816 
FOREST AND STREAM 
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free. 
World’s Record for Tournament 
Shooting Made by Lester S. 
German, with 499 x 500, and 647 
x 650 on all 16 yard Targets, in¬ 
cluding Practice Day with Runs 
of 372 and 149 straight at the 
Westy Hogans at Atlantic City, 
September 15 to 17. 1915- 
PARKER DOUBLE GUN 
Makes World’s Record 
Winner of professional average, Lester S. German, with 499 x 500; winner of amateur average, 
Woolfolk Henderson, with 493 x 500; third winner of amateur average, Allen Heil, with 485 x 500; winner 
double championship, Woolfolk Henderson, 86 x 50 pairs; second in double championship, Guy V. Deering, 
85 x 50 pairs; third in double championship, Allen Heil, 84 x 50 pairs; Sousa Trophy, won by Woolfolk 
Henderson, with 100 straight; Shanley Trophy, won by Allen Heil, with 99 x 100, and 19 on the shoot- 
off; tied Westy Hogan’s Trophy, Allen Heil, with 100 straight; National 18 yard championship, won by 
Allen Heil, 97 x 100. 
In addition to the above, PARKER GUNS figured prominently in the winning of many other high 
places. Send for catalogue. 
PARKER BROS., Meriden, Conn. 
NEW YORK SALESROOMS, 32 WARREN STREET 
enward watching the aerial flight of the air hosts 
in their formation of Vs, single lines, and 
bunches, drifting in from the north, high up, the 
first comers, all looking for the same thing— 
food. Out comes the heavy underwear, leather 
vests, green mackinaw coats, and mitts, rubber 
moccasins, as this is canoe work. Decoys are 
overhauled, new lines and weights attached, and 
we are ready for business. 
Each day advancing brings further flight of 
fowl, in accordance with weather variations, all 
the principal feeding grounds are rafted with 
many kinds of ducks, diving and feeding, stand¬ 
ing on tails, wings flapping, small flocks constant¬ 
ly arriving and leaving. One can hear the gut¬ 
tural call of the lesser and greater scaup, with it 
the whining mewing, the redheads feeding call. 
Water splashes everywhere, and down wind floats 
the celery tops pulled by the feeding fowl. I 
can venture to say there are many who when 
witnessing a scene of this nature have scratched 
their heads and wondered how the dickens they 
were going to get at ’em! Cold hands, lame 
shoulders, cramped legs, are forgotten in antici¬ 
pation of the morning’s sport; the only thought 
is—will the ammunition hold out, we hope so; 
come what may, rain, sleet, or snow, there the en¬ 
thusiast sticks with a cramp in his neck from 
stooping and watching. 
November arrives like a lion, stripping foliage, 
freezing rice bed, and bog, and closing back chan¬ 
nels. Wild fowl are departing daily, left only 
are a few scattering bunches of scaup, mergan- 
zer, black ducks, and fish ducks, except our old 
November friend, the whistler, with his inbred 
and disastrous habits of seeking company and 
hugging the hard shores for gravel, much to his 
undoing. Now, Mr. Canoeman, be careful! Jack 
Frost has driven you to the open lake; your 
friend, the rice bed in time of stress, is blown 
flat, your canoe is thin, and the ice knows no 
mercy, making a good shot on whistlers some¬ 
times costly; but how well you are repaid in lo¬ 
cating a big bunch of whistlers at their old habit, 
gravelling. Any old blind seems to do—in fact 
you can’t stop them coming, provided they are 
really interested. In they come, with wings set 
in a crescent, all agog at their wooden brothers, 
beneath. How fine the drakes look with the 
sun on their black and white plumage. So even 
November appeals with its bluster and fury, 
leaving behind pleasant memories to linger while 
open waters are closed in the hands of winter. 
R. N. Dana, Jr. 
GAME IN NORTH CAROLINA. 
Hendersonville, N. C., Jan. 7, 1916. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
The shooting season is nearly gone and I have 
practically nothing to report, as far as I am per¬ 
sonally concerned, in the matter of shooting 
game. 
It is true I have been handicapped in not hav¬ 
ing had the time to train my setter dog. Others 
have shot quite a number of partridges (quail), 
having good dogs and getting out some distance 
in the country to where birds are fairly plenti¬ 
ful. I have had some hard tramps hunting deer 
and grouse. I was unfortunate in getting out 
when the woods were very dry and once during 
a very high wind. A deer could hear every step 
one made for quite a distance. 
Quite a number of deer were killed in the 
mountains and they are on the increase; this be¬ 
cause of the \ anderbilt and Toxaway properties 
almost joining and containing over 120,000 acres 
of timber lands are protected, with several small¬ 
er properties adjoining that are also under same 
protection. 
I rather think deer were killed on these proper¬ 
ties without a permit, but no doubt many deer 
feed outside these boundaries. 
Ruffed grouse are getting rather scarce unless 
one goes far afield. I have so far bagged but 
one. 
This is my favorite bird, largely so because of 
its many qualities as a game bird. One can 
never tell in advance what a ruffed grouse may 
do; and he will most certainly give you a sur¬ 
prise if you are not constantly on the qui vive 
while on the hunt for him. Knowing this by 
many years cf experience I put “grouse” on my 
mind and keep it there when out grouse shoot¬ 
ing. Here is the experience I had when I shot 
the only one I have shot at so far this season. 
My youngest son joined me several weeks ago 
at Lake Toxaway and after an early breakfast 
one morning we started for the north point of 
Little Pisgah Mountain—a mountain of about 4,- 
000 feet altitude. On the north end we were 
told a large number of grouse had been seen by 
a young man some days before. 
To reach the place we had to tramp about 
seven to eight miles, going up through what is 
known as the Horseshoe Cave and then walking 
round the west side of the mountain’s top. We 
swung round to the north end and climbed down 
into a little old field. It was here we were to 
fill a bushel basket with pheasants (grouse). 
When I saw the place I told our little guide 
that who ever saw grouse there recently must 
have seen them in rainy weather, and he said 
that was so. It was. There was no cover for 
the birds and nothing to feed on and the field 
was as bare as a woolly dog when newly shaved 
in hot weather. 
THE SMITH 
The Gun with a Conscience 
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