PRIL 7, 1894.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



298 



■era-built boats of professional design that have been sent 

 ■to this country, and the seamanship that obtains here is 

 ■by no means amateurish. I hope she will continue to 

 ■beat them all, partly because we came to love the boat 

 Ifrom sailing on her and learning her so satisfactorily, but 

 ■mostly because she is sailed by two of the whitest boys 

 ■that ever hauled a rope or shot a gun— two perfect young 

 ■gentlemen, quiet, pleasant, plucky, cheerful and kind, 

 ■absolutely the best guides I ever met on any trip. The 

 ■stranger will do well to get these boys to take him out, 

 Ifor they have shot for the market, carried shooters and 

 ■fishers, and gone out for sport themselves so much all 

 lover this coastwise country, that they know every inch of 

 ■land and water thereabout, know where the birds are and 

 ■know how to get to them if they can be gotten. More- 

 lover, they are two lovable boys, boys out of a thousand, 

 ■boys who will blush if they see this, but still boys who 

 ■will sail in any wind and not get rattled in a squall — as 

 Iwe learned for ourselves. We thought it a big part of 

 lour luck that we fell upon Novice — the which we owed to 

 ■Mr. Fulton's plans. 



I Our host, Mr. Everett, Mr. R. M. Innes, superintendent 

 ■of transportation for the Aransas Pass R. R. ; Mr. McCul- 

 llom, of Covington, Ky. ; Dick Merrill and myself, made 

 ■up the passenger list, and Johnnie and Jimmie the ship's 

 ■company. We were bound for the Shellbanks, on the 

 ■dredged channel through the flats that separate Aransas 

 ■and Corpus Christi^bays. The run was about eight or 

 ■nine miles, and we made it easy as a dream, Novice coni- 

 jpelling our admiration the first hour we sailed aboard her. 



By the Sea Shore. 



At the Shellbanks the channel makes a swift bend out 

 of Aransas Bay, and twists away through the flats, past 

 the mouth of that wide and expensive dredged canal, 

 which once made the claim of Aransas City to "deep 

 water" and therefore to a metropolitan future — now, 

 lias, not in the least metropolitan. The land here is 

 low, with little islands and tongues and shallow sprits. 

 Bere Johnnie Bludworth has his shipyard, where the 

 boats pull out when they want to calk or repaint, and he 

 and his young wife are the only inhabitants of the bank. 

 A.cross the channel is the Quarantine station. Beyond 

 that is the lighthouse. Beyond that again, about six 

 miles or so from the banks, is Aransas Pass, where the 

 3-overnment jetties are, and where the tarpon are, too. 

 Beyond the Quarantine station, half way over to it, 

 jack of it — in short almost any direction you may look 

 —are passes where the redheads fly to and from their 

 feed. At the Shellbanks itself is a flue pass, and on all 

 hands from this central point are miles and miles and 

 miles of feeding grounds, covered with water from 3in. 

 to 3ft. deep and full of the sweet bulbous rooted grass 

 which is here the staple food of the wild ducks. Cer- 

 tainly a very pleasant set of circumstances for one wish- 

 ing some easy and easily accessible duck shooting. 



Among the Redheads. 



Everybody Iwent fishing but Dick and nryself. The 

 boys took us out with the sneakboxes to try for some of 

 the redheads which we saw beginning to work. The 

 Novice has two of these boxes and about 100 decoys in 

 her outfit, The sinkboxes are made by the boy's father, 

 who is a good metal worker, and are built after an 

 Original but very good model. They are about 7£ft. 

 long by 3ift. wide, with a high turtle-back deck, with 

 coaming, leaving a cockpit about 4ft. long and just wide 

 enough for the shooter to lie down, which feat he must 

 accomplish by sticking his feet under the turtle-back 

 deck in front of him, and hunching his shoulders in side- 

 ways into the cockpit. When he wishes to shoot he 

 simply sits up and shoots from that position. When in 

 use, the deck of the sinkbox is covered with mud and 

 salt marsh grass. The material of the boat is galvanized 

 iron, and there are no air chambers. If filled, the boat 

 would sink at once, but they will take an astonishing sea, 

 so long as one keeps cool and doesn't fall out. Oar locks 

 of collapsible sort are provided. When in position the 

 boat sits low in the water and makes an admirable blind. 

