Mat 22, 1990 ] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



S49 



Golden Plover.— Scranton, la., May 10.— The golden 

 plover are Jttaft leaving us. They are going north to their 

 breeding grounds. These birds'have made an unusually 

 long stay wit h us, as the first ones were seen about March 

 25. They have also been much more numerous than 

 usual. Although it has been a very dry season, they are 

 in excellent condition; in fact, the fattest I have ever 

 seen. These birds are generally very wild, especially on 

 cold days. It is only on very warm days that the hunter 

 can have any success among them . Not very many have 

 been killed, as there is as yet not much interest taken in 

 them. A few of the members of our sporting association 

 have made pretty good bags, among others the writer, 

 who bagged 23 in about an hour. Jacksnipe have been 

 very scarce this season, few have been killed. Angling is 

 the order of the day, and several fine strings of black 

 bass have been taken. — E. E. F. 



Live Antelopes Foe Parks.— Cimarron, Kan., May 4. 

 — Editor Forest and Stream: I think I can lurnish any 

 one who wants antelope for a park or zoological garden 

 with fawns at 830 a pair, well-boxed separately and de- 

 livered at the express office at this place on or about 

 Oct. 1. I am busy and cannot afford to catch fawns and 

 take care of them four months till they can eat hay, at 

 those figures, but I can find some claim holders that will 

 undertake the job. The postmaster tells me he has re- 

 ceived several letters inquiring about fawns and wishing 

 to buy. I can probably procure five or ten pair. I know 

 one hoy who is protecting eleven head on his father's 

 claim, six does heavy with fawn, four bucks and one dry 

 doe. He promises to catch the kids and raise them.— W. 

 J. Dixon. 



Evenino Grosbeak in New Hampshire,— Editor For- 

 est and Stream : A handsome evening grosbeak (Coceo- 

 ihtaustes vcxpertina) was captured by Mr. T. Edward 

 Bishop in Francestown, N. H., March 27, 1890. The bird 

 was a male, in perfect plumage, and when killed was 

 accompanied by a female, which escaped. Francestown 

 is in Hillsborough county, in the southern part of the 

 State, and some twelve miles north of Milford, where 

 Mr. Melzer seemed the first specimen of this species that 

 was reported in the Forest and Stream last winter.— W. 

 W. Colburn (Springfield, Mass., May 10). 



'nmt mtd %w\. 



"FOREST AND STREAM" GUN TESTS. 



THE following guns have been tested at the Forest AND 

 Stream Range, and reported upon in the issues named. 

 Copies of any date will he sent on receipt of price, ten cents: 

 Colt 12, July 25. Parker 12, hainmerless, June 0. 



Coi/elOand 12, Oct. 24. Remington If., May 30. 



Focsom 10 and 12, Sept. 20. Remington 13, Dec. 5,_ Feb. 6. 

 Francotte 12, Dec. 12. Remington 10, Dec. 2b. 



Greener 12, Aug. 1. Scott 10, Sept. 5. 



Greener io. Sept. 12, Sept. 10. L. C. Smith 12, Oct. 10. 

 Hoelis 10, Nov. 1. Whitney Safety 12, March 6. 



Lufever 12, March 13. Winchester 10 and 12, Oct. 3. 



Parker 10. h-amuer. June 6. 



DUCKING REMINISCENCES. 



TO-NIGHT a little book lies open by my side, the con- 

 tents of which show the result of many pleasant 

 days spent in the open air. It is my game record book, 

 and this evening I have been running it over, each dif- 

 ferent page bringing to mind some pleasant, though not 

 invariably successful, expedition. Under date of March 

 90, 18S6, an entry is made which calls to memory an in- 

 cident m my ducking career which it affords me great 

 pleasure to relate* to the many readers of the Forest and 

 Stream. 



