492 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Oct. 18, 1913. 
The Howl of the Northeaster 
D UCKS! It always meant ducks when the 
northeast wind howled in November down 
in Casco Bay. At that late period in the 
season, sheldrake was the prevailing bird 
around Harpswell, Maine, and the northeast 
end of Flag Island was an ideal spot for shoot¬ 
ing them. 
When a boy is compelled to spend five 
days a week within the four walls of a school 
house, it’s little wonder that the approach of 
Saturday brings visions of the long, slim, 
swiftly-flying bird with the crested head. 
I lay awake half the night listening to the 
rush of wind through the trees, and the roar 
of waves on the beach, and when my watch told 
me it was four-thirty, I could have shot the 
man that invented beds, then turned around 
and loved the man that discovered guns, forever. 
I found Frank stowing decoys into the 
boat, and when everything was in readiness, we 
shoved off into the short, choppy surf. By the 
light of a few straggling stars, we set our 
course off down around the end of the point, 
and pulled away. Passing through between the 
point and Haskill’s Island, where the flood tide 
was running strong against the wind, we found 
things extremely choppy, but with two good 
A Casco Bay “Yarn” 
By FRANK L. BAILEY 
pairs of oars, we made excellent headway. 
Things were about as dark as a pocket, but 
the double flash of the lighthouse on Ram 
Island every ten seconds, reached forth it's wel¬ 
come beams like a guiding hand. The mourn¬ 
ful toll of the bell-buoy, sounding strangely 
near in the darkness, during a lull, also invited 
us onward. 
A short spurt, and we made Thumb Cap; 
then we knew Flag Island lay but a ten-minute 
pull to the southwest. Presently the Island’s 
dim outline shaped itself before us, and in an¬ 
other moment the boat grated upon the pebbly 
beach. Pushing off again, we felt our way 
around to the most northern extremity, and 
here we put out the decoys, twelve in all, set¬ 
ting them in strings of three. By this time it 
was dead high water, so we could depend upon 
•the stability of our position. Pulling up the 
boat, and making everything secure, we bor¬ 
rowed several lobster traps, left by some fisher¬ 
men to dry out. and dressing these carefully 
with seaweed, yet giving them a careless effect, 
we obtained quite an inoffensive blind. 
Daylight’s tardy arrival promised us a 
lowery morning with plenty of chill in the air, 
yet the warm enthusiasm of anticipation kept 
our hearts pumping sufficiently to furnish our 
bodies with a pleasant tingle all over. 
For the past ten minutes we had watched 
the east eagerly for the first signs of dawn, 
when suddenly, yet gradually, its first gray 
streaks began forming up over Harpswell, and 
we knew the flight would soon be on. As the 
gray streaks shot higher and higher, and dis¬ 
tant objects became more visible, we made out 
the dim shapes of two sheldrakes, coming out 
of the mists to seaward. Cocking our guns, we 
crouched lower, and in another moment they 
were headed straight for the decoys. When 
within ten or fifteen yards of them, the birds 
held their wings slightly curved, and came scal¬ 
ing over. A second more, as though by one ac¬ 
cord. Frank and I rose up and let them have it. 
Whang! bang! right and left. The first bird 
doubled up prettily and struck the water with a 
“buff,” while the second, although hard hit. 
made off. and disappeared in the direction of 
Basin Point. In a moment the dead bird was 
gently thumping against the shore, and we se¬ 
cured it. 
When the wind is right, the beauty of the 
thing is to set the decoys just a little beyond 
the turn of the beach, then shoot the birds when 
BRINGING IN AN OLD BLACK DUCK. 
