94 
[Jan. 15, 1910- 
near the sand hills. The distance seemed inter¬ 
minable, and every man was out to the last 
ounce, chilled and fatigued and ready to drop 
from exhaustion and exposure. We finally 
came to such a creek as that of which we were 
in quest, the same being fairly wide on account 
of the - very high water, and fortunately had its 
course in such direction as found the wind 
directly at our backs, which afforded a brief 
respite from our labors. Another half hour 
found us safely on the ocean beach, with, how¬ 
ever, only a meager conception of our probable 
whereabouts. 
Shelter from the storm was the next move, 
and all were in a sad quandary as to where 
and how to find it. We knew there was a 
fisherman’s camp somewhere along the great 
stretch of sand, but whether to go up or down 
the beach to find it, we did not know. It 
seemed to the majority that it was south of us, 
while to the odd man north, and his arguments 
were so convincing that he eventually prevailed 
upon the other two to go north in the teeth of 
the gale to find Jim Nanson's camp, not, how¬ 
ever, without serious misgivings as to the out¬ 
come. 
Five long, weary miles of plodding through 
the halt-frozen sand failed to discover the 
remotest semblance of habitation or dwelling, 
and we could not avoid the conclusion that this 
had been indeed a wild goose chase. We had 
passed the wreck of an old schooner, whose 
weather-beaten ribs protruded from the sand, 
two or three miles further down the beach, 
bearing mute testimony to a terrible tragedy of 
the sea in bygone days. We concluded to break 
her up, if possible, and build a fire. Retracing 
our steps, although greatly fatigued, we experi¬ 
enced a great relief in walking with the wind, 
restful indeed as compared with the efforts 
required in going against it, to say nothing of 
the relief experienced from the driving sleet, 
which cut like flying bits of glass. 
Once arrived at the wreck, it was the work 
of but fifteen minutes to gather enough timber 
tc make a fire, but here we were confronted 
with the very grave question of starting one. 
All had matches, which, however, had been ren¬ 
dered useless by a thorough soaking. In a 
metal matchsafe Mr. P. found just two which 
were dry. By dint of good fortune we found 
a piece of fat wood, as the natives call it. very 
inflammable, on account of its resinous content, 
which furnished ideal kindling. The first match 
went out, although great care had been taken 
to forestall such an occurrence; the second, 
fortunately, built the fire, and in this connec¬ 
tion Mr. P.’s knowledge of campfire building 
served in excellent stead, for his skill in the 
arrangement of the economical consumption of 
the only fuel at hand kept a fire of sufficient 
volume going steadily through the dreary hours 
of the night, until just daylight. Injudiciously 
handled, our fuel could all have been consumed 
in less than one hour. A great hole was dug 
in the sand on the leeward side of a sandhill, 
about which a windbreak was built with some 
of the timbers from the wreck, thatched with 
marsh grass and wet sand. 
Although without a vestige of food or drink, 
we considered ourselves very fortunate to be 
thus protected in our little bunk, partially shel¬ 
tered from the storm’s fury. It was long after 
midnight before we could rest up, and every 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
man was steaming before the fire like an over¬ 
worked horse on a cold day. From 1 o’clock 
until daylight seemed an interminable period. 
Never did the hours drag so, sleep was quite 
out of the question, and to beguile the dreary 
hours little excursions along the beach in 
search of fuel afforded welcome divertisement. 
Retreating from the campfire on these little 
detours, one was sensibly impressed with the 
abject loneliness of the waste and startled by 
the fantastic shadows cast before him. One of 
the party had collected an armful of fagots, and 
was about to pick up what appeared to be a 
small log a few feet* away, when the object 
skulked away to a safe distance and two glar¬ 
ing eyes, reflecting the light of the distant 
campfire, stared out of the night. This eventu¬ 
ally proved to be a sea otter which had been 
driven from its underground home by the ris¬ 
ing waters. 
It may well be imagined that every heart rose 
high with hope at the coming of dawn. When 
fight enough to see for any distance we dis¬ 
cerned the fisherman’s camp in the direction we 
had traveled the night before, and had walked 
within half a mile of it when we decided to 
return. 
