July 13, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
39 
Quail Shooting in Central Italy 
T HERE is probably not a race, even among 
the pleasure-loving Latins, that knows so 
well how to enjoy sport as does the Italian. 
His fondness for shooting is proverbial, and he 
makes a regular holiday of his days afield, which 
does not prevent his being an exceptionally good 
sportsman. 
Anyone visiting Rome during the month of 
May, which marks the flight of the European 
quail from its tropical winter haunts to the far 
north, can enjoy a delightful outing, with the 
prospect of a good bag, by running down for 
a day’s shooting to any of the nearby villages 
along the coast. 
The passage of the birds usually begins late 
in April and extends to early June, being heaviest 
in May. The game little fellows leave the south¬ 
ern shores of the Mediterranean during the 
night, cross the sea, and land on Italian soil 
between dark and noon, according to weather 
conditions. Wind has much to do with the direc¬ 
tion and the size of the flight. Any breeze from 
the north or west will swing the flocks to the 
lower peninsula, and Sicily and Calabria will re¬ 
ceive the bulk, but a blow from the south or 
east and Central Italy is the favored locality. 
When you set out of a morning you never know 
whether you are going to return with a bag of 
fifty, one hundred or more birds, or draw a blank. 
Many of the fortunate have shooting boxes 
at the seashore and spend the entire season there. 
Others, men engaged in business and unable to 
be absent for long periods,, take only occasional 
trips, but they have in a very clever manner 
solved the problem of ascertaining when best to go. 
Reliable agents are posted at all the neigh¬ 
boring sea stations with instructions to send 
daily wires to the leading sporting goods houses, 
telling of conditions. By 5 o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing these bulletins begin to appear in the shop 
windows, and a crowd is always on hand to see 
them exhibited. The telegrams will read pos¬ 
sibly: Anzio—small flight; Fiumicino, no birds 
early, a few beginning to arrive; Maccarese, 
shooting below Camp Salino, moderate pass; 
Furbara, fair flight, nothing great. Under the 
circumstances the majority will wait patiently 
for later news, but a few may decide to take 
a chance and go off on the first train to Mac¬ 
carese or Furbara from where come the best re¬ 
ports. If a notice reads, “Big flight’’ you might 
think the crowd had suddenly gone mad as it 
disperses at a run in every direction. Men will 
rush home, jump into their shooting clothes, hail 
a cab and drive to the station in a frenzy to 
catch the next train, for they all know that if 
the pass is good, there will be birds aplenty for 
everyone. 
At the depots a hurrying, scurrying mob of 
excited and vociferating individuals will soon 
collect, guns a-shoulder, baskets and bags in 
hand, and from one to half a dozen canines of 
every breed trailing along on chains and leashes, 
growling and snapping at one another. 
In droves the human cattle pour into the 
third class carriages, dogs and men tumbling in 
together, then comes a great ringing of bells 
and crying of “Pronti! Partenza!” by the guards 
By L. DeB. HANDLEY 
and the train rumbles out. At destination it is 
a race for the grounds, and soon the regiment 
deploys, mingling with the more lucky mortals 
who have been on the spot since early morning. 
When the flight is really good, the firing is 
incessant. Men hunt by side. The territory is 
literally covered, and it speaks well for the skill 
and sportsmanship of the gunners that accidents 
are rare, and that the right of way is respected 
even in such close quarters. 
The most friendly feeling and a fine spirit 
of democracy prevail in the field. The prince 
and the cobbler will fraternize if chance throws 
them together. Men who have never met will 
pass with a word of greeting, and the sports¬ 
man's salutation, “In bocca al lupo” (In the 
wolf’s mouth) is bandied back and forth on every 
side. This form is “de rigueur” in Italy. Woe 
to the uninitiated who tenders a “Buona caccia" 
(a good day’s shooting). This phrase is be¬ 
lieved to convey bad luck r.nd is often bitterly 
resented. 
The life at the seashore is most enjoyable 
during the quail season. The villages of Ladis- 
poli, Furbara, Maccarese, Fiumicino, Ostia, Anzio 
and Nettuno harbor hundreds of enthusiastic 
nimrods who go out after birds in the early 
morning, and if the pass is small, return before 
noon and spend the rest of the day fishing, rid¬ 
ing, sailing, playing tennis and golf, or indulging 
in other pastimes. The more rabid, however, 
flee civilization and camp out in the wilderness, 
making a shooting box, a lonely farm house, a 
shepherd's hut, or a tent their headquarters. 
These are the ones who make the biggest bags 
that at times reach sensational figures. The au¬ 
thentic record for one day to one gun stands to 
the credit of Scorzone, a man in the employ of 
Mr. Ferri, a well known civil engineer. Scorzone 
shot 342 quail in thirteen hours on his employer’s 
property near Tor Vaianica, a historical old 
watch tower half way betw r een Fiumicion and 
Anzio. 
This is of course a phenomenal and excep¬ 
tional kill, but most Romans who shoot regu¬ 
larly have passed the century line and quite a 
few have exceeded the 200 mark. 
The writer had the good fortune the year 
of Scorzone’s feat to secure with three com¬ 
panions the shooting box of Prince Borghese, 
near Tor Astura, ten miles south of Nettuno. 
Leader of the quartet was Louis Sindici, one of 
Italy’s greatest game shots, and two artillery 
officers, Captain Garofalo and Lieutenant Cer- 
chiari, completed the outfit. 
The lodge was a primitive stone cottage with 
one floor and a cellar. The former was divided 
into two large rooms, one used as bed chamber 
the other as kitchen, dining and living room. 
A peasant and a boy attended to our wants. 
One rose before dawn. The sea, not fifty 
yards away, provided ample accommodation for 
ablutions, and if it was rough, we used a stream 
running beside the house. Breakfast was on the 
table by the time we were dressed and three of 
us partook of coffee and rolls, but Cerchiari, a 
giant in size, always made it a course meal and 
washed it down with a quart of burgundy. 
Imagine, at 3 o’clock in the morning! 
At the first sign of breaking in the east each 
one of us took his gun and a camp stool, freed 
one of his dogs and repaired to a little hill a 
few rods away, overlooking the sea. Here the 
four of us sat and chatted awaiting daylight and 
the birds. 
Sometimes the little immigrants would be¬ 
gin to arrive while it was still dark, and only a 
whirr of wings told of their landing, but an ex¬ 
perienced ear could detect the sudden check when 
they alighted, and the spot was marked for 
search as soon as the sky cleared. 
' And such sunrises as were witnessed on a 
cloudless morning! It was wonderful to see 
the warm tints, almost tropical in their glory, 
slowly rise on the horizon, paint the sky in 
rioutous colors, then fringe with gold the tops 
of the tall umbrella pines and creep down over 
the dunes to illumine the mirror-like waters 
which lapped the white beaches with soft mur¬ 
mur. 
FAMOUS QUAIL POINT FOR MAY SHOOTING. 
