746 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Morning in the Blind 
By William Starr. 
AWOKE with a start. My mind 
was keenly alert, and seemed to 
be immediately conscious of 
the cause for this untimely 
awakening. Yet, it seemed 
but five minutes since I had 
crawled, shivering, into my bed 
and lay there, warmly bundled 
up in numerous friendly blankets, listening to 
the moan and the shriek of the northwest gale as 
it swept fitfully down upon the house, rattling 
the windows or gleefully slamming a loose shut¬ 
ter. The gale was still blowing with unabated 
fury, still rattling the windows, and still slam¬ 
ming the loose-shutter, and the half spent moon 
was still shining just as it had been when I dozed 
off to sleep. But with the aid of the moonlight, 
that streamed in through the south window. I was 
able to make out the hour as nearly five. Hastily 
I switched the lever that put the alarm out of 
business. I am not particularly noted for an early 
riser, yet, when important plans, such as those for 
this morning, demand an early rising, my mental 
alarm clock usually does the waking without the 
aid of the mechanical one I always have near 
for insurance. 
With a few warm things wrapped around me 
and my feet covered with warm woolen socks, 
I proceeded to wake the rest of our party. 
“Get up, Searls!” I whispered loudly, giving 
the bed clothes a shake as I spoke. 
“Ugh—All—all right,’’ he managed to articu¬ 
late with one eye showing sleepily from beneath 
the covers. 
“Come, Frederic. Get up, Dick,” I voiced with 
more vigor, for valuable time was passing. 
Feeling that I had done my duty, I hurried 
into my hunting clothes. Golly! that sweater 
felt good; 
and the felt 
boots were 
not they snug 
and warm— 
a great com¬ 
bination for 
cold weather. 
I could now hear 
various noises from 
down the hall, 
which told me that 
the others had at 
last sufficiently 
aroused themselves, 
and were also dress¬ 
ing. Finally, after a search all over the house 
for Dick’s rubber boots, we stumbled along the 
dark hallway, on tip-toe, while the floor creaked 
loudly under our heavily shod feet. Our arms 
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were filled with heavy decoy bags and guns, 
while our pockets bulged with shells. We must 
have borne a decided resemblance to a band of 
desperate house-breakers, effecting a “get away,” 
as we sneaked along, trying not to wake the 
family. 
Outside, our warm clothes felt good; but we were agree¬ 
ably surprised to find that it was not as cold as we had ex¬ 
pected. The wind was indeed sharp, but it blew fitfully, 
and even now seemed to be diminishing in its force. 
An eager little party we were, as we plodded our wav 
across the frozen plowed ground. It was still night, al¬ 
though we could see the promise of coming day in the glow 
of the eastern sky. We eagerly looked forward to the day, 
so close at hand, and the fortunes it would bring 
for us. 
During our journey across the point field, we 
made, or rathti re-made, our plans for the morn¬ 
ing. Searls and Dick would stay on this side of 
the cove, using the old blind at Cedar Point, 
while Fritz and I would take the canoe over to 
the sand-bar, where the old second tide run used 
to be. Here we would have the advantage of 
the elaborate blind we had built the day before 
and also the advantage of seeing the ducks long 
before they reached the sheltered cove, from the 
open waters of the Bay. 
The blind chosen by Searls and Dick also had 
its advantages, for it was located higher up the 
cove, where the ducks were known to feed. 
When the ducks, seeking shelter and better feed¬ 
ing grounds, come in, they are more likely to 
choose a stopping place higher up in the cove 
than one at its very entrance, unless they are 
induced to circle back at the sight of the decoys. 
Fritz and I, for our parts, hoped that they would 
decoy to us, for if they refused to decoy, most 
of our shooting would be done while the birds 
were traveling with aeroplane speed 
ever our heads. When we finally 
leached the shore we divided the de¬ 
coys, and with enthusiastic wishes 
for good luck, we parted company. 
F'ritz and I loaded the heavy bag of 
decoys in the bottom of the canoe, 
with our unloaded guns, and pres¬ 
ently we were battling against a rather vicious, 
choppy sea, which the gale was capable of stir¬ 
ring up over the short width of the cove. 
“Well, we’ve got an early start this morning, 
all right,” I remarked, as I forced the paddle 
back through the short steep waves. 
“Yes, and it’s a good thing we have,” Fritz 
answered. “You remember last time we went 
out — how the> started coming in while we were 
setting out the decoys?” 
The glow in the eastern sky had spread itself 
over the heavens and replaced the pale, uncer¬ 
tain light of the moon with the gray light of 
early morning, when we finally slid into the 
calm strip of water in front of our blind. 
I directed the course of the canoe as Fritz 
set out the decoys. Most of them were placed 
in little groups of twos and threes, fairly near 
the shore, while several were anchored at a 
g r e a t e r dis¬ 
tance, in order 
to attract the 
notice of in¬ 
coming ducks the 
sooner. One lone 
fellow, adorned 
with the brighter 
coloring of the 
male, we sta¬ 
tioned down the 
shore to the south 
at a considerable 
distance—o u t of 
gun range. In this 
position, he could be seen by ducks coming from 
the head waters of the cove, or by those which 
might fly high over land and then circle out our 
way. 
We landed in a little muddy pocket, a short 
distance from the blind, where an abundant 
growth of h.gh marsh grass and rushes furnished 
a satisfactory concealment for the canoe. Hast¬ 
ily, we made our way along the sandy shore to 
the blind, leading our.guns as we went, and 
eagerly searching the western sky for early ar- 
rivers. 
Our blind was situated in the middle of a nar¬ 
row strip of sand, which connected the bit of 
wooded land on the south—formerly an island— 
with the mainland on the north, and separated 
the quiet reaches of the cove from the broad 
waters of the bay. The location was well chosen, 
not only because the incoming ducks usually 
sought this means of entrance, but also because 
in fairly calm weather decoys could be placed 
outside as well as inside the cove. 
We had rebuilt the blind the day before; and 
were really quite proud of it. If the art of 
trench building has progressed so remarkably in 
recent times, then why shouldn’t the art of blind 
building also progress? Both contrivances are 
made with the same end in view—to kill. The 
blind consisted of a fairly large pit, dug in the 
sand, with the aid of our paddles. Around the 
edge, in the loose sand thrown up, we planted 
a varied assortment of drift-wood and small 
bushes, filling the interstices with dead reeds and 
marsh grass. The bottom was well covered with 
a deep layer of marsh grass and dead leaves, in 
order to protect our feet from the cold, wet 
sand—the thermal condition of your feet have 
a lot to do ir> the making or marring of a De¬ 
cember morning’s gunning. 
With the thrill of anticipation keying our 
senses to their highest pitch, we squatted in our 
blind and awaited the coming of the ducks. I 
kept my eyes continually searching the sky to the 
west, while Fritz kept a close look-out for ducks 
which might drop down upon us from up the 
cove. 
The thin veil of clouds in the east began to 
take on the most gorgeous shades of pink and 
yellow as they were set ablaze by the rays of the 
still invisible sun. The shadows now were gone 
