Dec. 6 , 1913. 
FOREST AND STREAM 
713 
ings half speed was good enough for him the 
balance of that day, anyhow. 
It was several days before the boats were 
ready, and it took longer to learn, if fall one 
must, to do so gracefully and without jar or 
bump. Then of a bright, cold Monday, all started 
exploring. I was in a very small, light skiff 
and went over ice like a race horse, and with the 
wind at my back and traveled fast and far. A 
few ducks were working out of the oak timber 
and some more came from a large cornfield. 
Like spokes of a wheel, centering in the hub, 
they all pointed one way. Evidently had eaten 
their fill and now were going to water in some 
distant airhole. Presently, two miles ahead, a 
dark line showed on the clear ice. There they 
were. They didn’t care to move either, at ap¬ 
proach of the boat. A novice would have shot 
when near enough; the writer did not. No use 
to frighten them for half a dozen birds, so he 
kept on, put them out, then left a card fastened 
to a cleft stick sunk in the ice deep enough to 
keep it upright, to show the place belonged to 
him by right of discovery, something every 
hunter on the lake respected, and started back. 
The airhole was kept open by warm springs be¬ 
low. It was only five feet wide and ten long, 
but signs indicated many score of birds had been 
drinking them. It was a valuable .find. 
The return journey was a toilsome one. The 
wind blowing in one’s face drove little particles 
of frost and ice that stung like shot, and only 
small speed could be made against it, but camp 
was reached at last. Notes were compared. The 
others had run down a few cripples. Had seen 
the same lead of ducks, but had not followed it 
and had found no airhole. Glodo told us where 
there was a cornfield and Fredericks helped cut 
the stalks which were needed for a blind. It 
was night when the two boats, well loaded, 
reached the house. Then supper and bed. 
Next morning was cold, below zero, with 
flurries of snow. The big boat was filled with 
tightly packed cornstalks; the small one with 
stakes, wire and tools. Start was made early 
and the airhole reached without adventure. The 
ice around it was fully a foot thick and blind 
building came easy. Holes were drilled in shape 
of the small skiff, but wider and longer. A stalk, 
the largest and heaviest always, was set in each 
hole. Water poured around it, and presto! it 
was fast, frozen solid. Stakes were then placed, 
two at each end, and one on each side in the 
centre and secured the same way. These were 
bound with wire, top, middle and bottom. The 
remaining stalks woven in, water poured over 
them and in a few hours a perfect blind was done, 
one which completely hid the boat except at the 
rear, where an opening had.been left and even 
that was partly closed by overhanging stalks. It 
was twenty feet away from the hole and careful 
survey failed to detect a fault, so the back track 
was taken. Satisfied a good job had been done, 
all thought it be-st not to use the blind for a few 
days, to give the ducks a chance to get accus¬ 
tomed to the corn which had so suddenly grown 
up through the ice close to their watering place. 
There was quite a snow squall that night; 
however, the wind swept the smooth ice clear, as 
with a broom. Still, there was a chance the air¬ 
hole might have filled in and been frozen over. 
The second morning the weather was twenty 
below zero, but fearing another cold night might 
freeze the hole solid, Fredericks and I decided to 
'try the blind. 
Fredericks took the large boat and ran it into 
a clump of rushes a mile away to stand by, in 
case of acident, while I went into the blind to 
do the shooting. The hole was open, but much 
reduced in size, now only like a barrel top, and a 
hundred mallards sat near it. hunched up half 
frozen in almost round balls, heads under their 
wings; trying to get a little warmth out of the 
cold sun. They took wing slowly, quacking their 
protest at being compelled to move in such a 
freeze. While putting a few decoys to windward 
of the blind, an old greenhead jumped from 
among its cornstalks, adding his loud quacks to 
those of his comrades. Possibly some reader has 
tried staying out all day on a frozen, wind-swept 
lake with the mercury many degrees below zero. 
As for myself—remembrance of that shoot makes 
me shiver even now. The ducks did their part 
to make him forget the cold. They came singly, 
in pairs, in flocks. All close, not one long-range 
show. 
The first was “slobbered,” that is, not hit with 
the center of the charge. It fell two hundred 
yards out, and no attempt was made to gather it 
in. Soon, looking to see if it was showing signs 
of life, behold, a lot of crows were feasting on 
its head and breast, all the while quarrelling and 
fighting over the choice morsels, and of course 
the duck was spoiled. The next contretemps 
came half an hour later. A glove, wet in setting 
up a bird as a decoy, froze to the triggers, and 
both barrels were discharged simultaneously. 
Twelve drams of fine-grained black powd'er! It 
threw the shooter flat. The gun jumped from his 
hands and would have received injury but for the 
wire which saved it from striking the ice. 
The duck escaped, for such a heavy recoil 
raised the gun’s muzzle and caused the shot 
to pass much too high. No loss without some 
gain; the shock and blow received when falling 
caused the writer’s blood to circulate rapidly, and 
thoroughly warmed his almost frozen body. At 
three o’clock the flight ceased, and with sixty-one 
fine ducks, the home course was taken, alone, for 
Fredericks, with good sense, had gone in early. 