Spring madeit3 appearance very abruptly that year, for 

 one evening about dusk in the early part of March, after 

 a thaw of two or three days' duration, I strolled down to 

 the lake, distant about half a mile and which was yet 

 covered with its icy mantle, to find that a mighty dis- 

 turbance wa^ taking place. A gentle wind was blowing 

 from the south and the whole ice field was in motion. 

 Already borne on by that resistless power, the ice had 

 been forced back several feet upon the banks, carrying 

 with it heavy layers of sand and earth. The air was 

 filled with a niedley of sounds. The creaking and grind- 

 ing of the oncoming mass mingling with the muffled 

 reverberations from further out m the lake. As I stand 

 watching the awe-inspiring work of nature (not so much 

 in reverential fear, perhaps, as in wonder regarding the 

 probable length of time that would elapse before the 

 ducks would be among us), away up in the now darkened 

 sky I hear that vibrating sound so gladly welcomed by 

 the hunter after the long, eventful winter, viz., the 

 sound of ducks' wings in rapid motion. A heavy mist 

 is falling, despite which I stand there upon the bank in 

 the fast gathering gloom, long enough to count twenty or 

 more flocks of ducks as they wing their way overhead, 

 and as I make my way homeward a mallard crosses the 

 road just ahead of me. 1 hear him quack, and although 

 my eyes cannot pierce the mist and darkness, that mel- 

 low note comes to my ears like a promise to be fulfilled 

 at no future day. From a marshy pond hard by, thickly 

 bordered by hickories, sounds an answer to the call, and 

 with a responsive note there comes a gentle swish fol- 

 lowed by vociferous quackings and chucklings as the 

 resting birds welcome the fresh arrival. As I turn in 

 the gate leading to the house, a jacksnipe pitches by, fly- 

 ing low down and ever and anon uttering the derisive 

 little note of his. I enter the house with a quickened 

 pulse and after loading a couple of dozen shells turn in 

 for the night, but not to rest, as phantom ducks besiege 

 my dreams. 



The morning of March 20 dawns upon a cloudy and 

 threatening sky. The scudding gray clouds are driven 

 by a strong N.W. wind, and a few flakes of snow come 

 sifting by, but it is just the morning for ducks, and by 

 9 o'clock a well-muffied party of three might have been 

 seen driving in the direction of Bark River, which was 

 to be the scene of the day's campaign, and which lies 

 some six or seven miles to the southward. 



Our party consisted of A. A. E. (better known among 

 the fraternity as "Old Baldy"), L. J. S. and the writer, 

 and as we jog along the muddy roads our eyes are con- 

 tinually gladdened by the sight of numerous flocks of 

 ducks high up in the air. At 10:30 we are unloading our 

 boats on the river bank, or rather where the riverhank 



should have been, for the melting snows and the heavy 

 rains during the past few days have raired the usually 

 tranquil stream to overflow its banks, and to-day instead 

 of a placid stream coursing its way between narrowbanks 

 there is a sea of tossing waterin places half a mile wide, 

 out of which protrudes here and there a haystack 

 or a clump of battered willows. As we unload our 

 boats we note a flock of mallards sitting out of shot 

 among the willows', the males with their glossy green 

 heads erect and ever on the alert for danger. Looking 

 eloser one could see the dusky forms of the females as 

 they swam about among their more gorgeously colored 

 mates, or paused for a moment to snatch a mouthful as 

 it came drifting by. We launch our boats about a quar- 

 ter of a mile north of where the Northwestern Railroad 

 track ci'osses the highway, and leaving word with the 

 man to call for us at dusk, drop down the river, the 

 writer in the advance. Some twenty rods behind him 

 came L. J. S. , while still further back the rear is brought 

 up by •'Old Baldy.*' In this order we pass by the first 

 bridge and undtr the second one, around the timbers and 

 abutments of which the muddy waters eddied and 

 swirled. Huge ice cakes came floating down the stream, 

 only to be broken in pieces as they came in contact with 

 the massive piles under the track. Using great care the 

 bridge is safely passed, although there is scanty room to 

 use the paddle, which has to be dropped and the hands 

 used in place, pushing from one timber to another. 