 It must be borne in mind that nearly all the coast shoot- 

 ing at this locality is open water shooting, with not a 

 particle of cover of any kind about. As usual, the hunter 

 instinct has developed precisely the most useful sort of 

 means to get at the game. By the use of these sinkboxes 

 we made good shooting when others were helpless and 

 could get no bag at all, 



' 'Do you expect me to get into that cast iron tub and go 

 but there into that sea?" I asked of Johnnie, as he signi- 

 fied his readiness to start. 



^'Why, we fellows do," said he, deprecatingly, "It's 

 safer than it looks." 



"All right," I told him, "if you can stand drowning I 

 suppose I can, but I want to tell you right now, I'm plenty 

 scared of iron boats with no air in 'em, when the waves 

 are higher than a meeting house and the wind off shore." 



Johnnie was too polite to laugh at me, and seeing he 

 was so polite, I resolved to drown gracefully. I soon 

 found, however, that the pesky little thing was a lot bet- 

 ter than it looked. You couldn't upset it; and though it 

 rowed just as well sideways as any other, it bobbed on 

 the seas like a cork, and the waves never got beyond the 

 coaming. Moreover, we had only a quarter of a mile or 

 so to go, and then we struck a flat, whereat we pulled up 

 our top boots and waded. This was on a feeding bed 

 where the birds often banked up, and here Johnnie left 

 me after we had put out our decoys and anchored the sink 

 box quartering to them. 



Killed Something At Last. 

 I lay down full length in the box, with one eye just 

 over the leeward edge, with my open shell box between 

 my legs, and with Roll Organ's gun poked out through 

 the low fringe of grass about the coaming. It was a 

 J couple of hours before dark, perhaps, the wind was right, 

 I and the birds were moving, for I could see flock after 

 ■ flock passing, some in one direction and some in another. 

 I Many headed up the shore line of the Quarantine island, 

 I and of these I knew at once I should get in a few flocks, 

 I for the wind was exactly right for it. 



It was not long before I saw a long, black line of rapidly 

 I moving fowl coming up my way, and when I gave them 

 I a call they swung straight in for me, and I don't believe 

 I you could have kept them out of that tough looking flock 

 I of home-made decoys if you had tried your best. 



I "Oh, dear, but won't I just kill about 19 of you, now!" 



I I chuckled to myself, as they dropped and came skini- 

 I ming in with their wings set and their toes pushing out 

 I in front of them. I ought to have "let 'em light," as my 



friend Harry Dale says, but I couldn't keep down any 

 longer. I sat up, and it seemed to me that I had pulled 

 most of the deck with me when I did. The birds bunched 

 for an instant, and at 25yds, I let them have it, expecting 

 to kill the whole 19 right there. I heard the swish of the 

 shot as they struck, but to my surprise only one bird fell 

 out, though he was very limp and folded-up like. In my 

 surprise at not killing the other 18, I dwelt so long that I 

 had to be very careful with the second to cut out another 

 bird, which also fell in a very tired way on the water. I 

 had to let the other 17, go, but on the whole felt satisfied 

 with my pair of redheads, which were in full plumage 

 and extraordinarily fat and heavy— as indeed we found 

 all the birds in that country. 



I hardly had screwed myself into the sinkbox again 

 before I saw another flock breaking their necks to get in 

 among my decoys. As they drew down I sat up calmly 

 on a wet place my rubber boots had left on the bottom 

 boards, and the shot of Roll Organ's gun went snip! snip! 

 about like snapping your fingers, against a pair of birds, 

 and they came out with never a mark as they hit the 

 water. 



"The trouble with me is," thought I, as a bitter smile 

 wreathed my cruel lips while I put in a couple more shells, 

 "that I'm not understood. I'm probably the best duck 

 shot there is in the whole world, and I never knew it ber 

 fore. I can do this every time. It's dead easy for us 

 good ones." 



