46 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 19, 1962. 
— ^ — 
Proprietors of shooting' resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
them m Forest and Stream. 
On the Meadows. 
"While sitting in my blind alone, 
Just watching my decoys, 
I feel the subtle ecstasy 
Of all a hunter's joys; 
All careless of the world's affairs, 
Nor to its ways inclined, 
I envy not a soul on earth. 
While sitting in the blind." 
F. C. RiEHL. 
Whoever has heard the shrill whistle of the yellow-leg, 
>vhen, when-when-when, and seen the noisy sociable 
birds come circling down from the clouds in response to 
a skillful imitation of their own call; has watched them 
jostle and hurry their companions in their efforts to join 
the delusive flock of decoys, so peacefully standing in 
the meadow pond, and then, alas, yielding to the ab- 
original instinct that all possess, has raised up and 
poured the contents of both barrels into the unsuspect- 
ing ranks, well he knows by the sweet joy of experience 
the sport snipe shooting affords. 
When the breezes of August are sweeping in from old 
ocean, bringing comfort and coolness with them, the 
wanderer by the bay-side will see flocks of little snipe, 
the oxeye and teeter-rail, running busily along the 
beach, now hastening after the receding wave that has 
laid bare a tempting morsel, then scuri-ying back, pur- 
sued by a dangerous billow that threatens to overwhelm 
them; piping a shrill little note of welcome to the strag- 
gler off in the distance, and if the observer approaches 
too closely, rising on wings that seem ridiculouly out 
of proportion to their diminutive bodies, and flying away 
from the unwelcome intruder, alighting again maybe a 
hundreds yards up the beach, where they once more re- 
sume their interrupted feast. 
Presently a flock of blackbreasts will swing past, bound 
for a distant sandbar from which the tide has fallen, 
giving note to a sweet, wailing whistle, easy to imitate, 
but difficult to illustrate or describe with the pen. Great 
plump fellows, these, fattened by many an unlucky 
shrimp, sand worm or some other small marine creature 
that forms their daily, if not hourly, diet, for the black- 
breasted plover is a voracious bird, seldom if ever 
neglecting the opportunity of securing some choice mor- 
sel, such as are found on the flats or sandbars of the 
bays. 
Then, if the stroller leaves the bay-side and continues 
his course across the meadows, he will hear the clear 
whistle of the yellow-leg calling from his feeding place 
by the edge of some shallow pond to a companion just 
discernible among the clouds, and as he slowly de- 
scends, his answering whistle drifts to the earth and is 
once more replied to by the relative in the pond. 
'Twas in the early fall, not so many years ago, that 
one of the largest flights of snipe, particularly large 
and small yellow-legs, that had ever flown along old 
Long Island's sea-girt shore, was welcomed by sports- 
men from Coney Island to Montauk Point. When the 
tidings of this wonderful flight reached my ears, business 
was forgotten, the catboat hastily provisioned, gunning 
box, shells, gun and all the other paraphernalia neces- 
sary for comfort shipped, and the staunch little craft was 
' headed across the bay for an island in the center of 
which lay a most attractive pond, surrounded by the salt 
meadows. 
The day's flight was over when I reached my objective 
point, a little cove in' the island, where the anchor was 
thrown overboard for the night; only a few of those 
nocturnal wanderers, quawks, were swinging in clumsy 
flight across the meadows, breaking the silence with 
their harsh cries, while off in the distance the bright 
beacon of the Fire Island lighf glimmered cheerfully. 
Lulled to sleep by the ceaseless beat of the surf upon the 
beach and the gentle rocking of the boat, I slept the sleep 
of the bayman, calm and deep, refreshing to both body 
and mind. 
Before daybreak I was awakened by the weird, noisy 
screeching of the gulls, and hastened to prepare the 
morning meal, which was finished with the utmost dis- 
patch, and then, equipped with long rubber boots, a 
gunning coat and cap of brown canvas and a heavy 
sweater — for the mornings have a sharp, penetrating chill 
which made thick clothing indispensable— with gun, 
decoys and bag of shells deposited in the bottom of my 
sharpie, and gunning box in tow, I pushed off for the 
island. Upon reaching it, I pulled the sharpie up in the 
sedge beyond reach of the tide and proceeded to drag 
the box to the edge of the pond, where it was nicely 
hidden in a tall bunch of grass. Then I set out the de- 
coys, forty of them, all painted and shaped in close imi- 
tation of the yellow-leg, in front of the box, and in the 
shallow waters of the pond. How natural they looked in 
the dim morning light, with heads all pointing to wind- 
ward and some tilted at an angle suggestive of feeding, 
No wonder they fool the live birds. Why, I declare! It 
I hadn't put that one in that bunch of grass not oyer 
three minutes ago I would not believe it was anything 
but the genuine, article. . 