A hundred and forty shots had been fired, every 
one of which should have killed. Bad work, but 
let someone else try and see how easy it is to 
miss bundled up in overcoat, undercoat and 
sweater, and shivering all the time as with ague. 
That night a blizzard came. Ice was cov¬ 
ered by snow; so were the acorns; so were the 
piles of ungathered corn. The ducks naturally 
hied away to warmer climes, and for a month 
there was no shooting. A little fur was picked 
up without trap or dog, using only an ax, and 
occasionally a gun. 
In walking through the timber, if a hollow 
tree or stump was found, with snow melted 
around its opening, there was fur inside. This 
sign never failed. Once it was a family of rac¬ 
coons. Once a nest of ’possums. Once a bear. 
The tree was always large and it took work to 
cut it down, but to say nothing of the value of 
the pelts, there was plenty of sport after the game 
was routed out. - 
With warmer weather ducks began to come 
back. Snow turned to slush and the cold nights 
froze it so it was possible to run a boat over the 
ice once more. The blind was found intact. The 
hole apparently had not entirely closed any time 
during the winter; it grew larger every day and 
many ducks were killed that came to it during 
the next two weeks. 
One bright warm day, with ice softening 
rapidly every minute, against the advice of my 
friends, I started for the airhole in a little skiff 
which was piled high with wooden decoys. The 
opening, once no larger than a barrel head, now 
was wide and long, reaching almost to the blind, 
and stretching out a hundred yards in length. 
Ducks of every variety were in the air and 
worked nicely to decoj^s and caller. At noon the 
ice was soft and dangerous. Knowing this the 
shooter picked up, intending to go in, while there 
was yet time. But he had delayed too long. The 
boat’s runners cut deep furrows in the ice, mak¬ 
ing it very bad going. Just as he got good head¬ 
way his right hand runner caught in a little weed, 
and broke at the first screwhole. This caused 
the boat to “slew” and threw the writer off his 
reet. in front was a pile of decoys, and to fall 
on them meant not only a lot of breakage, but 
that both side boards of the frail boat would be 
crashed out. So as he fell, the writer turned, 
and struck to one side, landing on the ice with 
hands and shoulder. He found a soft place where 
it was thin and rotten and went through into wa¬ 
ter neck deep. That was pretty serious; but 
books say, “It is easy to get into a boat if one 
should be thrown out, but it must be over the 
end. Never attempt it over the side.” So the 
ducks, dead and wooden, were moved as far 
toward the bow as possible, and slowly he raised 
himself over the stern. Half way in, the ice 
under the boat broke, bows went up, stern under 
his weight went down, and the skiff filled. This 
was more serious. The writer had no difficulty 
in keeping cool. He considered a little, then 
took his ammunition box, lowered into the water 
and stood on it. This raised him a foot; then 
with a small drinking cup, he bailed. 
Before doing this the gunner tried to find 
solid ice on which he could crawl out. Where- 
ever he went it broke, broke all the time and 
kept breaking and crumbling. This emptying the 
boat with a pint cup was slow work. The crows, 
scenting trouble and looking for a feast, gath¬ 
ered in droves, circling around calling to their 
mates: “Caw! Caw! Caw! See! See! Come 
here, quick. Here’s ducks a plenty, and better 
still, there’s a man for us.” 
At last the water was all bailed out and with 
great care and many doubts, the writer again fol¬ 
lowed book advice. Again the skiff promptly 
filled. This was most serious, for the man was 
becoming tired. Not cold, just exhausted, and 
felt the end was near. 
He again bailed and bailed, working fast and 
furiously to keep up circulation. With the boat 
nearly dry he used common sense this time in¬ 
stead of book knowledge, and pushed the ten-foot 
pole hard into the mud on the far side of the 
boat, reached across and bore on it every pos¬ 
sible ounce of weight he could, then dragged him¬ 
self in. A little water was shipped—not much— 
and he was in the boat once more, but his belong¬ 
ings were much scattered, some on the ice, some 
floating around, and the most important article 
was his shell box at the bottom. So, after re¬ 
moving coat and rubber boots, he dove for the 
box, got it and climbed in again without any 
trouble, then picked up the dead ducks and de¬ 
coys, and standing well back, with the boat bows 
high out of water, pushed with the pike pole until 
a solid spot was reached, then worked the skiff 
back on firm ice and was safe. 
His one thought when safety seemed im¬ 
probable was to fool those crows. He knew if 
he failed in the third effort he would be too weak 
for another attempt, and then would shove his 
head under the ice and so save his face from 
mutilation. Since then he has borne a grudge 
against the crow family. Many a member of it 
has paid the penalty for what his tribe threatened 
that day. 
The nearest solid land was two miles dis¬ 
tant, and on it stood a cabin belonging to some 
market hunter. It was tough work reaching 
there with an overloaded boat and a broken run¬ 
ner. The exertion, however, kept off chill, 
and prevented ill effects from the hour spent im¬ 
mersed in icy water. On arrival the writer was 
too weak to talk, but one look explained the 
situation and the woman of the house ran for 
dry clothes—her husband’s best and only change 
—while the man brought a small glass of what to 
the half-drowned hunter seemed only water. He 
drank it thinking here was once when something 
stronger would not come amiss. A good rub 