Unaccustomed to receive callers more than 
once a month, old Jim Nason was startled at 
our approach, and felt that he was in the hands 
of a band of pirates. Characteristic Southern 
hospitality was soon manifest, however, in his 
humble home, upon informing him of our pre¬ 
dicament. The aroma of hot coffee permeated 
his cabin, and it was not long before we were 
seated at a sumptuous breakfast of bacon and 
eggs, fried oysters and fish. _ 
A tiny sail coming from Cedar Island, far to 
the westward, was handled by old Joe Tink, 
coming to inquire into the fate of our excur¬ 
sion. Fie had seen us leave the camp the day- 
before, but could not join us owing to the lack 
of wind. He had watched hourly for our return, 
and, as he told us afterward, figured that we 
had perished in the storm. He had come across 
our decoys on the edge of the shoals, which 
seemed to support his conclusion that the boat 
had capsized and drifted into the marsh. Need¬ 
less to say, he was much concerned until he 
brought up at Jim Nason’s camp and found we 
were all safe. 
It developed later that Joe had departed for 
Cedar Island to have a quiet little time, sampling 
a bottle of superfine one hundred proof whisky 
which one of the boys had given him for a 
Christmas present. It was his intention to get 
back to camp by daylight, but he was held up 
by the “slick cam” and could not pole across 
the deep channel. 
On the following day, less than forty miles 
to the southward, the finding of an overturned 
boat on the marsh, and the frozen bodies of 
two hunters nearby, told a mute story of dis¬ 
aster to a hunting party in that fearful storm, 
and of a fate from which we were providentially 
delivered. C. P. M. 
January. 
Now Winter’s hoary breath means biz, 
The purp’s got rid of fleas, 
And many a man’s chief business is 
To grumble, cough and sneeze. 
A. L. L. 
Ducks in Imperial Valley. 
El Centro, Cal., Dec. 30 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: Mr. Hedderly’s conclusions concern¬ 
ing ducks, farmers, game law violations, etc., 
in Imperial Valley would be more convincing 
if his premises were anything but guesswork. 
Ffe “understands” there has been little shoot¬ 
ing here this year; he is “informed” that it is 
useless to prosecute violators of the law because 
farmers will not convict; he “believes” I have 
not been down the river and do not know the 
conditions outside of the settled parts of the 
valley. Someone has told him of myriads of 
all sorts of ducks and snipe in the Colorado 
delta in summer, and therefore I cannot know 
anything about it. Sometimes it is wisdom not 
to be so cocksure of things one does not know. 
There has been plenty of shooting here this 
year, but not in the fields close to towns, as in 
former years. The morning and evening flights 
along the Alamo and New River are in count¬ 
less thousands, and I have had no difficulty in 
shooting the limit every trip to the club grounds. 
I do not know, although Mr. Hedderly insists 
that I do, that a lot of market hunters pay no 
attention to bag limits. I never counted their 
kill and could only guess, like Mr. H., at the 
facts. It might or might not be of any use to 
arrest a violator of the game laws. I never 
have known of an arrest in the county and I 
do not know what a jury would do. What war¬ 
rant has Mr. H. for his assertion that I am 
“upholding” ranchers charged with killing ducks 
out of season? I have said there is little shoot¬ 
ing out of season, because the ducks are not 
here out of season and the farmers are not 
planting barley in the close season. The ranch¬ 
ers do ignore the bag limit when they are try¬ 
ing to protect their barley and they invite peo¬ 
ple to help them drive the ducks away. Prob¬ 
ably it would be idle to ask a farmer to sacri¬ 
fice his entire crop to the game law. 
In August, 1908, I went down the Colorado 
River to the gulf and spent two weeks explor¬ 
ing that region. I had been told the same duck 
stories that Mr. H. accepts as gospel truth. I 
saw two mallards and not another duck in the 
delta. There were plenty of cormorants, peli¬ 
cans and wading birds, but no snipe in sight. 
In October, I explored the delta by going 
down the Hardy, up the Pescador and along 
the new course of the Colorado, and wandered 
about generally in the flooded country for many 
days. There were a few ducks in the lagoons 
of the Pescador, but not one duck on Volcano 
Lake nor in the Hardy in hundreds of miles. 
I saw not one snipe on the trip; pelicans, her¬ 
ons, cormorants, cranes, etc., by the thousand. 
As a matter of fact, not of guess, I am more 
familiar with the unsettled parts of this region 
than with the farm districts. Last February 
I went down the Alamo by boat into Salton 
Sea and visited some of the islands. It was 
just after the close of the season and the mar¬ 
ket hunters had all left the river; so had the 
ducks. A few birds lingered in the lagoons, 
but there was not a duck on Salton Sea. Had 
they gone north or south? Mr. H. is sure 
they go south to breed. Perhaps they do, but 
I have been unable to find them here or south 
in the delta in warm weather, and I doubt that 
the early birds on the coast go there from Impe¬ 
rial Valley. Allen Kelly. 