We drop down past the Big Slough and Poplar Point, 

 and as the river broadens out we see numbers of ducks, 

 bluebills, whistlewings, redheads and butterballs, flock 

 after flock. Running the bow of my boat into the bank 

 for a moment I lay doAvn my poling paddle, taking in its 

 place a shorter blade; then with gun balanced across my 

 shell box, Ipush off. There is a broad bend ahead, andas 

 the point is neared I hug the reed-grown bank closely, for 

 there certainly must be a flock feeding in the shelter of the 

 cove. Cautiously and with scarce a ripple the sharp how 

 of my boat rounds the point, and there sure enough is a 

 fine flock of bluebills diving and feeding, now submerged 

 under water to appear a moment later with a mouthful 

 from the soft bottom, their glossy black heads and light 

 backs in beautiful contrast glistening with moisture. 

 They are so close that I can plainly distinguish the bright 

 yellow eyes of the males as they sit now motionless upon 

 the surface of the water with necks distended regarding 

 the approaching boat and its occupant with the inquisi- 

 tiveness which sometimes characterizes this variety of 

 waterfowj. The, current bears me onward, and now 

 the paddle is noiselessly dropped and the gun taken up in 

 its place. Just as the flock (their curiosity having changed 

 to fear) springs from the water the 10-gauge deals out 

 death and destruction. Hastily slipping in a couple of 

 fine shot shells I knock over two cripples that are trying 

 to gain the cover of th'e bank. I hear several reports 

 behind me, and know that the halance of the flock have 

 gone up past the boys. J ust here I see coming like a ball 

 down through the center of the channel a male golden- 

 eye. A beautiful bird he is in his full coat of black and 

 white plumage. As he comes opposite a first suspicion of 

 danger crosses his mind and he swerves suddenly to the 

 right, but too late, as my right cuts him down. There is 

 a heavy splash, the yellow feet flap the water spasmodi- 

 cally for a moment, and then he quietly drops down and 

 joins the four dead bluebills below me. These are picked 

 up, and I proceed down stream, frequently getting a shot 

 as some sharp bend in the river is turned. Most of the 

 birds fly up stream toward the boys, and their rapid shots 

 are borne to my ears by the strong wind. Looking across 

 the barren stretch of fire-blacked marsh away up stream 

 half a mile or more, I can see "Old Baldy" tossing out 

 his decoys from a little point, and putting up his blind. 

 Some 40 rods above me L. J. S. is also setting out his fleet, 

 so not wishing to locate too near the others, I pole further 

 down the stream. 



Now before me lies a long stretch of the river running 

 in a southerly direction. I have just rounded the point 

 and am wondering where to make a stand, when I see a 

 flock of twenty or more bluebills coming up the stream 

 toward me. Obedient to a turn of the paddle, my boat 

 lies close against the boggy shore, and I crouch low, 

 thinking to get a raking shot as the flock passes. But in 

 this I am doomed to disappointment, for the flock leaves 

 the river channel when within twenty rods of where I 

 am lying, and turning abruptly to the right passes on 

 across the marsh. Close behind them come3 a second 

 flock, and yet another, all flying nearly in the same 

 track. 



Thinking this a good omen, I hastily drop down the 

 river and set out my decoys a few rods below the point 

 where the preceding flocks had turned off only a min- 

 ute before. The banks are devoid of cover save for a few 

 straggling wisps of marsh grass, but pulling my boat up 

 on the shore, I prop it up on its edge and scatter an arm- 

 ful of hay taken from a stack conveniently by over the 

 bottom and sides, and my blind is complete. Of course 

 on a calm sunshiny day this sort of cover would not have 

 answered at all, but on this occasion it served the pur- 

 pose admirably, as the birds were flying low and were 

 not cautious. I am hardly behind my impromptu blind, 

 with shell box open, when the flight begins. Down the 

 river through the mist I see a small bunch of bluebills 

 coming. They are making slow progress against the 

 wind, and do not see the decoys until within a few rods 

 of them. Without an instant's hesitation they sail in and 

 bow their wings over the open space I have left in the 

 center of my flock. Two drop to my shot and the bal- 

 ance of them pass on up stream. During the next half 

 hour there is a brisk flight, and when it slackens I push 

 out and pick up a dozen bluebills and goldeneyes. Sev- 

 eral other dead birds were carried away by the drifting 

 ice, which closed in around them before T could get to 

 where they lay. 