I suppose I ought to stop the story right here, and let 

 the impression go abroad that I was correct in my sur- 

 mises as above. The truth is, however, that out of the 

 very next flock I only got one bird, and failed so many 

 times to get my double that I concluded probably I wasn't 



3 '^'i 



MISSION OF SAN FRANCISCO DB LA ESP ADA — SAN ANTONIO. 



actually the best duck shot in the whole world, but maybe 

 only the next best. For a time the birds swung to the 

 right instead of to the left. That made it awkward 

 shooting from the box, and I would miss with my second 

 barrel. Then they would break to the left of me, and 

 come in so close that I would miss them with the right 

 and kill with the left. I killed a number at less than 

 20yds. from the box, and this, it should be remembered, 

 was right out in the open water. One way or the other, 

 I found it almost impossible to keep from getting at least 

 one bird out of each flock, for they were decoying beauti- 

 fully and coming fast, so that soon I had a very nice little 

 bag, indeed — enough to cover up the fantail of the big 

 skiff in which Johnnie came out after me. I was quite in 

 love with the world that evening, for I had had one of 

 those rare treats — a thoroughly satisfactory little shoot on 

 wildfowl. I was pleased with the sinkbox, jpleased with 

 the nitro loads I had brought all the way down from 

 Chicago, and tickled to death with Roll Organ's gun, 

 which mentally I resolved to steal. Evidently my first 

 day at Rockport was a success. 



Meantime another schooner-load of shooters had de- 

 ployed along the channel back of my point and had can- 

 nonaded the birds in such fashion that Dick, who was 

 stationed still further back, had had little or no shooting 

 and had only bagged half a dozen birds. "He's a mighty 

 good shot, though," Jimmy assured me, confidentially. 



The wind fell at sunset and we could not sail back to 

 town. Dick and I ate a few dozen oysters after supper, 

 and then tiring of that monotonous pastime went spear- 

 ing flounders by lantern light with Johnnie. We had no 

 spear so we sharpened a stick. That's good enough for a 

 flounder spear. We got half a dozen of these misfit, side- 

 wise fish, which we traded on the schooner for more 

 oysters. Then a breeze sprung up and we tranquilly 

 sailed home with a fine display of redheads cooling out 

 in pairs along the stays. E. Hough. 



909 Skotiuty Building, Chicago. 



A New Wrinkle in Bear Traps. 



Silverdale, Wash. — An Indian gave me a receipt for 

 a — to me — new wrinkle in bear traps the other day. He 

 says: "Get a pony beer keg and drive big wire spikes 

 through from the outside, slanting toward the bottom. 

 File them plenty sharp and knock one head out of the 

 keg. Put honey in the bottom and leave it on or near 

 the bear trail. Mr. Bear puts his head in (easy enough) 

 after the honey and gets "spiked in" so he can't get the 

 keg off. What's the matter with poor Lo for "ways that 

 are childlike and bland?" El. Comancho. 



Maine Wildfowl. 



Brunswick, Me.. March 26. — Geese and ducks are com- 

 ing along in considerable numbers on their way to their 

 summer resorts; but the shooting is not very good this 

 spring on account of the unusually warm weather we 

 have had since the first of March, and the ice is nearly all 

 out of the salt-water bays. When there is plenty of ice 

 we can approach the birds much better by making our 

 floats resemble ice cakes. Nimrod. 



Velocity and Penetration. 



Brunswick, Me.— Editor Forest and Stream: In your 

 issue of 24th inst. Mr. Armin Tenner makes the statement 

 that the penetration of shot at a high velocity is not so 

 great as it is at some lower velocity. Mr. Tenner does not 

 make the statement without some good reason no doubt, 

 but I have always found that I could drive shot deeper at 

 30yds. than at 40yds. or any greater distance, and I have 

 always supposed that shot at 30yds. had a higher velocity 

 than at 40yds. or any greater distance. I have always 

 thought in common with most people that the higher the 

 velocity of shot or bullet the greater the penetration 

 would be. It is said by those who have tried it that a 

 common tallow candle can be driven through a pine 

 board of considerable thickness if propelled at a very high 

 velocity, and I have always supposed the higher the 

 velocity the greater the ability of any substance to over- 

 come resistance; of course weight and hardness are addi- 

 tional factors. 



I would like to hear from those who have had experi- 

 ence whether the penetration of a 12-gauge gun properly 

 loaded is as great as an 8-gauge gun properly loaded. It 

 is maintained by many in this vicinity that the 12-gauge 

 is quite equal in this respect to the 10 or 8-gauge. 



Nimrod. 



A Great Flight in Iowa. 



Algona, la., March 28. — Editor Forest and Stream: 

 We are in the midst of a great flight of ducks and geese. 

 I have never seen anything like it in the twenty-eight 

 years that I have lived in Algona. The birds appear to come 

 from every direction, the largest share from the north. 

