Dec. 24, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
681 
The Ways of Duck Shooters. 
East Wareham, Mass., Dec. 10. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Since our return from the far West we have 
been trying to catch up by reading the accumulated back 
numbers. The dusky duck lore that has lately appeared 
is very amusing. No man on this continent has devoted 
as much time and patience to the pursuit of these birds 
and killed so few,-, as the writer. He has watched them 
for many hours at a time, both day and night, just for 
the pleasure of observing them; to him, they are the 
duck par excellence for wildness, keenness of sight and 
hearing, and for the table. The mallard, pintail, widg- 
eon and gadwall are keen ducks, but slow when com- 
pared to Anas obscura. Of course gourmets, epicures, 
and that ilk will not allow me to class him with the 
canvasback, but the latter is at his best in only a 
few localities. On the seacoast and on the Pacific, 
when fed on widgeon weed and shell fish, he is no 
better than a bluebill — rank and coarse. 
The dusky duck is a fine feeder till starvation times 
come and drive him to catching minnows in springs 
and ditches that zero weather does not close. Then, 
and then only, does he take a back seat. Thanks to a 
beneficent law, we have this beautiful bird with us 
throughout the year. For the sportsman's interest, for 
human reasons, and for those who are to come after 
us, another month should be given this duck, and 
February added to the close season. By the last of 
January the weather is so severe they cannot get food 
and afford sport at the same time. 
This bird is almost strictly nocturnal in its feeding, 
and entirely so when persistently hunted. While a man 
in very stormy weather may get a few shots at birds 
that are seeking shelter in the daytime, night is the only 
time to shoot with any success. Steady pursuit has 
taught them to lie wide off on the bays, bars and ice 
until it is fully dark. 
Many people are strongly opposed to night shooting; 
they do not shoot in Barnstable county, and would not 
get many dusky ducks in southeastern Massachusetts. 
A law prohibiting night shooting would protect the 
ducks as effectually as a law prohibiting the digging of 
clams at low tide would protest the shell fish. 
This duck's keenness of smell is not developed suf- 
ficiently to be of any service to it as a safeguard from 
•harm. A smoke would be likely to alarm them, but 
smelling in the sense applied to deer and dogs does 
not obtain with them, and is imagined by hunters who 
do not conduct their approach quietly enough. 
To screen himself from these birds, the writer has 
1 built wall enough on various rocky shores to fence 
quite a field, for the same purpose he has lugged and 
piled cakes of ice enough to fill an ice-house, and 
! stocked up a great amount of seaweed and brush. From 
behind these structures he has watched the ducks for 
I hours at a time, and when they showed alarm' it was 
because they either saw or heard something. 
The writer has repeatedly slept in a blanket beside a 
pond of less than half an acre in extent, upon which 
from three to fifty ducks disported and fed all night. 
He has sat in a gunning boat and had ducks swim 
down the creek within ten feet, feeding right along as 
they went by and paying no attention whatever to him. 
At the same time, he has had a big blue heron walk 
to his boat and stand on the mud within arm's reach 
and peer intently at him, first with one eye, then the 
other, turning his head in a comical manner while try- 
i ing to make out what was sitting there. He has also 
had an Indian paddle his canoe by at six feet distance, 
and the red man did not suspect the white man's pres- 
ence. The gunning boat was covered with a burlap 
coat that fitted the deck and reached into the water or 
down to the mud on all sides. His gunning coat and 
cap harmonized with the burlap in color, and being 
under, and against a bank, the whole outfit looked like 
a lump of mud. 
For the benefit of those who wish proof, be it 
known that the writer has kept an accurate record of 
everything he has ever shot, a diary of all his shooting, 
and a daily journal since 1875. He has used a variety 
of firearms, some of them antiquated, and, last, but not 
least, he is armed with, a field glass of power strong 
enough to see the moons of Jupiter. He is aware that 
this is not much, for there have been men who could 
..see the moons with their unaided eyes. Such were 
competent to observe ducks, to which we will now return. 
In your issue of Dec. 10, L. F. B. jumps on to some 
parties who shot at two sleeping ducks that were on an 
ice field or floe. Now it is quite likely that those ducks 
were approached with such difficulty, that the hunters 
had to assume positions in their boat so cramped that 
they could not swing a gun to shoot flying. He 
makes some remarks on shooting quail that are sun- 
ning themselves. To come upon quail sunning them- 
selves when one has a gun, is certainly a rare event, so 
rare that we have never done it. To shoot quail is a 
transgression in the writer's opinion — and he has to 
plead guilty to having lately done so, but it was in 
California, and only six there; he would not shoot one 
in Massachusetts. 
Having just read the "Views of a Blunt Old Man" 
in Forest and Stream for Dec. 3, we do not think him 
a game butcher, doubt if he is, or ever was a market 
hunter, he may have sold some ducks; and, on a snap- 
shot judgment, we would trust him with a gun around 
our premises. We agree with him that in the main 
ethics are a thing apart, and have but little to do with 
a sportsman's existence. Anyhow, at the Judgment 
Day we'd take our chance with him 'gainst many an 
ethical sportsman "who wouldn't shake hands with him." 
