September, 1922 
391 
Poling rail-bird shooters up the wild-oat marshes along the Connecticut River on the flood tide 
ly at you by the concussion. We turned 
our backs to this cannonading just as 
a charge of number 10 shot landed on 
top of my head and on the back of my 
neck. The range was so great that it 
did no more than rattle off, still I didn’t 
like it, for how did I know whether or 
not one of those shooters might have a 
shell loaded for moose or bear and get it 
in by mistake? 
In a few minutes things cleared up 
and we started in again. Our four boats 
kept abreast of each other and soon the 
rail-birds began to jump. The first one 
that got up in front of me made a clean 
getaway. I didn't even attempt to shoot. 
The next one that hopped I snapped at 
as I would a ruffed grouse in thick cover 
and I missed him clean. Good thing, 
too, for I'd ha.ve hashed him at the 
range he was when I pulled on him. 
After about five misses I got onto 
them. I gave them a little more time 
as they were slow to start and I am 
naturally quick on the trigger. Also I 
swung my gun right through the wild 
oats instead of trying to shove it around 
them, as one does when in thick brush. 
“You’re onto them now,” said my 
guide. “Don’t bother about any of the 
down birds. I’ll take care of them.” 
And he did. How those men could 
mark down two or three fallen birds in 
that tangle of oats and shove the boat 
within six feet of them, was a mystery 
to me. As soon as I shot one, he headed 
the boat where it dropped. Often before 
he got to this down bird I had another. 
He’d keep right on and locate the first 
one, tossing it into the air with his pole 
and catching it as it whirled towards the 
boat. Then he'd swing the skiff around 
and get the next one. When }'OU con- 
sider that everything around you looked 
alike you can imagine what this meant. 
We pushed along and then edged in 
towards shore. 
“How many you got ?” he inquired. 
I counted up and found I had bagged 
just 14. 
“Now,” he said, “W’e’ll have some real 
shooting!” He called to the others and 
we all went ashore. 
A t this point, the marsh made up right 
to the edge of the shore. Follow- 
ing the bank of the river and the edge 
of the marsh was a narrow strip of 
alders about ten feet high. Back of 
these alders was an open mowing field. 
“You take plenty of shells and just 
keep along the edge of this field,” my 
guide told me. “You’ll see the biggest 
swarm of rails yet.” 
Two of the shooters waded the edge 
of the marsh to get a chance at the birds 
heading for the oats. The guides started 
through the alders and I kept abreast of 
them. Soon the rails began to start. 
Straight aways and left quarterers. 
Either they headed down the edge of 
the alders or cut across the open lot 
for a swamp beyond. I was shooting at 
about twenty-five to thirty yards and in 
the two to three hundred yards I fol- 
lowed those alders I had two or three 
rails on the ground all the time. 
“How many?” asked the guide, as we 
stopped at the end of the alders. 
“Fifteen more,” I replied. 
The other boys came up, but they hadn’t 
had the luck that I had, so my guide and 
I strolled back towards the boat while 
they worked out a few more likely spots. 
On the way to the boat I bagged three 
more, making my score 32 birds. 
Then we repaired to the launches and 
had lunch. Friend Stebbins had 30 rails 
to his credit and after lunch he scored 
three more. 
The tide began to fall and the birds 
apparently vanished. I got one more 
shot and missed clean with both barrels. 
“Let’s call it off!” And we did. We 
turned the launches toward the landing 
and, tying the skiffs behind, soon were 
plowing on our way home. 
We settled with our guides. They 
charge $5.00 for each man, and the 
charge is very reasonable when you con- 
sider the time and labor they put in. 
We divided up our birds with Warden 
Chappell and his friend so that every- 
body would have a good mess, and get- 
ting aboard our runabouts we took the 
home trail for Jewett City. 
“How do you clean these birds?” 
asked Mr. Stebbins as we skimmed along 
the state road. I told him : 
“Take a pair of large shears and trim 
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