 They fly close to the ground and are very anxious to fight 

 wherever there is a little water. I think the bluebills 

 outnumber all the rest, although there are a great many 

 canvasbacks, redheads, mallards, widgeons and green- 

 wing teal, with now and then a broadbill. The birds are 

 in good condition. There is a great deal of feed in the 

 country. The Canada geese light in the river close to my 

 house. The great storms in other parts of the country 

 must have driven the birds here. We have had quite a 

 good deal of wind, but no snow or rain. 



John G. Smith;. 



*' That reminds me." 

 A Good Skunk Day. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



This was in Maine and not over fifty miles from the 

 capital city. It was cold; it seemed as though the mer- 

 cury had gone down cellar or off to hibernate with the 

 bears. But the big bay horse was a goer and recalled 

 that of which Scripture says: "His neck is clothed with 

 thunder, he paweth in the valley, he smelleth the battle 

 afar off." 



The robes were ample, and with the good fur coat, cap 

 and gloves made that sleigh ride seem like those of long 

 ago and almost renewed one's youth. 



The driver, an improvised, but good one, then out of 

 other work, grew confidential and reminiscent. 



"I used to go skunkin' 'bout here in the winter." 



Upon inquiry he said he made skunk catching his busi- 

 ness in dull times. He had caught forty-two skunks alone 

 and then formed articles of partnership with Sam, and 

 they two together caught 135, all in one month. That 

 made 177 of the odoriferous beasts disposed of in one 

 moon by two men. They sold the skins and the "ile," 

 and thus made a good thing. 



"We bed one darned good day jess beyend them woods. 

 We hed two dogs to find the holes, an' when they found 

 'em the dogs 'ud go off so's not to git the parfume an' we 

 did the killin'. We hed spades, shotguns, revolvers an' a 

 hook on a pole. Ye see the dogs told us jess where to 

 dig an' when we opened a hole we could see the fellers, 

 an' a clip on the head fixed the fust one an' the hook 

 hauled them out, an' so on to the last. Now I'm tellin' 

 ye we got fifteen skunks from that one hole an' there 

 was no more smell than there was to tho snow itself. 



"We sot in to skin 'em an' when we'd got to the last two 

 we tried to best each other. Jess then one o' the dogs 

 spoke down by the crick an' we knew he hed something 

 that wasn't skunk. We hustled down an' found, the dog 

 barkin' at a hole under the stun in the bank. I looked in 

 an' see a coon an' shot it with my revolver, an' hauled it 

 out with the hook. The old dog still barked an' I run in 

 my hook an' pulled out another coon. The old dog still 

 said there was something more an' I hauled out another 

 coon — that made three coon, We went back an' finished 

 skinnin' the skunks an' then separated, Sam takin' one 

 dog an' me the other, an' Mister, 'twa'n't more'n ten 

 minutes 'fore my dog fit out a yelpin' like all possesst 

 right toward Sam, who was a listenin'. Sam see a big 

 fox comin' his way, an' he got behind a tree, an' when 

 the fox was nigh enough Sam let strip with the shotgun, 

 an' Mr. Fox keeled over. We skun him, an' Mister, I'm 

 tellin' ye that in the next hour we got two more foxes. 

 That made 15 skunks, 3 coon an' 3 foxes all in one day, 



"We didn't lug home the carkisses of the skunks an' 

 foxes, we took their pelts an' the fat of the skunks. We 

 carried a flat tin can to put the taller in. 



"The coon we carried in whole an' we sent the carkisses 

 to Boston an' got $5 apiece for 'em, an' we hed the pelts 

 left. The skunk skins everedged 75 cents. Coon skins 

 $1.50; foxes $2, an' the skunk ile brung $4. I call that a 

 good day's work." 



I ventured on the antiquated chestnut and said: "And 

 it wasn't much of a day for skunks after all." I was sorry 

 I said it. for he indignantly fired back: "Yes 'twas too, 

 the gosh all firedest day I ever see." Kenn E. Bec. 



Augusta, Maine. 



In Hard Luck. 



Editor Hard I/uck Department: 



This incident has been related to several of my friends, 

 who did not see anything funny in it, so as a last resort, 

 I will endeavor to unload it on Forest and Stream, and 

 try to forget it. 



Sitting in my office on the top floor of one of Chicago's 

 sky-ticklers one cloudy day recently, every little while I 

 could hear a volley of shots, fired by hunters out on the 

 harbor breakwater. The day was perfect for the sport 

 and there was evidently a good flight. I had the same 



