124 
FOREST AND STREAM 
March, 1921 
SHOOTING SNOW GEESE 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream : 
S EVERAL years ago, on the old 
island-dotted Susquehanna River, 
opposite Harrisburg, I had an experi- 
ei ce which I feel to be worth relating. 
It was on one of those rare November 
nights late in the month that a friend 
and myself decided to spend the follow- 
ing day in quest of wild duck. As all 
indications pointed to a good fly in the 
morning, we prepared for the trip in 
the greatest of spirits. The wind was 
blowing slightly from the north bring- 
ing with it a few scattered flakes of 
snow. The sky was unusually black 
and the weather crisp and very cold, so 
cold that the car wheels produced a 
crackling sound as they passed up and 
down the streets. 
Inspired with the thought of plenty 
of game in the morning we retired. 
Upon arising we found that a light 
snow was falling, a thin coat already 
on the ground showed that it had been 
falling for some time. The wind had 
not changed nor had the sky lost its 
bleakness when we left the shore for 
our hunting grounds a quarter of a 
mile up the river. The storm was get- 
ting steadily stronger and we were not 
on the water more than twenty minutes 
before a gale that almost capsized the 
boat swept down upon us bringing with 
it large flakes of snow and in such 
quantities that we lost all sense of di- 
rection and were compelled to land wher- 
ever we were lucky enough to strike. 
The gale brought extremely cold 
weather; our fingers became numb and 
the paddles, which were already coated 
with ice, were becoming fearfully hard 
to manage, and, worst of all, ice was 
forming on the bow of the boat making 
it uncontrollable. With the wind be- 
coming worse and worse, the snow fall- 
ing faster and faster, a boat caked with 
ice, paddles in the same condition, and 
a fierce river rolling and tossing us 
about we were obliged to lay down on 
the job and protect our hands from 
the cold, thus letting the boat go where 
she would for the time being. 
The wind began driving us down the 
stream at a rapid rate and before long 
we struck the bottom so hard that one 
paddle was pitched into the river and 
the front man in the boat got wet feet 
in recovering it and trying to keep us 
from dipping. As luck would have it 
we were driven on one of a group of 
small grass patches. Here we were 
compelled to drag our boat on the 
island, lean it against some small 
bushes and get behind it for protec- 
tion. 
The storm held us in this place for 
three hours, and, although we noticed a 
flock of snow geese on a patch below us, 
we were too cold to give them chase. 
Bundled up and sheltered by the boat 
as we were it was so stormy that even 
the sight of snow geese, which are very 
rare in our part of the country, did not 
have any effect upon us. 
Before long, however, the wind sur- 
denly died down and a quick reaction 
in the temperature came with it. The 
water became quiet once more, and we 
decided to run on the birds or freeze 
in the attempt. There were six in the 
flock, and their large, white bodies pre- 
sented a most beautiful appearance as 
they stood in a group on the low snow- 
covered dune not three hundred yards 
below us. After spending two or three 
minutes observing them through a field 
glass we quickly righted our boat, 
pushed her into the stream nose out, 
threw in the paddles, pole, guns, etc., 
and jumped in ourselves. 
Seated on the extreme right side of 
the boat so that the splash-board on 
the left was even with our eyes, we 
pushed off, depending on the current 
and the light down stream wind to 
bring us to the game. We had little 
occasion to paddle, only a stroke now 
and then was necessary to keep us from 
swinging around, and giving our quar- 
ry a sight of us. Despite the fact that 
we did not paddle, we were soon 
brought within sixty yards of the dune 
and its now restless occupants. The 
birds were standing with necks out- 
stretched, as though they were trying 
to fathom the strange brown object 
being swept upon them by the current. 
I thought they were preparing to jump 
and knowing from a previous experi- 
ence that we could not get much closer 
I told my partner to lay down his pad- 
dle and get his gun. 
We were rapidly getting within good 
range, and I began slowly swinging the 
boat down the river so my partner 
would not have to move from his posi- 
tion for a straight-away shot at them 
as they flew. We were within about 
thirty-five yards when suddenly with- 
out warning the old drake let out a 
honk and into the air flew the birds. 
About the same time my partner opened 
on them. One old hoy crumbled in mid 
air and fell like a stone to the ground, 
another made a complete turn and did 
likewise; two others were crippled but 
glided into the water, and were going 
away from us as fast as they could 
swim. The remaining geese climbed 
with great rapidity and were soon high 
above the river. They circled us once, 
then with necks outstretched took a 
straight course down stream and dis- 
appeared in the distance. 
Our hands were very cold but after 
those cripples we went as rapidly as 
I could paddle while my partner re- 
loaded. We gained on the birds after 
a merry chase down stream and when 
within forty yards of them he got them 
with two loads of number 4’s. 
We had a glorious time fighting our 
way back against the current for we 
were now five hundred yards below the 
place from which we started. But we 
leaned on the paddles and the light 
boat was soon swimming over the chop- 
py waters to our other two geese which 
we found stone dead. 
W. B. Laudermilch, Penn. 
PEGGING TURTLES 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream: 
W HEN my oarsman, who was in- 
itiating me into the sports and 
marine pastimes of the extreme outer 
reef of Florida’s coast, handed me one 
morning a three-sided peg of steel about 
an inch and a half long and told me 
that we would take the largest green 
turtle with it, I confess that I accepted 
it with mental reservation. The dinghy 
was pulling at its painter as though 
impatient to be off, and jumping in we 
were soon gliding over the deep blue 
channel that cut into the white lagoon. 
It was a tropical morning on the reef; 
not a breath of wind broke the stillness 
and the waters of the gulf stretched 
away like a sea of glass, with here and 
there the sail of a “man-o’-war” glisten- 
ing in the hot sunlight or the cutting 
ripple of a shark’s fin. From the outer 
reef came the musical roar of the surf 
that pounded on the dead coral rock, or 
the harsh cry of the gulls that followed 
the grey pelican in its plunges and 
shared its plunder. 
Over the blue channel we passed, soon 
coming to the lagoon where masses of 
branch coral were interspersed with 
clear white sandy bottom, the home of 
the conch and crayfish. Chief, my Semi- 
nole guide, now stopped rowing, and 
took in hand a slender pole about twelve 
feet in length and into a copper tip fit- 
ted the peg of steel that looked like the' 
"polished tip of a file; to the peg was 
fastened a long slender line coiled up 
in the boat. Taking one oar he began 
to scull the light boat rapidly along, 
looking around carefully as the water 
shoaled. 
We were now in a lagoon about a mile 
long and half a mile wide and soon 
:ame to a portion covered with a short 