Hark! What was that sound I heard off m the east? 
There it is again! A faint whistle— when-when ! Yel- 
low-legs sure enough. 
I scurried back to the box, and pulling out a couple 
of shells from the hundred odd that swelled the canvas 
bag I jammed them into the gun and then stretched at 
full' length on the hay that covered the bottom of that 
coffin-shaped creation, built of the lightest wood for 
convenience in dragging it across the meadows, and 
dignified by the name gunning box. 
For a moment I lay there, then, so close that I was 
startled into the belief that the bird was in the stool, I 
once more heard the shrill whistle, thrice repeated. 
Peeping over the edge of the box, I saw the fellow that 
had so disturbed my equanimity, not in the stool, but 
winging his way in easy circles from the heights above. 
When, when-when-when, I whistled, with a longing 
accent that was seemingly not lost hy the unsuspecting 
object of my solicitude. With an answering note, he 
set his graceful wings and came scaling into the stool. 
Just a moment, and then came my time. When those 
yellow-tinged legs were outstretched in preparation for 
alighting, I rose in the box, gun to shoulder and eye 
glancing along the rib. Then that indefinable something 
that tells the shooter when his weapon is pointed at the 
proper spot, whispered in my ear, and the ready finger 
pressed the trigger. 
Too late, old fellow. That upward jump was not 
speedy enough, the No. los did their work cleanly, and 
the first bird of the day lay on his back in the water, 
rising and falling on the little ripples, caused by the 
freshening breeze. 
Old Sol was now peeping at me over the sand dunes 
of the nearby beach, and as I waded out to pick up the 
dead bird I thought I could see a smile of approval on 
his somewhat dim but rapidly brightening countenance. 
How the snipe flew that day! The little sixteen was 
never idle, and my heap of game gave abundant evidence 
of its prowess. Flock after flock of yellow-legs swung 
into the stool and paid toll for their hardihood. A 
belated blackbreast, hastening after a flock of relativ^es 
that had gone before, came scaling over the decoys, but 
before the smoky haze cleared away, a resounding splash 
told of another victim. 
Misses were by no means scarce, but they, too, were 
to be expected, for the man that always kills was not 
lying in the box, only a chap Avho was perfectly satisfied 
with an average three of five. 
Off in the distance I heard the pill-will-willet, pill- 
will-willet of the bird whose whistle proclaims his name, 
and presently, against the blue sky, four specks, rapidly 
growing larger, caught my expectant eye. 
Get down, old man! The sight of your hat brim would 
alarm these sharp-eyed tattlers, wary and wise in the 
tricks of man. Flat on your back in the box, and wait! 
Just one calling whistle. That's sufficient. They see 
the painted imitations of their species, and on tireless 
wings fly easily over the meadows, low dow'il and headed 
directly at the pond. 
What! Not coming! For the leader suddenly shoots 
into the air, closely followed by his three companions. 
Keep stiil! If that restive head had not bobbed up 
so prominently they would have surely stooled. Now 
they mount higher and higher until they look like mere 
dots against the background of fleecy clouds. 
Where is that little lead whistle that every snipe 
shooter should carry? Oh, yes! Just where it always 
is, snugly resting in the pocket close up to the collar of 
the coat. 
A clear call, twice repeated, and an answer floats down 
from the heights above. Once more it is sounded, and 
the little dots, seemingly an infinite distance away, begin 
slowly circling, gradually increasing their orbit, until 
once more the varying colors of their plumage may be 
distinguished — the buff and white that marks this visitor 
to our coasts. 
Stretch out on the hay and stay there, grasping the 
gun with eager hands and longing, but hardly daring, to 
peep at the near-by game. 
