Hunting clubs were the 

 pinnacle of exclusivity. The posh 

 clubhouses and the prime marsh- 

 land surrounding them were a 

 literal playground for the very rich. 



In the early 1900s, initia- 

 tion into the Swan Island Club cost 

 a hunter $5,000. Members couldn't 

 sell their hunting rights. Only the 

 existing members could choose a 

 replacement for the one who 

 withdrew or died. 

 As the story goes, one pub- 

 lishing and railroad mogul made 

 his own rules. The Lighthouse Club 

 and its membership barred his wife, 

 an avid hunter, from the grounds. 

 So he bought the club property and 

 built his own manor there. 

 EC. Knight's Whalehead 

 clubhouse, completed in 1925 at a 

 cost of $383,000, had a copper roof, 

 cork floors, corduroy-covered walls, 

 Tiffany lamps, a 16-room basement, 

 five chimneys and an elevator. 



Whalehead Club 



Families hunted to put food on their 

 tables. Sons, fathers and grandfathers 

 worked as guides. Men and women 

 worked in lodges and hunt clubs as 

 caretakers and cooks. Inn owners rented 

 rooms to visiting sportsmen. 



And before the sale of waterfowl was 

 outlawed in 1918, "market" hunting kept 

 locals busy supplying a tide of trade to 

 the north. 



In the late 1800s, a hunter might get as 

 little as a quarter to as much as a dollar 

 for a pair of ducks, depending on the 

 species. A pair of geese might bring 50 

 cents. After the turn of the century, 

 hunters could expect $2 to $7 a pair for 

 birds. 



Even when prices were low, hunters 

 could at least be assured of an endless 

 supply of game. 



In addition to live and artificial decoys, 

 hunters used corn to lure birds into 

 shooting range. In some areas, wide- 

 barreled "punt" guns, spewing a pound of 

 shot at once, could bring down a raft of 

 waterfowl. Hunters Russell and Van Buren 

 Griggs reportedly killed a record 892 

 ducks in one day on Currituck Sound. 



"I've heard Van Buren Griggs went out 

 one day with a case of 500 shells and 

 came home with more than 500 ducks," 

 says Barco. 



In daylight, hunters often hid them- 

 selves below water level in battery rigs or 

 sink boxes. Ducks were also taken at 

 night, herded against the shore and then 

 immobilized by a lantern's blinding light. 



At times, hunters fired their guns so 

 frequently they had to dip the barrels in 

 the sound to cool the metal. Otherwise 

 the guns were too hot to handle. 



Market hunting was a business, and as 

 author Neal Conoley pointed out, these 

 gunners were harvesting "what they con- 

 sidered a boundless renewable natural 

 resource." 



Currituck residents also catered to out- 

 of-towners who came to the area to hunt 

 for sport. 



"Pampered" is the word Ralph Barco 

 used to describe guests at his lodge, 

 which he ran nearly 30 years. At his 

 table, lodgers feasted on roast beef, fish, 

 coleslaw, apples and other country deli- 

 cacies. On the sound, they were accom- 

 modated in "the Barco Hilton," a box 

 blind 16 feet long with a hinged board 

 bunk and a commode seat on a box. 



Guides would take hunters to the blinds, 

 assemble the stand of decoys, watch for 

 birds, tell them when to shoot, pick up 

 the kill and ferry the hunters back to the 

 lodge. 



At Swan Island Club, guests wouldn't 

 even dress for the hunt each morning un- 

 til a guide had warmed their rooms with 

 a fire. 



A guide had a great responsibility— to 

 look out for the safety of the hunter as 

 well as himself. Barco still remembers the 

 powder burn left on his hat when a 

 hunter nearly shot his head off in a blind. 



Guide William Wright says he once 

 picked up a fellow at the crack of dawn 

 who had already been hitting the bottle. 



"He was full," says Wright, who has 

 been a guide for 50 years. "I put him out 

 in the blind and he slept all day." 



Waterfowl hunting has changed since 

 the days a cloud of birds on takeoff would 

 block out the sun. Destruction of habitat 

 and breeding grounds and other man-made 

 problems have taken their toll on the bird 

 populations. 



People here say the decline of grasses in 

 the sound has left the birds with too 

 little food. 



"I went out recently with a hunter," 

 says Wright of a particularly beautiful day 

 on the sound. "We saw two deer, two 

 coons and a white heron. The man with 

 me said he didn't care whether we shot a 

 duck or not."« 



Photo by CM. Edgerton 



