FROM AN OLD SUBSCRIBER 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream : 
I N looking over my game records, 
which go back to 1862, I thought 
some of my experiences might interest 
others who are gunners. What started 
the notion was that 60 years ago last 
October I shot my first duck; it was a 
gadwall. I was shooting a double muzzle 
loader, 20-gauge, given me by my father 
on my fourteenth birthday. In those 
days we shot an 3 ^hing from pheasants 
to cedar birds. I had a day off from 
the shop somehow, as days off were 
mighty scarce for me; we worked ten 
hours a day, six days in the week, and 
only four holidays in the year. I had a 
mixed bag and on coming down to Coop- 
er’s creek, now called river, in New 
Jersey, about six miles from Camden, 
I saw a couple of ducks, about 300 yards 
away in the water. I drew out the small 
shot and put in a couple of loads of No. 
1, which I carried for hawks. 
At this place the meadows are below 
tide water and they are protected by 
high banks with sluices to control the 
water. I slipped down back of the bank 
and sneaked along until opposite the 
birds. The ducks had seen or heard me 
as they had their heads up and had 
swam away from my side. They seemed 
pretty far away, but as they jumped I 
shot and to my great delight one dropped 
near the far shore. Here was a fix, 
there was no boat and the nearest 
bridge was one and a half miles away. 
The air and water were both cold — I 
could swim the creek, but was afraid of 
cramps so I got a dry cedar rail from 
a fence near, stripped and went to it. 
The water was not so bad, but the cold 
wind certainly made my teeth chatter. 
I got the duck, put on my clothes and put 
out for the woods near, where I made 
a fire and soon was in good shape again. 
There were in those days considerable 
ducks, mostly in small flocks, stop- 
ping in the creeks and marshes. I would 
get a shot now and then, but could con- 
nect but seldom ; generally at teal, while 
after railbirds. None seemed to know 
how to shoot or get shots at the big 
ducks and the few and far between 
chances I had, gave me very little prac- 
tice. I could kill quail and woodcock 
alright, but ducks teased me. I did not 
understand them. It was six years later 
before I got on to them, until I went to 
Rehoboth Bay in Delaware in 1874. 
There was only one house on the beach, 
a board and battered house, kept by a 
man named Frederick. The wind used 
to come through the cracks and blow 
out the lights in the bedroom, also it was 
cold at times— but ducks! I never saw 
so many. The house was about 200 yards 
from what they called the lower lake. 
LETTEIS, 
QUESTIOf*^S 
AND ANSWEM, 
consisting of about sixty acres, just back 
of the sand hills on the beach and the 
outlet seeped out through the sand to 
the sea. The birds came in there to 
feed in the fresh water, all kinds, from 
geese down. I was shooting a converted 
breach loader then and I soon got the 
hang of their flight and habits. We 
got geese, canvasback, redheads, mal- 
lards, broadbills, black duck, and the 
smaller duck. There was no Sunday 
shooting and we used to lie in the sand 
hills and watch them through the old 
man’s spy glass. Sometimes there would 
be several thousand, blacking the water 
in places. You would have to go far to 
see such a sight these days. We sailed 
down the bay one day, four of us, to a 
reedy point, called Fox Island, to shoot 
geese. From our starting point all the 
way down there was an almost continu- 
ous string of birds getting up ahead, 
swinging off and passing us, to alight 
behind the boat. We expected to stay all 
night and had a basket of grub along. 
There was no cabin on the point and 
we had nothing but the sail to cover us. 
I guess we would have been pretty cold 
before morning. We ate up all the grub 
by dark so we did not stay all night 
as we expected to, but came back with- 
out any geese and only a few black ducks. 
I have often smiled at our expedition 
and crude outfit. 
I have been a subscriber to Forest 
AND Stream these many years, more than 
I can remember, and I have had varied 
experiences with guns and ammunition. 
The first gun I shot was a flint lock 
musket that I found in my grandfather’s 
garrett. I sneaked this out and killed 
a considerable number of black and reed 
birds. I was 13 years old and tall and 
strong, but the old gun was a good load 
for me and how she did kick! On my 
fourteenth birthday my father gave me 
a 20-gauge nuzzle loader. I certainly 
was a proud boy then. My next gun was 
a 10-gauge, made to order, 9% lbs. in 
weight. Everyone was using heavy guns 
in those days. This gun was converted 
to a breechloader by Mortimer & Kirk- 
wood, Boston. Then I got a 12-bore Colt, 
with hammers. Next, a repeater, 12- 
gauge; then a Remington 12, hammer- 
less, ejector, which I still use. 
The repeater I gave up as a shooting 
companion agreed with me that repeat- 
ers give the game very little chance. If 
I cannot kill a bird with two shots it 
has a right to its life. I do not approve 
of repeaters except for military purposes 
or for dangerous game. Game is too 
scarce now. Give it a chance. Limiting 
the bag is also right as well as shorten- 
ing the seasons. I have done things in 
the earlier days that I am ashamed of 
now. Once two of us shot 120 big bay 
snipe in a morning in New Jersey and 
another time at Rehoboth, Delaware, we 
got 51 ducks in four hours. Now I am 
well satisfied if we have birds to eat ' 
during the trip and four or five pairs 
to bring home, or to give to some of 
the people in the locality where we are 
shooting. I find that they are glad to 
get them, and it makes kindly feeling as 
very few of them are fitted to shoot for 
themselves, are poor shots or are busy 
on their farms. Field sports have done 
much for me. I am 71 years old, shoot 
without glasses, handle my own boat 
and decoys, when alone, and do my share 
of the work if I am with a companion. 
I have been shooting in Virginia for the 
last 25 years for wildfowl and expect 
to go down there this season and give the 
birds another go. 
Brant, Penn. 
A CANOE TRIP 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream: 
I WOULD like to call your attention to 
a canoe trip which few people ever 
make and which is especially available 
to persons residing in the eastern part 
of Connecticut or Massachusetts or in 
any part of Rhode Island. 
I refer to the trip down the Saco; be- 
ginning the trip at Conway Center, N. 
H., and ending at Saco, Me. It is a 
very beautiful trip and easily made. 
One, moreover, which a man can take 
with his wife if he wishes. Plenty of 
fishing. No long portages. If any of 
your readers are interested I will send 
you a description of the country and an 
estimate of the distance and tell you 
where the falls are encountered. 
Ernest A. Brown, N.H. 
DUCKS AT HOOK LAKE 
To the Editor of Forest and Stream: 
IT OUR o’clock one morning found us at 
a little lake, which is about twelve 
and a half miles from Madison, Wis, and 
which is just the shape of a fish hook; 
that is why it is called Hook Lake. 
It is one of the finest little lakes in 
the country for wild fowl, as it contains 
a great deal of grass and bull rushes, 
also many patches of lily pads. 
Of late years the grass seems to be 
getting less and less; I think it is on ac- 
count of too much water which keeps it 
from growing to any great extent. 
