkbox was sunk in a moment, and it 

 was only by the greatest care and constant bailing that 

 our boat also was not sent to the bottom. The long boat 

 belonging to the Life Saving Station was made fast 

 astern of the yacht, and the wind caused the yacht to go 

 so quickly about that this boat was instantly swamped, 

 And had it not been that her crew with their guns were 

 safely in the yacht's cabin, they too would have gone 

 down. I understand that these peculiar squalls are quite 

 common to these waters. They are dangerous in the 

 extreme; in fact, the following summer the mail schooner 

 (quite a large craft) was caught in just such a squall, and 

 capsized with all on board. It was thought that two 

 lives were certainly lost, an old woman and child, both 

 of whom went down with her, but the day after she sunk, 

 luckily, the Life Saving Crew visited her, and found her 

 lying on her side, only partly submerged, and hearing- 

 some sounds inside, they cut away with their axes, and 

 found the woman and chdd alive, but very nearly ex- 

 hausted. 



We remained some ten days on the flats oft' New Inlet, 

 and were not fortunate enough to again catch such a 

 flight of redheads as we found the first day. In fact it 

 stormed and blew so hard that most of the time sve were 

 unable to use the sinkbox. There is little or no point 

 shooting to be gotten in those waters. The flats are so 

 Wide in extent that the birds feed and remain far away 

 from the land, So after ten days down there we regret- 

 fully turned our faces homeward, having bagged about 

 thirty brant and about fifty redheads and blackheads. 



I paid another visit to those waters in the winter of 

 1887-'88, and while the brant seemed as abundant as ever, 

 the redheads seemed to have almost disappeared. And 

 the sport was so poor that we came home quite dis- 

 heartened. So when the winter of 1888-'89 came along 

 I determined to send the Madelon further south, and on 

 the evening of Dec. 31 I found myself on board of her at 

 Morehead City, N. C. The morning of New Year's Day 

 broke bright and clear, and as the rays of the morning 

 sun were reflected upon the buildings and outworks of 

 Fort Macon, Avhich guards the entrance of the harbors of 

 Beaufort and Morehead City, we found ourselves gliding 

 rapidly along with a fair wind, bound for the flats off 

 Harker's Island, Core Sound, distant about fifteen miles. 

 It was not long after we sighted Harker's Island that we 

 began to see considerable flocks of blackheads, and some 

 brant, but alas! no redheads whatever. We proceeded on 

 our way until late iu the afternoon, and having located a 

 shoal place where the ducks seemed to be using (feed 

 being abundant there), we determined to try our luck the 

 next morning. That was a beautiful night, the wind fell 



to a dead calm, and the air was as balmy as April, but no 

 sooner had darkness come upon the waters than the 

 lights of the "fire-lighters" began to creep along the hori- 

 zon. They appeared in every direction; there must have 

 been at least a dozen boats out, engaged in this murderous 

 work. And every few minutes woidd come the boom, 

 boom of their guns, a sad reminder to us that our chances 

 for sport were being thus ruthlessly destroyed by the 

 natives who, without the slightest concealment, thus 

 defy the laws of North Carolina. 



The next morning was just the day for sinkbox shoot- 

 ing, but few or no birds were to be seen. And although 

 we put out the decoys, and faithfully waited all day, we 

 were not rewarded with a bag of more than a half-dozen 

 blackheads and one or two brant. We remained in that 

 vicinity the remainder of the week, with no success 

 whatever, and having returned to Morehead City on 

 Sunday, Jan. 6, we set sail the following morning for 

 Harbor Island, distant 85 miles, and arrived there that 

 afternoon. This little island, less thau an acre in extent, 

 is located right iu the mouth of Core Sound; it is of shell 

 formation, and is thought to have been constructed by 

 the aborigines, for numerous specimens of human bones 

 and pottery have been found there. The island now be- 

 longs to the Harbor Island Club, a party of New Yorkers, 

 and one of the most genial members thereof, Mr. Law- 

 rence Bike (or "Larry" for short), met me with hospitable 

 Welcome, and did everything in his power to make my 

 stay there an agreeable one. 



The Harbor Island Club has built a very sightly and 

 Comfortable club house, two stories in height, and no 

 one Could ask for a better harbor than within its hospita- 

 ble walls. The sitting-room has two enormous fireplaces, 

 Iri which a roaring fire is kept up of logs fift. long. Their 

 steward,- Walter Homans, is a Long Island gunner boy, 

 arid they have all the luxuries, including Joe the mulatto 

 waiterman. who is so excruciatingly feminine in voice 

 and manners that some joking club member presented 

 him with a complete suit of feminine attire, crinoline, 

 flounces, bustle and all, in which upon the arrival of any 

 guest Joe delights to array himself, and thus create a 

 sensation at meal time. I was informed tbat Joe also 

 had a ball dress with low neck and short sleeves, in 

 which he occasionally pranced around, but he did not 

 don it while I was there. 



