58 
FOREST AND STREAM 
February, 1919 
A RECORD SHOT 
THE LAST LONE GOOSE FLEW BACK TO THE DECOYS. 
AND SO CAME TO BAG THE ENTIRE FLOCK OF NINE 
By WIDGEON 
I WAS'alone in the 
blind, a brisk 
breeze was blow- 
ing, a dry northeast- 
er, and the limpid 
waters of the bay 
were ruffled. In the 
channels occasional- 
ly a white cap could 
be seen, and from the distant beach came 
to my ears the muffled roar of the surf. 
From the eastern side of the island be- 
hind me came the faint tap — tap of a 
hammer, where “Hank” and his son 
“Scouse” were building a woven wire 
enclosure near the shack, for the live de- 
coys. Before me under the declining sun 
lay the waters of the beautiful Barnegat 
and on the western horizon, the dark 
green line of the pines of Ocean County. 
The three of us had enjoyed a good 
morning’s shooting, but since ten o’clock 
the birds had not been flying, and I had 
been left with the decoys. These decoys, 
by the way, are worthy of more than 
passing mention. We had with us on this 
trip, the usual assortment of painted 
wooden decoys, and seven geese and ten 
ducks in live decoys. Four of these geese 
are trained birds from North Carolina, 
and three of them wild wing-tipped birds, 
caught in the bay. One of these, a mag- 
nificent gander, is the best decoy I ever 
shot over, seldom tugging or struggling 
at his chain, and never calling except to 
his kind. The ducks are crosses, or hy- 
brids, of wild mallards and black ducks, 
headed by “Black Jake,” a lordly drake 
with dusky body and dark green head, 
and “Mammy,” a pure wild mallard duck. 
Five of these decoys are kept tied and 
five are loose. It is a pleasure to watch 
their antics, such diving and splashing 
and quacking as they make, often the five 
will swim away to a distance of a hun- 
dred yards or more and then at a rasping 
call from “Jake,” 
who is always kept 
tied, they will fly 
back and come 
tumbling pell mell 
into the decoys, and 
woe to the wild 
bird who sees them 
at this time, for he 
will decoy as tame 
as a chicken. 
T O those who 
are in the 
habit of shoot- 
ing from the Bar- 
negat sneak-box, 
our blind would be 
a luxury. A box 
sunk in the reeds 
on the point, large 
enough to accom- 
modate three shoot- 
ers, with a com- 
fortable seat, and in cold weather an oil 
stove. This is shooting “de luxe” com- 
pared with the old style. 
The whispering of the wind through 
the reeds, the gentle splashing of the 
waves, combined with the genial rays of 
the sun, had lulled me into a reverie and 
my thoughts go back to the days of long 
ago, for over fifty years I have spent my 
vacations and leisure hours beside the 
waters of this bay I love so well. First 
as a boy of thirteen years, shooting snipe 
at John Dorset’s, and for many years 
after on the broad bars at Uncle Jakey 
Herbert’s ; in succeeding years, duck 
shooting at Chadwick’s and Ortley’s, with 
the loved companions of my early youth 
and manhood. Many are the goodly bags 
of game I have taken up the beach in 
those years, and many a royal day’s sport 
have I enjoyed. Those dear comrades, 
so full of life and enthusiasm, where are 
they now? All are gone into the Great 
Beyond, and I alone am left behind. 
S UDDENLY I am aroused from my 
day dreams by the clarion call of the 
“wild gander;” with extended neck 
and looking toward the beach, he shows 
every sign of excitement and now all the 
geese decoys are calling loudly. Then 
faintly behind me from the east, comes 
the answering “Honk-honk.” Twisting 
around in the blind, I see high in The 
heavens a flock of geese, nine of them 
but so far away they look no larger than 
black birds. They hear my decoys, and 
setting their wings in the curve so dear 
to the sportsman’s eyes, they begin vol- 
planing down from their dizzy height; 
but the wind drifts them to the south and 
by the time they are low enough, they are 
fully a half-mile down the bay and my 
decoys have stopped calling. 'They then 
begin flying up the bay looking for the 
geese they had heard and I try in every 
The decoys in action off Stooling Point 
way to start my geese up again, but they 
are dumb, and finally, greatly to my dis- 
appointment, the flock alights squarely in 
front of the blind and about a quarter of 
a mile away, and then resting and feed- 
ing, they slowly drift with the wind and 
tide down the bay. 
As I sat watching them, a low voice 
behind me said, “Mr. A. where is the 
flock of geese? We 
saw them from the 
shack.” It is Hank 
and Scouse, who 
have returned to 
join me in the blind. 
“Why, there they 
are down near the 
bridge, don’t you see 
them? See their white breasts flashing 
in the sun. Hank,” I added, “I don’t 
like the way your decoys are put out. I 
always like to have one on the bank out 
of sight of the others to keep them talk- 
ing. I believe even now, if you should 
bring one back in the reed, it would start 
them honking and the flock would yet 
come to us.” 
“All right,” says Hank, “We’ll try it,” 
and wading out in the water, he picked 
up the nearest decoy, a little goose, put- 
ting her under his arm he carried her 
in and placed her behind the blind. Al- 
most at once her mate began to call, and 
soon they were all honking loudly. 
Hank came back to the blind and be- 
fore he was fairly seated, Scouse cried 
“Here they come;” and sure enough, the 
flock was on the wing and coming our 
way. Low we crouched, and on came the 
geese; and heading up in the wind, they 
lit about one hundred and fifty yards be- 
yond the decoys and began at once to 
swim in. Nearer and nearer they came 
and now the wild gander put in his fine 
work. I wish I could produce in cold 
type, his coaxing, caressing call, “Come 
on in ; come on in, the water’s fine. Come 
on,” but when they came to about ten 
yards of the outside decoys, they stopped 
and then I took time to glance at my 
shooting companions. 
Now Hank, while a veteran lat field 
and trap shooting, had killed his first 
and only goose over decoys in January, 
1916, and Scouse had never killed 
one, I noticed 
Hank’s square jaw 
was set and he 
grasped his trusty 
gun, with a firm 
hand, and I felt 
sure he would give 
a good account of 
himself ; and then 
I saw the boy. His 
knees were shak- 
ing, his lips quiver- 
ing, and he showed 
every symptom 
of “buck fever.” 
Reaching out my 
hand, I grasped his 
leg and said slow- 
ly, “Keep cool, 
don’t get excited,” 
and he froze at 
once and became as 
steady as a veter- 
an. Hank h’ a d 
been chosen captain of the squad and I 
waited for the word to shoot. 
“Don’t you think we had better take 
them. Hank?” — “Wait a minute or two 
and let them get closer.” “Gee!” whis- 
pered Scouse, “Ain’t that old gander a 
buster, see him stretch up his neck. I’ll 
bet it’s longer than my arm.” — “Better 
take them Hank before something 
