934 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 15, ig 
On the Meadows. 
Bay Shore, N. Y., June ir —Editor Forest and 
Stream: To my mind snipe shooting is one of 
the most fascinating of sports, to lie snugly in 
your blind and watch the flock of plover, in re¬ 
sponse to your enticing whistle, sweep toward 
you, and after a cautious circle or two, come 
tumbling over your decoys, then you feel that 
pleasurable thrill that no one knows unless he 
too has had that same experience, and pity your 
brother of the office and desk, he of the rnoney 
making world, who does not know the joy of 
pitting his wits against those of the untamed, and 
never has, like you, smelled the scent of the 
meadow grass and heard the shrill whistle of the 
incoming snipe. 
To awaken from the soundest of slumber as 
the morning light creeps timidly through the 
port holes of the cabin and the cool breath of the 
northwester sends a bracing chill over your body, 
warm from the blankets, to hurry through the 
trifling formalities of a breakfast, throw the de¬ 
coys into the sharpie, and with gun and shell 
bag on the thwarts, pole ashore to your favorite 
pond hole, ready for the flight of snipe in the 
early morning—that is a pleasure known only to 
the lover of outdoors. 
Enjoyment of shooting is not altogether in the 
actual killing. To be sure, a successful shot is 
most satisfactory, but I think more, actual en¬ 
joyment is derived from the anticipation, the 
uncertainty, that lends its flavor to all sport. 
I had been out on a week’s cruise in my little 
sloop, the Rambler, in the early fall, and had 
laid up for the night in a secluded cove where 
the water was shallow and the harbor secure, in¬ 
tent on trying my luck with the snipe in a certain 
meadow pond. When the morning came the first 
sound that reached my ears was the shrill whistle 
of a yellowleg that was slowly winging- his way 
across the cove, evidently astray, looking for 
others of his kin. This incident hastened my 
preparations, and in a very few minutes I was 
poling my skiff up to the meadow bank, where 
I secured it and made my way to the pond, 
loaded down with gun, shells and decoys. 
I improvised a blind from a few armfuls of 
seaweed and bushes and then stuck the decoys 
up in the shoal water. Every thing fixed to my 
satisfaction, I settled back comfortably on my 
soft seat and awaited an opportunity to open the 
engagement. 
Away off to the north I heard the clear, 
melodious whistle of the black-breasted plover 
and then I saw a small flock flying low and 
heading directly for the pond. Slowly they came 
at first, then as they heard my answering call 
they quickened their flight, and gradually ris¬ 
ing, caught sight of the decoys, and with cheer¬ 
ful answering notes came on circling about, the 
edges of the pond, until the leader set his wings, 
and with many graceful turns scaled over the 
stool, followed by his companions. 
I opened with a right barrel, into the thickest 
of them, then the left at one climbing with swift 
wings up into the air. Four down,, an excellent 
beginning, and I hurriedly shoved in two more 
shells, for a lone yellowleg, carrying out the 
reputation of his kind for unwary curiosity, 
lit on the other shore of the pond and was 
whistling his greeting to his sham compatriots 
standing on their wooden legs about my blind. 
After two or three coaxing calls he came toward 
me. It was almost too easy, I thought, as I 
picked him 'up with the four plover. 
Off to the east I heard the reoorts of guns 
which told me of others enjoying the same sport, 
and surely it was an ideal day. A cool north¬ 
west wind swept across the meadows, bringing 
with it the scent of salt air from the bay, the 
gladsome songs of myriads of larks as they flew 
about, and the scurrying flocks of little snipe 
darting about the pond, gave an air to the whole 
that was decidedly gamy. 
You who have had the pleasure of sitting in 
a blind, watching the water rippling about your 
decoys, and at short intervals scanning the 
horizon for a sight of your expected gapie, can 
better appreciate the stillness that is not lonely, 
but rather a companionable silence, when you 
can think and ponder without the need of your 
reverie being interrupted by the sound of another 
voice. The dull hum of the insect life surrounds 
you, for the meadows are fairly alive with flies 
and mosquitos. Were it not for the brisk wind 
that keeps them down in the grass one could 
not live in comfort. Even worse than the mos¬ 
quitos are the green-headed flies. Now and 
again one would alight on me and seldom was 
I quick enough to kill it. With the first motion 
of my hand he would dart away, perhaps to 
alight on the seaweed that formed the blind. 
While idly watching one of these biting 
nuisances I discovered that he had an enemy 
that he could not elude as easily as he did me. 
I never knew before of the use of a darning 
needle, as they are. commonly known, but, when 
I had watched one pursue and capture the fly 
that had so easily escaped my hand, I at once 
elected him one of the benefactors of mankind. 
Following the fly’s every turn and twist with 
faultless accuracy, the long bodied, gauzy-winged 
destroyer finally grasped him with his half dozen 
or so of legs, and, as I had hardly moved an eye¬ 
lash during this thrilling scene from bug life, 
he flew back and alighted near me. First the 
head of the luckless fly was plucked off, then 
when that was disposed of, he was slowly , dis¬ 
sected until nothing was left but the wings, 
which evidently were not to the captor's, liking. 