Save for a very select few, who write for the best sports- 
man's paper in this or any other country, and who are 
the very elect, before whom the rest of us stand in 
awe, the men who go out to shoot ducks, let them have 
it as quick and often as they can. All of us know that 
a flying duck presents a better mark than a sitting one. 
The circumstances under which game is secured 
should be considered before condemning the method. 
The writer has pushed his gun through a crevice in 
the stone wall which served for a blind, and then had 
to lie flat on his stomach until some ducks he was 
watching were pleased to come near enough. Before 
one could back out of that position, the ducks would 
have been far away. In the State of Virginia, we have 
seen a blind built on a gentleman's preserve, for the 
purpose of shooting dusky and other ducks in a small 
pond. It was really a tiny log house with tight roof, 
and provided with a stove for warmth; the shooting 
was done through a slit, made by leaving out a section 
of log about three feet long and four inches high. Very 
little wing shooting could be done, and none was in- 
tended, for the owner and proprietor well knew that 
firing at ducks as they rose to fly would drive them away 
for good. We noticed other blinds in Virginia built 
on the same principle, but intended for shooting ducks 
at baited ground. 
The method was to stick a stake out in the water 
about thirty yards from the blind, and then drop a 
bushel of corn and wheat around it. A few days were 
allowed for the ducks to get "using," then the shooter 
took his stand inside and thrust his gun through a 
hole cut to command the stake, at the proper time he 
fired. 
As no shots were fired at the birds while on the wing, 
they continued "using" until used up. The fact that 
fowl are more alarmed by shooting into them after they 
are in the air, was taught the writer more than forty 
years ago by old gunners who began when percussion 
caps were first used. The first dusky duck he ever shot 
was killed while with one of these old-timers. We had 
crawled with great care and circumspection as near as 
we could get behind some small cedars and a tumbled- 
down wall. As the old man cocked his muzzleloader, 
he cautioned the writer to fire only one barrel; to 
reserve the other for possible cripples, and on no ac- 
count to shoot at them flying, for they would never 
come back there. As the ducks were on the broad 
shore the wisdom of reserving a shot in muzzleloaders 
was demonstrated then and there, for we stopped four, 
two of which had to be quickly shot over before they 
swam beyond our reach. Had we allowed these birds 
to rise in the first place, the writer would have scored 
a miss and the old man could not have retrieved any 
he might have killed. Omitting these details, the story 
would sound like pot-shooting. 
The writer has hunted ducks for a living, when it was 
"root, hog, or die," and no choice, and a harder and 
more unsatisfactory and thankless mode of making a 
living he never heard of. During this period of market 
shooting he met a good many sportsmen, men no 
better and no worse than L. F. B. Some of these men 
were personal friends of ours, who often went on shoot- 
ing trips with us; some of them were good customers, 
and all knew we were shooting for the market. The 
steward of a certain club was another good customer, 
and the members of that club were good judges of 
game; and some of them good shots at it. 
A few incidents will illustrate a point. We always 
built our own gunning boats and made our decoys; 
half of the sport of gunning is in the preparation and 
the rest in getting near enough to the birds and re- 
hearsing the incidents after the day is over. Killing is 
not the part that gives pleasure. 
On a number of occasions we have had our rig 
stalked by sportsmen, and we have had it shot at a 
few times. We always put our live decoys where they 
could not be pot-shotted unawares. Neglect of this 
caution would entail the loss of our ducks, because the 
majority of sportsmen are after something, and very 
few wait for feathers to fly. It is nice to write "ethics" 
in Forest and Stream, but, like Lady Bellaston's 
opinions of virtue, who ever heard of a lady's practic- 
ing them in the field. Of course, there are exceptions: 
the lady found one in Joseph Andrews, and Forest and 
Stream finds some among its contributors. 
Apropos of sleeping ducks, who shall decide that a 
duck is asleep? When we see a bird sitting with closed 
eyes, head turned over its shoulder and bill thrust 
among its feathers, we consider it asleep. 
On Oct. 28, 1880, the writer's father and himself 
rowed out to Little Bird Island to look for ducks. 
This islet is very small and nearly covered at high tide. 
After landing without making any sound, we carefully 
rose to a standing position and saw two dusky ducks 
asleep. _ Understanding each other perfectly, nothing 
was said until after the birds had flown and fallen again. 
One of the charms of companionship is that intuitive 
knowledge of what to do. which comes with years of 
shooting together. 
On Dec. 6, 1882, the writer was on West Island after 
dusky ducks. It was a cold, blustering day and the 
birds were seeking shelter. We could see' them sitting 
about in unapproachable places on the open marsh; 
some were sleeping, and we made a tedious crawl up to 
five that were on a bare spot. Letting them sleep on. 
we fussed for more than an hour with a piece of smoked 
glass, trying to see a transit of Venus that was to be 
pulled off that day. Venus does not line up for transits 
very often, and we wanted to see one while our eyes 
were good; she did the trick all right, and will again 
somewhere around 2002. After the transit we tried the 
five ducks and could not get quite near enough to 
shoot, but studied them a good bit. They sat in a very 
exposed place, where the cold wind had full sweep. 