But the ducks were not there. For the first time in 

 eight consecutive years Friend Larry reported himself 

 "left" as to ducking. Day after day the sun rose 

 brightly, and the warm breath of summer breathed upon 

 us. How we prayed for cold weather; how we hoped 

 and watched for a blizzard to freeze tip the 'Northern 

 waters and send the ducks our way. But they came not, 

 and after waiting over two weeks we made sail for More- 

 head City and came home. The truth of the matter is 

 that ducks are usually plentiful enough in these waters, 

 and, in fact, all along the Atlantic coast. I have infor- 

 mation that there are now enormous flocks of them along 

 the Chesapeake, but the mild weather of the past two 

 months has prevented then- flight southward, and has 

 caused them to gather on the feeding grounds of the 

 Chesapeake in enormous flocks. 



I notice the assertion in your columns that the birds 

 are disappearing, and beg leave to differ with you on 

 that, for to my personal knowledge there were never 

 more birds on the Northern and Chesapeake waters than 

 this and last winter; but for some unknown reason they 

 remain in these large flocks and do not decoy. Every 

 gunner knows by experience that unless the ducks are 

 separated and divided up into small flocks, not to exceed 

 about a dozen birds each, they will uot decoy. The truth 

 of it is, that among a large flock of ducks there are 

 always some extra watchful ones, who have learned by 

 experience what a sinkbox is, and these give the alarm 

 to their younger and less experienced companions. 

 Large flocks of ducks also invariably fly high, and, of 

 course, easily discern the gunner. Small flocks fly close 

 to the surface of the water, and these are the ones that 

 come to the decoys. For these reasons there have been 

 comparatively few redheads killed on this coast for the 

 past two or three seasons. Their increase is thus scarcely 

 disturbed at all, and just as soon as these great flocks of 

 birds disintegrate there will be better shooting and 

 greater chances for the success of sportsmen than for 

 years past. I have information from certain points on 

 the Chesapeake, etc., that canvasbacks and redheads 

 never were so plentiful as they have been this year and 

 last year. But they seem to have got educated and 

 to know what a sinkbox is, for when some distance off 

 they rise in the air high enough tolopkdown, and see 

 for themselves whether the flock they are approaching 

 is genuine or not. Bobert 0. Lowry. 



New Yohk, Fe b. 7. 



OLD TIMES ABOUT CHICAGO. 



I BEAD with much interest the description in Forest 

 AND Stream of these luxurious resorts, where the 

 wealthy citizens of Chicago recuperate their energies and 

 indulge the sporting sentiment, with the assistance of 

 professional cooks, trained waiters, and well-stocked 

 wine closets. These things contrast strongly with the 

 old days of 1840 50, when that region between the Big 

 Calumet and Blue Island, and the Sag and Lake Michigan 

 was a. vast game preserve, needing no protection, since 

 the game was so much more abundant than were the 

 gunners, that no visible impression could be made on the 

 herds of deer, flocks of geese and ducks, swarms of 

 pigeons, flights of woodcock, snipe and plover, packs of 

 grouse, and coveys of quail. Of all these probably only 

 the birds of passage are now to be found in their old 

 haunts, and these only where they find food and protec- 

 tion. 



There are perhaps 100 guns at work now in fall and 

 spring where there was one fifty years ago, and the 

 breechloader of to-day is a far more deadly weapon than 

 the old muzzle percussion gun of the forties, and all that 

 wealth and ingenuity can do in the way of boats, blinds 

 and decoys is brought to bear upon the wildfowl of these 

 times. « 



In 1840 we drove from Chicago through the heavy sand 

 in wagons, a tedious ride of three or four hours, with the 

 chilling northers whistling about our ears. No stopping 

 place whereat to warm one's fingers or take a hot drink 

 between Myrick's, on State street, and the lower Calu- 

 met Bridge. Arrived at the river, we did our own pusk- 

 ! ing in heavy flatboats, without blinds or decoys, taking 

 the shots as they came — a hig mallard getting up from 

 the weeds along the bank with a loud squak, or a. flock of 



teal coming down the wind like bullets. Neither did we 

 usually have retrievers, and so lost many ducks in the 

 marsh. From twenty to fifty ducks to the gun was the 

 bag, but there being no sale for them in Chicago at prices 

 which would pay for powder aud shot, there were few, 

 if any, market-shooters. Our surplus game we distribu- 

 ted among our friends. 



In looking over the list of the members of the Tolleston 

 Club, I find few familiar names— perhaps six or eight— 

 which were known in Chicago fifty years ago, and even 

 those are perhaps not descendants of the sportsmen of 

 1840. 



So pass the generations of men. S. C. C. 



Marietta, deorgia. 



THE SHOOTING CLUBS OF CHICAGO. 



VII. — THE ENGLISH LAKE CLUB, 



THE past year of low water and no ducks detracted 

 from the glory of the English Lake Club, just as it 

 did from that of all the river clubhand some of the mem- 

 bers looked as gloomy as if they didn't ever expect to see 

 another mallard this side of the river Jordan. Even if 

 this were to be the case— which isn't, by a great deal— I 

 should write of the English Lake Club to day just the 

 same, for there is enough in the past to debar any imme- 

 diate necessity for a future. 