Off in the distance, away down the inlet, I 
could see the white sails of the fishing fleet. 
Big boats and little boats, beating back and forth, 
from one shore to the other, each manned by 
eager fishermen, and each no doubt catching its 
quota of gamy blues with the long lines that 
towed astern, dragging through the water the 
deceptive squids. But hark! From somewhere 
came the whistle, faint but clear, of the yellow¬ 
leg. Again it was repeated. Nothing in sight 
above the waving meadow grass that resembled 
a bird of the snipe family. But my eyes must 
have failed me, for once more and still clearer 
I heard the shrill notes, and this time I located 
the whereabouts of the bird. Directly overhead, 
and far up in the sky, I discerned a flock of the 
expected game. 
“At least twenty of them,” I thought as I 
crouched in the blind, whistling an answering 
call. They sighted the decoys. . Sweeping slowly 
around, in gradually decreasing circles, they 
dropped down, with their long necks extended, 
and giving utterance, now and then, to confident 
whistles. I answered, lowering the note as they 
approached the pond, and finally, as they, swept 
down before the wind, hovering for an instant 
over the wooden imitations, threw the gun to 
my shoulder and with right and left sent two 
ounces of No. 10’s into the heart of the flock; 
then, reloading quickly, endeavored to whistle 
the survivors over the decoys. This you can 
oftimes do with yellowlegs. Of all the snipe 
family they are the most easily decoved, and in 
response to my whistle three flew within reach¬ 
ing distance of the twelve. Something was 
wrong, however, for a clean miss with the right 
barrel was only partly atoned for by scratching 
one down with the left. 
Warned by the last two shots, the rest of the 
birds were lost to sight long before I had picked 
up all that were floating among the decoys. 
Seven they were, great long-billed, long-legged 
fellows that had no doubt fed on many a sand¬ 
bar and in many a meadow pond before falling, 
victims of their own unwariness, to swell my bag. 
A peculiar incident occurred just as I 
finished picking up the last of the snipe. I 
bent over to stick up one of the decoys tl 
had inadvertently knocked down when I 1 
the whistle of swift moving wings and a se 
after a light splash. Glancing cautiously ar 
I saw, sitting on the water just to- leeward 0 
decoys, a green-winged teal. He was evid 
not entirely satisfied with the safety of his 
tion, for he kept looking around with an £ 
ness that made me believe he would be a 
bird to surprise. I had kept perfectly still, t 
ing low over the decoys, but the duck was 
easy and finally, when I unthinkingly atten 
to brush an annoying mosquito off my face 
with a startled quack, jumped into the air 
in a second was but a swiftly vanishing dc 
the distance. Once before, while snipe sho' 
in the Great South Bay, I had a somewhat 
lar but infinitely more interesting experience 
was in the early fall, in the open seasoi 
ducks, that I had stuck my snipe decoys 1 
a shallow lead between two grassy little isl¬ 
and was having fairly good shooting at 
larger snipe that need a frost or two- to 
them on their journeying. 
I was comfortably stretched out in the I 
enjoying an after lunch pipe, when I saw! 
or five birds hovering over the decoys. A 
first hasty glimpse of them through the 
grass I thought they were one of the sp 
of small gulls that invest that section of 
bay, but a second look decided me, and qu 
grasping my gun, I had the satisfaction of c 
ping two of them. There must have be 
flight of these teal that afternoon, as for a ci 
of hours I had some of the prettiest shootii 
the world. It is a lucky day when one ge 
opportunity to kill one or two of these bear 
birds and on that particular occasion I ha( 
great good fortune to pick up fifteen. Tli£ 
of shooting marked a red letter day or 
calendar. I had no^ need to look at a time 
to know that the second meal time was ne 
hand and was busying myself getting my va 
belongings together when I heard an om 
rumble, the prelude of a thunder shower 
was quickly overcasting the sky with thre 
ing clouds. And also I heard another sound! 
caused me to pick up the gun I had unlc 
and slip in a couple of shells. It was a 
drawn whistle of a willet, calling for con 
ions to join him on his south-bound flight, 
.ready large drops of rain were falling am 
indications of a heavy downpour were plain 
I had come snipe shooting and I decided 
I would stick to the blind. If the snipe \ 
rather fly in a rain storm why I could b« 
wetting, and as for the lunch, a man that v 
not rather shoot than eat was a poor sport? 
Slowly flying along, looking from side to 
for a place to rest, the big snipe gradual!; 
proached the pond, and then, before I coitb 
into shooting position, dropped among the 
coys. I suppose it would have been eas 
have potted him from my shelter, but that 
not have the conscience to do, but sat 
quietly watching him as he turned his hea 
quiringlv around, as though amazed at the c 
ness and awkward postures of his kin. 
dently he was not satisfied with his surre 
ings, for, when he had uttered several low 
quiring whistles and received no reply, he 
a startled jump and was about to leave 
strange, unsociable flock, when my gun so' 
and he became another victim of misplaced 
fidence. 
Before I could leave the blind to retriev 
willet a pair of plover swung across the 
and in the distance I also sighted two 
flocks of snipe, heading 1 toward me. The 
shooting was just beginning. The storm 
making the birds uneasy and they were'now 