In the hour following I have time to eat my lunch and 

 load a few shells, as my supply of the latter is running 

 low. Presently the wind veers around into the west, 

 and a drizzling rain begins to fall. Happening to look 

 clown the river through the air, heavy with moisture, I 

 see a pair of large ducks beating up wind that cause me 

 to make sure there is no mistake. Now I catch a side 

 view of them, and all doubts are settled. They are ean- 

 vasbacks, but will they ceme to my decoys? Alas for 

 human hopes! When within twenty rods of me they 

 leave the river channel and strike the marsh. Straight 

 for the blind of L. J. S, they fly, and every instant I ex- 

 peot to see that worthy raise to salute them. Now they 

 are direqtly opposite, and it iB just at thie poijat that I see 



the cause of S.'s silence, for way back out of shot in the 

 stunted and blackened marsh, whither he has gone in 

 search of a dead bird, crouches a familiar figure, which 

 is now making frenzied demonstrations indicative of 

 anger and despair. Onward the coveted pair of birds 

 wing their flight, and are soon out of harm's way, as they 

 do not offer to stop at the stand of our venerable friend 

 on the way up. About 4 o'clock we have one more little 

 flight, and for a few minutes the sky is darkened with 

 birds. Bluebills and goldeneyes, butterballs and mer- 

 gansers, all in indescribable confusion. First I would 

 have a shot over the decoys, then a bunch carried by the 

 wind would swing in behind me over the marsh. Look- 

 ing around to follow their motions, birds would drop in 

 and light with the decoys. 



This only lasted a few minutes, and as soon as there 

 came a lull as dusk was approaching I picked up my de- 

 coys (no light undertaking in the teeth of a driving wind), 

 and making everything as snug as possible in my little 

 boat, now heavily overloaded, I start on my way back 

 up the stream. I find L. J. S. in the act of winding up 

 his last decoy, and together we pole up to the blind of 

 our chaperon, whom we find in readiness to depart. 

 Before us is a long stretch of river and slowly we work 

 up against the current. The fine sleet that has fallen for 

 the last hour is beginning to make itself felt through our 

 clothing. At last we near the railroad bridge, and what 

 ' follows I feel quite sure the wrinkled and relentless hand 

 of time will never wholly erase from my memory. It is 

 growing dusk, and we are numb from our long struggle 

 up the stream, facing the biting sleet and wind. The 

 strong dark current comes gurgling and rushing along 

 among the timbers and butments of the bridge as we ap- 

 proach it. Fearing a collision with the other boats on 

 the further side, I follow up the east bank in order to 

 pass under above the others. Unmindful of any par- 

 ticular danger I draw near the low lying timbers of the 

 bridge under which the shadows of night have long since 

 fallen. The black rushing current seems to warn me 

 back, as using my utmost strength I force my heavily 

 loaded boat into the vortex. I can hear the exclamations 

 of the "boys" as they are passing under below me where 

 the current is much slower, but have no time to speculate 

 on the subject they are discussing, as my entire attention 

 is required in my own behalf. I am only fairly in the 

 whirlpool when, regardless of my most vigorous strokes, 

 the bow swings around and wedges itself under a pro- 

 jecting brace, and despite my utmost efforts the stern 

 swings around and follows the example set by the bow; 

 a wave ripples in over the undecked side of my frail 

 craft, and a second one, larger than the first, gurgles in 

 after it. 