English Lake club bouse is seventy-two miles from 

 Chicago, and accessible via the Banhandle Bailway. The 

 evening train gets you down in time for supper, and if 

 you will tell the conductor that you want to get off at the 

 house, he will stop the train at the club platform, just 

 47ft, and Sin. from the club house door, and, if you can 

 manage to walk that far, Mr. John Taylor, the club 

 superintendent, will get your baggage in for you. This 

 is better than running on to the station across the lake, a 

 half mile or so, and carrying your own baggage across 

 the ra ilroad bridge. 



The grounds of the English Lake Club comprise in all 

 about 5,000 acres, and extend up and down the river 

 about four miles, being in some parts about two miles in 

 width. They are located on one of those sections of the 

 absent-minded Kankakee which were undoubtedly 

 originally intended for a duck marsh, and for nothing 

 else on earth. The "lake" itself is only a widening of 

 the river, about a quarter of a mile by a mile in size. It 

 is named after a Mr. English, an old settler. It formerly 

 was much greater in extent, and indeed took in nearly 

 all of what is now known as the North Marsh. There is 

 water enough in it now to make its passage dreaded by 

 up-bound duck boats on one of the windy spring days. 

 The club owns marsh on both sides of the river, which 

 is a very good feature, since it has a tendency to preserve 

 the game. If the pounding is too heavy for the ducks, 

 they get up and go across the river, and it must be some 

 time before the shooter can make so long a change of 

 base and get at them again. Probably he would not do 

 so at all on that clay, and on the next day the ducks 

 would have the same chance over again. This constant 

 shifting of the flight from one part of the marsh to 

 another necessitates a sharp lookout on the part of the 

 shooter, or rather on the part of his pusher. Happy is 

 that pusher who discovers some little "hole" where the 

 birds are feeding on the smartweed, or acorns, or some 

 other of the favorite local products. The pusher watches 

 it for perhaps a day, and then, confident in the instinct 

 of the birds to return to an undisturbed feeding spot, he 

 steals over to the telegraph office, and flashes a hurried 

 message to the club member with whom he happens to 

 have the best understanding. Then the shooter drops 

 any and all business, hurries down to the club, promises 

 the pusher a suit of clothes if they get a hundred birds, 

 and forth sally the two, as quietly as may be, and with 

 the innocent look of those who reck of naught more 

 choice than mudhens. If the "hole" has not been dis- 

 turbed, or eaten out by the devouring thousands, there 

 is perhaps realized that "big clay" which has so long 

 haunted the sportsman's dreams, and he may come home 

 at night with his boat fairly groaning with a feathered 

 freight. Whether this be at some of the almost inscrut- 

 able recesses of the North Marsh or the South Marsh, 

 whether it be on Bogus Creek, Bogus Lake, or the Little 

 Yellow, or the Big Yellow, or on the wet meadow, or 

 over in the oak flats — that is a question each day must 

 decide for itself. 



Mallards and bluebills make most of the shooting on 

 the English Lake grounds. Bedheads and bluebills are 

 abundant in the spring and in the fall, when the water 

 is high. There are a few canvasbacks, but no regular 

 flight. Teal are plentiful. In common with all the river 

 clubs, the English Lake folks unhesitatingly say that the 

 shooting is best in the spring, although a great many of 

 their members decry the practice, as the ducks are at 

 that season in such very poor condition. I have been sur- 

 prised, in getting about among the clubs, to find so many 

 men of the most intelligent element who persist in spring 

 shooting even while they admit that a general law against 

 it, North and South, would be the solution of the duck 

 supply. If we wait for all the States to pass such a law 

 at just the same moment, it is not likely ever to be passed 

 by any. 



The local feed on this marsh seems to consist mostly of 

 wild rice and smartweed. There are, of course, the 

 usual marsh roots and grasses; and there is also a pretty 

 good supply of acorns, the overflowed oak flats being a 

 peculiarity not often found in other sections to such ex- 

 tent as here. Shooting on a smartweed flat in the timber 

 of Little Yellow Biver, Mr. Chas. E. Willard once killed 

 100 mallards in half a day. This was in open, bright 

 weather, and yet I am told that the birds came in so fast 

 and close that the pusher, Charles Baker, killed three 

 with his paddle. The barrels of the shooter's gun became 

 so heated that he could not hold them. On the following 

 clay Mr. Abner Price killed 52 mallards at the same place. 

 Mr. Price also once killed 115 ringbills in one day's shoot 

 on the marsh. 



The year of 1886 seems to have been about as good as 

 any since the organization of the club, in 1879. Befer- 

 ring to the club records, it appears that during that year, 

 in the fall, and from Oct. 20 to 26, such scores as the fol- 

 lowing were common; 81, 15, 15, 84, 15, SO, 58, 34, 32, 

 100 41 34, 21, 23, 52, 30, 78, 58, 55, 32, 53, 83, 30. On Oct. 

 81 the scores were: 80, 20, 30, 31, 20, 43, 32, 28, 51, 20, 37, 

 20. On Oct. 10, 1886, snipe bags were recorded of 17, 44, 

 52. There were a great many snipe this past fall, and the 

 nature of the country is such that this sport is very often 

 afforded almost at its very best. 



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