Suddenly there is the whir of swiftly moving wings, 
and over the box flash four shadowy somethings that 
a moment later proclaim their reality by splashing down 
in the water among the stools. There they are, with 
heads upraised, alarmed at their own daring, and seem- 
ingly about to leave the suspicious looking spot. 
Take that one just in the act of rising. Good! He's 
down! Quick! And a sharp report sounds the death 
knell of two others not a foot apart and just clear of the 
water. 
No use hurrying to get another shell in, my dear 
boy, the survivor is already a hundred yards away and 
raipdly increasing the distance between him and the de- 
ceiving decoys. Retrieve the three lying in the water 
and get back to the box, for a faint whistle warns you 
of the approach of the other game. And the three willet, 
the largest birds of the snipe family that fly along our 
coast, were added to the pile lying in the foot of the gun- 
ning box. 
And so it went, with only a short intermission at mid- 
day; snipe constantly in sight, flying in flocks, large and 
small, across the salty meadows, while to the east and 
west there sounded the faint reports of guns. Evidently 
I was not the only one enjoying the pleasure provided 
by the migrating birds. 
The sun had long been down before I gathered up 
my decoys and returned to the boat, happy and con- 
tented with such a bag as I have often dreamt about, but 
never thought would have the good fortune to secure. 
Oft-times I have been out and come back without put- 
ting my gun to shoulder, but to-day my shell bag was 
empty and my shoulder aching from the continuous 
shooting. 
As I mused the words of a poem straggled through 
my brain: 
"In spite of all the boomin', it will never seem the same; 
An^ the devil take a country that hasn't any game." 
Terse and to the point, somewhat forcible in its declara- 
tion, but agreeing perfectly with a sportsman's views, 
for what would a country be where game was not an 
existing reality, and the gun lay idle year after year, not 
wearing, but rusting out? F, Ari.hur Partridge. 
Connecticttt Q«ail and Deer. 
Essex, Conn.. July 10. — Editor Forest and Stream: It 
is quite a good sign of the times to mark that the Bob 
White in this locality are more plentiful than they have 
been for years. My father, a man of fifty-six, says he 
never knew them to be thicker, and this seenis to be the 
verdict of all those who take an interest in this most 
desirable game bird. 
I am pleased to state, too. that deer are also on the in- 
cteasc. Although I have never had the pleasure of see- 
ing one in a wild state, several of my friends, whose word 
is authentic, have. Only this morning one was seen by 
Earl Stannard while he was on his way from Westbrook 
to this place. 
Let us hope that the laws pertaining to the welfare of 
cur game may be rigidly enforced, and that in a few years 
we may have a veritable sportsmen's paradise in this 
thickly settled State of Conascticut. 
George W. Comstock. 
More Rifle Talk. 
SpragcJe, Ont., June 20— Editor Forest and Stremn: I 
have been a reader of your most interesting paper for 
many years and am always especially attracted by the 
articles which appear in it from time to time anent guns 
and rifles. When I first became a subscriber — years 
ago — the controversy was "Muzzle versus Breech." Then 
a strong agitation was started in favor of a repeater 
with a stronger action and shooting heavier charges 
than then employed (my .45-85 Bullard is now in a 
gunsmith's shop for sale), and when the manufacturers 
acceded to this: Behold the era of smokeless powder 
and small caliber! Then it was black powder versus 
smokeless, the advocates of the former, dilating on the 
danger of the extreme range of the bullets projected 
by the latter, the slight effect in shocking power pos- 
sessed by full-mantled ones, and the mangled condition 
of the game hit by the soft-nose! 
Now, the cry is for wider calibers and more powder 
— smokeless, of course. It may surprise some of your 
readers to learn that such rifles have been made in Eng- 
land, now for at least two years, in double and single 
barrels. The former weighs from 10 pounds 12 ounces 
to 12 pounds, and the latter from 9 pounds up. The 
caliber is .45, and the charge 70 grains Cordite, or an 
equivalent of Rifleite. 
However, for my part, I cannot see any inducement 
for American arms companies .to make these hand-can- 
non. They would have a very small sale, as their only 
use_ would be in the hands of the comparatively few in- 
dividuals who hunt moose and grizzly bear, and they, 
as a rule, can afford to pay the price of the imported ar- 
ticle. 