Thinking by lightening my load somewhat I might 

 possibly get out of my embarrassing position without a 

 wetting, I called aloud to the boys iu mild and deliberate 

 accents, "Gentlemen I shall need a little help," but at 

 this point an incomer, hitherto unseen, suddenly en- 

 velops me, and with a lurch my craft unceremoniously 

 settles under the water, carrying me with it. As the 

 muddy waters, chilled by their contact with the floating 

 ice, close in around me and penetrate my clothing, I 

 draw a shuddering sigh and add, so the story goes, "and 



quick, too." I settle to the shoulders in that rushing 



flood, then grasping the 10-gauge in one hand and a rail- 

 road tie with the other I struggle a moment before find- 

 ing a foothold. Finally I manage to lay my gun across 

 the ties and next to crawl up between, and at last stand 

 there in the dim and uncertain light, dripping from head 

 to foot and with chattering teeth. My first move is to 

 empty the water out of my boots, and while I am doing 

 this my companions are rescuing such of my outfit as did 

 not sink. While they are engaged in this work of mercy, 

 I can hear then- smothered bursts of laughter, which, 

 through consideration for my feelings, I presume was 

 not intended for my ears. My boat, lightened of all 

 weight, now drifts out from under the bridge and is 

 hauled up on the bank and turned over. 



The boys both suggest going to a neighboring house 

 for a change of clothing, but I say nay. and stepping into 

 my boat I pole across the marsh toward our landing 

 place, distant half a mile or more. The others follow 

 more leisurery, being loaded down with my parapher- 

 nalia in addition to their own. About half the distance 

 is gone over, when suddenly I see a bunch of bluebills 

 bearing down upon me. I have just time to drop the 

 •paddle and grasp my gun, when they are directly over- 

 head and passing like a whirlwind. Scarce realizing 

 what I will do, chilled through and through as I am, I 

 throw the gun to my shoulder and fire one barrel stand- 

 ing on my feet. The recoil nearly throws me overboard, 

 but recovering myself I look back in time to see two blue- 

 hills in the act of striking the water a few rods from my 

 companions Leaving the retrieving to them, I continue 

 on my way and am soon at the landing place. There the 

 team is waiting for us, and by the time the boys get 

 ashore I have my blood in something like a state of cir- 

 culation. In aijew minutes we are loaded up and on our 

 way home. AnT but those were long miles; and as the 

 team jogged along the heavy roads I trotted behind the 

 wagon weighted down in my soaking garments, but pre- 

 ferring this to a shivering ride upon the seat. At last 

 the welcome home lights appear, and making a hasty 

 division of our bag of over fifty birds, I bid the boys good 

 night and am soon in the midst of a hot bath. Then 

 comes a light supper, a toast by the fire, and I turn in 

 for the night to get up the following morning none the 

 worse for my little adventure except in pocket, as a large 

 part of my outfit found a watery grave there that night 

 under the old railroad bridge' or floated off down the 

 stream with the ice cakes. * Greenhead. 



The Texas Turkey Record.— Jayton, Kent Countv, 

 Texas, May 9.— Seeing that "T. J. S.," of Beeville, had 

 killed 3 sandhill cranes and that "H. M. D.," of Piedros 

 Negros, goes him one better with 3 turkeys, I have but 

 to say, that my son, a lad of fourteen years, killed 3 big 

 gobblers at one shot, with an old muzzleloader, but a 

 good gun. They were on the run at the time and were 

 shot within 75yds. of the house. — J. W. A. 



"Sport." — Minneapolis, Minn. — I recently saw on the 

 cover of a fine catalogue of sportsmen's goods issued by 

 a Chicago house a spirited (?) picture of a dude sportsman 

 in correct regalia, standing in a boat handled by a guide, 

 pumping lead into a swimming deer apparently 20ft. 

 from the boat. What noble ideas of sport those dealers 

 rnust have!— W. W, L. 