Nct and then one would" shift his head to take the 
kink out of his neck, or pull his feet up into his feathers. 
There did not seem to be a sentinel, perhaps they re- 
lied on the gulls which were steadily circling about. 
Ducks can read the signs made by gulls and crows, as 
many a gunner has found to his exasperation. We 
could do nothing with them and went back to our boat. 
The two following incidents were related to the 
writer many years ago. As men rarely tell of wrong 
doings that never happen, we may consider these stones 
true. The first was told us by a gentleman (long since 
gathered to his fathers) as a happening of his boy- 
hood. He had a half holiday, not from school, but 
from farm labor, and being provided with ammunition 
and a single gun of the old Queen Anne style, he got 
a boat and rowed out to Little Bird Island. After put- 
ting his boat as much out of sight as possible, he built 
a blind of loose stones — repaired an old one, probably — ■ 
and sat down to wait. He watched and waited through 
the afternoon into almost evening without getting a 
shot. Then he saw away up toward Long Beach three 
birds flying direct for the island. They swung around 
to leeward and came up and settled with that delight- 
ful swish we so love to hear. The ducks, in single file, 
came to land and prepared to rest. When it was all 
over, he looked, and lo! three more ducks; again the de- 
lightful swish and the unsuspecting birds land as before. 
After the smoke cleared away, and calm reigned again, 
through the approaching twilight another devoted trio 
came. History repeated itself, and a happy boy rowed 
homeward with never a thought of ethics. That we 
have heard the old gentleman tell this incident as luck 
with ducks at one time and sheldrake another, does 
not affect the moral. Those birds were done feeding 
and were coming to the island to roost. , 
The shooting in the second case was done by an 
older man, but in more recent years. A resident of 
Half Way Pond, he left his house one morning, intend- 
ing to walk to North Sandwich — now Bournedale — and 
have Seth Holoway relay an ax. Putting the ax head 
in his pocket, he took his single-bore gun and started. 
He had some eight miles to walk, and when about half 
the way, turned aside to look into Moulton's Pond for 
black ducks — dusky ducks. This pond is small, grassy 
and not given on maps; like many others in Plymouth 
woods, it was usually low in the fall. He saw some 
ducks sleeping (?) on a sandbar; they most likely had 
been "using" there for some time and were unsus- 
picious. The old man fetched a compass around 
through the woods so carefully that the birds did not 
hear him. His shot was so well timed that five were 
killed and one or two winged — these got into the grass 
before he could reload. Not liking to leave his game 
in the woods, and unwilling to carry the extra weights 
to Holoway's and back, he returned home and post- 
poned his trip till the next day. On the following 
morning he started out again, taking the gun and ax 
as before. On reaching the pond he repeated his 
previous performance and went home. The next day, 
having all the ducks he could use, the gun was left 
behind and the trip made without any incident. In 
extenuation, it can be truthfully said, that the old 
gentleman lived out his simple life without knowing 
(or dreaming even) that he had committed an un- 
worthy act. 
Such old-time gunners as used to gather on snowy 
days in Fearing's Tavern, and Daniel Weston's store, 
were fond of telling the remarkable shots they had 
made or missed. On a stormy day, back in the early 
'40s, we can see around the genial fire a little coterie 
of choice spirits, among whom might be Seth Sturte- 
vant, Peter Holmes, Micah Gibbs, Charles Hamolin, 
Seth Besse and Stephen Wright. The door opens and 
in comes Nat. Hamblin. After stamping off the snow, 
loosening up his great coat and finding a seat, he tells 
the following story: 
"I was down to Barney's Point the other day and 
saw a great raft of bluebills. They were out in Crab 
Cove, and I was wondering how I could toll them in. 
I got down as near the shore as I could, and all at 
once they began to swim right for me. I was sur- 
prised, and could not understand it, till happening to 
look down the bank in front of me, I saw a fox lying 
in the seaweed windrow. His head was pointed to- 
ward the birds, and they could see nothing except the 
tip of his tail, which he was waving to toll them in. 
I got all ready, and when the coming birds ranged with 
the top of the fox's head, I let her go." 
"Well, how many?" said several. 
"She missed fire." _ 
This statement relieved the tension, and was better, 
perhaps, for the narrator's reputation for strict veracity. 
We think it was told of Peter Holmes, that once he 
was watching a bunch of five or six ducks in Red Brook, 
and saw an otter swimming down stream toward the 
birds, which were within range; timing his shot, he 
killed the whole business — six ducks and an otter. 
What does constitute a true sportsman? "He is 
sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat." 
Shall we sift out all the old-timers? Hardly. The 
clean grain that is left would not seed the country. We 
have read Forest and Stream from the very first, the 
cream of the shooting world. Write and subscribe for 
this paper; no sportsman could fail to find a jury of 
his peers among its correspondents. _ 
The two most popular men in their respective coun- 
tries are sportsmen. 
"How 
Much I am like Theodore, 
And Theodore like me, 
I am, in fact (this might not be 
A bad thing to suggest), 
The Theodore of the East, and he 
The Wilbelsj of the W?-st," 
