866 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 16, 1911. 
by moose since the night before, so we left it 
at once and devoted the middle of the day to 
once more tramping over the ridges. Four 
o’clock in the afternoon found us back at the 
hole, and as no moose were visible, we climbed 
into the machan and sat down. Soon after we 
heard a faint noise of something moving through 
a thicket. Presently the noise ceased and Adam 
whispered that a moose had evidently been 
standing close to the hole, and hearing us ar¬ 
rive, had quietly sneaked away. This was far 
from cheering information and seemed to me 
to put a quietus on our chances. 
As there was no wind, the silence was perfect, 
except when a red squirrel engaged in building 
a nest tore off a fresh piece of bark and ran off 
dragging it through the leaves and bushes and 
making a noice out of all proportion to his size. 
Finally as it grew darker even the squirrel ceased 
his activities. Adam got out his watch which 
showed 5:20, and I folded down my peep and 
threw up the open sight. Just as I was begin¬ 
ning to worry whether I could see the front 
sight at all, the silence was broken by a clear, 
loud clank. No word really expresses the sound. 
It was unmistakable, and I knew at once that 
a big horn had struck against a tree. Adam 
whispered, “It’s a bull and close.” Then for an 
interminable time there was no sound. For at 
least twenty minutes we did not move a muscle 
as the bull was evidently standing listening with 
all his ears. At last he moved and we again heard 
his horns strike. Then there was a long silence. 
By this time the last light was nearly gone. 
The fir trees showed black against a pearl gray 
sky, but on the ground only large objects could 
be distinguished, and my sights were invisible. 
Suddenly the moose moved, evidently in a thicket 
close to the open. The next moment there came 
a ker-whackety bang, ker-whackety-bang as he 
proceeded to hook a small tree to pieces. This 
W E have hunted deer in Maine, moose in 
Canada, bears in the Rockies, ducks on 
the lakes, Chesapeake Bay and the 
sounds of the Carolinas, but we had never found 
the ideal spot for ducking until we visited the 
Bay Ridge gunning lodge at Barnegat, N. J. 
This place is situated on Little Beach, right in 
the heart of the famous gunning islands of 
Barnegat Bay. A few weeks ago a party of 
four made arrangements for a few days’ shoot¬ 
ing at this place, and on our arrival there we 
found a comfortable house with accommoda¬ 
tions for twenty guests. George H. Cranmer 
is the owner of this place, and he, being an old 
bayman and gunner, knew what he was doing 
when he located at this spot. When we looked 
over the register we found many names of 
prominent people from New York, Boston and 
other cities. 
The guides are well-known gunners, and “the 
man behind the stove” who serves the famous 
sea food meals, is one of the best to be found, 
and thoroughly understands serving “bay 
was followed by two deep coughing grunts and 
then he stepped out into the open about twenty- 
five or thirty yards away, an enormous black 
shape of distorted prehistoric outline, and from 
whose head rose two great gray horns like sails. 
He stopped broadside on and turned his head 
toward the machan. Let the man who thinks 
it easy to shoot a rifle in the dark try it and 
realize the delightful uncertainty that attends it. 
I looked down the rib as best I could and the 
night was torn with the roar of the heavy rifle. 
The fire showed at the muzzle in the dark and 
the bull went down with a crash. We at once 
climbed down from the machan, and running up 
to him I fired two shots into him at point blank. 
Then we raised the head and counted twenty- 
four points on two broad symmetrical blades. 
Adam produced a little tape which showed over 
fifty-two inches of spread, and we left him as 
he lay, and with light hearts returned to camp 
by the aid of the lantern. 
When we returned in the morning we found 
the head all we had thought it. The extreme 
spread was fifty-three inches, with none of that 
flatness which makes many small moose have a 
large spread. He originally had had twenty-five 
points, but one big brow point was broken off 
in a recent fight. The bull had evidently been 
through a frightful battle. There were two large 
holes through the skin of his head, both badly 
matterated. His neck beneath the skin was ter¬ 
ribly bruised, and one of his forward ribs had 
been newly broken. As he was an unusually 
large and massive bull, I would have liked to 
see the condition of his opponent. 