As to what really constitutes the best rifle for moose, 
it must to a great extent depend upon the physique of 
the hunter. One man can carry ten or eleven pounds 
around all day without more effort than another can six 
or seven. Were the latter to invest in a heavy rifle, he 
would find that, perhaps, when after a long tramp he 
had come upon his game, his tired muscles would fail 
him as he put his gun "to his shoulder, and the muzzle 
would wobble to such an extent that the bullet would 
fly far wide of the mark, and consequently the "knock 
down and stay down" qualities of that particular weapon 
would be of no avail; while with one suited to his 
strength, although of much less power, he would have 
been able to score a hit, and if a repeater, have the 
power to send in several more if necessary, and so make 
a kill. 
To me it seems immaterial whether one bags his game 
at one shot or with four! Certainly, it is much more 
satisfactory to kill cleanly; but when a man has a re- 
peater, the temptation to keep on shooting, so long as 
his game is up and getting away, is irresistible, and I 
fancy that many of the accounts of the killing of moose, 
in which we read — "It took four shots to down him, 
etc.," are simply from this reason. Not that the first 
shot was not a fatal one, but having others in reserve, 
they were also fired. 
For myself, I am what most of your readers would 
call a gun crank. I have a passion for collecting fire- 
arms, not old ones for curios, but the newest things out, 
and when I cannot shoot at the things which walk and 
fly — and by these I mean those classed as game, and 
most assuredly nothing else — I take a lot of solid satis- 
faction in targeting my rifles, moving the sights, until 
they are exactly fitted for me. 
When I cannot even do that, I take a delight [n rub- 
bing them up and handlihg them. 
Now. in this collection I have four rifles, any one of 
which I think a man could not be far wrong with if he 
took it after moose. One, an 8-m. Mannlicher, light, 
quickly loaded, of extreme accuracy and throwing a bul- 
let with tremendous force; another, a .45-70 extra light, 
take down, Winchester. This rifle is sighted for smoke- 
less powder, and while I cannot do the shooting with it 
I can with the others, it is accurate enough for big game 
and strikes with force. The recoil is wonderfully light 
for weight of rifle, considering the load it shoots. 
My next is one of the new W'inchester .32's. It is one 
of the most accurate weapons I ever put to my shoul- 
der and an extremely pleasant rifle to shoot. I had it 
only sighted for smokeless powder, as what is the use 
of being able to use also the .32-40 black powder cart- 
ridge? It is too powerful for small game, such as squir- 
rels, partridge, etc., and it is only for these that light 
charges are required. In this respect an "adaptor," such 
as is used in England, is the only practical way to use 
small charges for small game. This is a sort of false 
chamber which fits into the breech of rifle, and which 
is itself chambered for a short cartridge, taking a bullet 
same size as the service one (I mean, of course, in diame- 
ter) but light, and driven by only a few grains of smoke- 
less. The adaptor slips into and out of chamber easily, 
and up to its limited range the cartridge is verv 
accurate. 
My last big-game gun is, I think, the most perfect 
all 'round weapon one can get. It is a double-barrel 
hammerless by Greener, barrels 26 inches long, made of 
wrought steel. The right barrel is rifled and shoots the 
.303 British service cartridge, and the left is what 
Greener calls a "rifle choke" of 20 bore. No groovings 
are at all visible. It shoots shot beautifully, and with 
round ball is accurate up to 150 yards. Its weight is 
just 7Y2 pounds. 
I have never, so far, had an opportunity to use it on 
big game, but have no fear of failure on its part when 
the time comes. That .303 cartridge is a very powerful 
one, and when one of those 20-bore bullets strikes a 
moose it is bound to make a hole. 
For balance, workmanship and general handiness it 
is superior to any repeater I have yet seen. 
Can any of your readers tell me their experience with 
one of the "Lee straight pull" rifles, caliber .236? 
I have one — a beauty — ^made to order by the Winches- 
ter people, but so far as shooting is concerned its bul- 
lets appear to have a positive aversion to be seen in each 
other's neighborhood! It may be my fault, but I doubt 
it, owing to the fact of being able to do tolerably well 
with the other rifles. However, I would be obhged if 
someone who has used one, on game preferably, would 
state what it can do. 