We found that my first bullet had struck him 
high in the base of the neck, splintering the 
backbone and cutting the arteries beneath the 
vertebra, and finally ranging downward and 
backward and breaking the further shoulder. 
No second shot was needed. 
truck.” On arriving, about supper time, we 
found the table loaded with fried oysters, clam 
chowder, roast duck and other things, of which 
we partook heartily, and afterward enjoyed our¬ 
selves in games and in listening to the stories 
of the guides, of big shoots they had made with 
other parties; and they assured us our luck 
would be equally as good. 
Before retiring, Capt. Cranmer went out to 
take a look at the weather, in order to deter¬ 
mine just what point would be the best for next 
day, and after a careful survey of the sky, the 
clouds and many other indications known only 
to the old baymen, he told us we would have a 
good day at Sloop Ledge or Main “Medder 
Point,” so with this assurance we retired to our 
berths to dream of a shower of ducks falling 
on us. 
Hardly had we closed our eyes, as we thought, 
before Capt. Cranmer roused us out, saying it 
was 3 o’clock and breakfast was nearly ready. 
There was no remedy but turn out and make 
ready for a hearty meal of Jersey sausage and 
hot cakes. We had a little peep at the starry . 
heavens, and a whiff of the crisp air gave us an 
appetite calculated to do justice to our meal. 
By the time we had finished breakfast, our 
guides were ready, and putting on our gunning 
rigs, were soon in the boats and on the way to 
the point. The air was clear and cool, with a 
light wind blowing from the west, so the guides 
took us to Love Ladies Island, as it was a good 
place for this wind. Arrived there, everything 
was made ready for daylight, and then we lay 
down in our little boats, which we filled with 
hay, to wait for the flight. North of us Barne¬ 
gat Light was flashing out its brilliant rays to 
warn the mariner of the dangerous shoals at 
that point. Just to the east was the beach, 
which showed a low dark line in the gray 
dawn, while the roar of the ever restless surf 
could be plainly heard as it beat against the 
sand dunes. At daylight the ducks began to 
come our way, and the fun commenced. Our 
guides were Oscar Eager, William Ridgway, 
Henry Soper and James Robbins, all experi¬ 
enced men. By sunrise we had forty broad- 
bills, twelve blackducks and ten other, sheldrakes, 
redheads, etc. After sunrise the flight was over, 
but an occasional small flock happened along, 
which gave 11s a shot. By 10 o'clock we re¬ 
turned to the house, and on entering were 
greeted with the odor of baked fish, fried clams 
and a roast goose, which were soon on the 
table. 
In the afternoon we made another trip to a 
nearby point called Gulf Island. Here we had 
good shooting until late. After a heary sup¬ 
per, the guides cleaned our guns and made 
everything ready for next day, after which 
Henry Soper related some of his experiences 
while following the sea. Capt. Robbins enter¬ 
tained us with gunning stories, and Oscar Eager 
and Will Ridgway sang songs—some of their 
own composing—pertaining to the bay and their 
experiences. 
We spent four days at Barnegat, each of 
which found us with a goodly number of fowl 
to our credit. On winding up, we found the 
party had killed 180 broadbills, brant, black 
ducks, sheldrakes and redheads, but this num¬ 
ber was small compared with the first party of 
the season, which bagged six hundred during a 
week. 
A Whaler at Work. 
Boston, Mass., Dec. 9.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: Recently I made a couple of pictures 
of a whaling bark while I was on a whaling 
voyage myself. It is the bark Andrew Hicks, of 
New Bedford, and at the moment I took the 
picture she was actually engaged in sperm whal¬ 
ing off Cape Hatteras. She had just arrived 
from a voyage to Patagonia and at the fore top¬ 
mast crosstrees can be seen the frame of the 
crow’s nest they used in the cold latitudes. At 
the fore and main mastheads can be seen the 
lookouts, liable to call out, “Blows, blows” at 
any instant. 
The whaling people here call it the best picture 
of a whaler they ever saw and many aver that 
it is the only picture of a square rigger actually 
at work on the grounds. And so I send it to 
Forest and Stream, hoping it may interest you. 
If you find use for the picture and want any 
data concerning it, I will be glad to comply. 
Victor Slocum. 
Duck Shooting at Barnegat 
By R. G. COLLINS 
