FOREST AND STREAM 
January, 1918 
2G 
A RED LETTER DAY WITH THE WIDGEONS 
FROM DAWN TO DUSK ON A COLD FEBRUARY DAY IN A BLIND ON BARNEGAT, 
WITH DUCKS WHIRLING THROUGH THE SNOW LIKE AUTUMN LEAVES 
O F all the ducks that frequent the bay 
of Barnegat, my favorite is the 
widgeon. On the table this dainty 
bird has no equal in my estimation, and 
I do not bar the lordly canvas back. 
While on the shooting point, the 
killing of a widgeon gives one a 
sensation somewhat similar to the 
bagging of a woodcock in land 
shooting. They are so timid and 
shy, and generally decoy so poorly, 
that the killing of a bag of them 
is an event. I had been told by 
Bill Miller that under certain 
weather conditions they would de¬ 
coy well, and Mike had often said, 
“Stick to ’em, Neil, and some day 
you’ll git ’em right,” and at last my 
patience was rewarded. It was in 
the winter of 1877, the last week 
in February. There were three of 
us at Ortleys: Uncle William A., 
Uncle Billy M., and myself. The 
breech loading gun was just com¬ 
ing into general, use, and Uncle 
Billy had a Webly ten bore, I a 
Clabrough ten bore, while Uncle W’l'iam 
still clung to his tried and true nine bore 
muzzle loader. He insisted, as did many 
another of that generation, that the breech 
loader did not shoot as “strong” as the 
muzzle loader, and many heated -arguments 
pro and con were held in front of the old 
fireplace, but Uncle William could not be 
convinced by words alone. 
The wind had been blowing a gale from 
the west for days, and never have I seen 
the tide so low. There was no water ex¬ 
cepting in the channels; you could walk 
dry shod over thousands of acres of the 
bottom c the bay, and the “Dry Flats” 
looked like a vast plowed field. On Sun¬ 
day morning the wind began to fail, and 
thousands of ducks began flying down the 
bay towards the inlet; along in the after¬ 
noon the tide began to come back a little. 
At about three hundred yards from the 
landing is a deep spot called the “Perch 
Hole.” Just at sundown the ducks began 
coming up the bay from the south, through 
the “Broad Thoroughfare.” There was as 
yet but little water, and they began light¬ 
ing in the “Perch Hole.” On they came, 
string after string, mostly “smees” and 
widgeons, with an occasional mallard and 
black duck. Countless thousands of them, 
an inspiring sight! Uncle Billy and I went 
to the landing, and climbed on top of the 
By WIDGEON 
boat house to watch them. Never before 
or since have I seen so many ducks in one 
place. I suppose there are about five acres 
in the “Perch Hole,” and it was literally 
packed with ducks, and still they came. 
We watched them until too dark to see, 
and we could still hear the whistling of 
their wings as they came in. You of this 
later generation, can have no conception 
of the number of ducks we saw that even¬ 
ing; it simply “staggered” us in that day 
of abundance of game. 
We returned to the house and made 
great preparation for the morrow, for we 
felt sure of a return of the tide during the 
night. This was before the day of fixed 
ammunition. Uncle Billy and I placed all 
our loaded cartridges in our boxes, and 
Uncle William filled his one pound powder 
flask and six pound shot pouch. He 
“crowed” at us a little. “Here’s where you 
fellows fall down,” he said; “if the shoot¬ 
ing should be extra good, you will run 
short of shells, while I can shoot all day.” 
The sight of that vast flight of birds made 
us sleep lightly that night and we were 
around early next morning. During the 
low tides we had kept our boats on West 
Point, and long before daylight we were 
in them, with our decoys placed, waiting 
for it to get light enough for us to see. A 
faint, warm wind was blowing from the 
south, and a good tide was in, just “bank 
full,” on this 28th day of February, 
1877, over forty years ago. 
When daylight finally came, to our 
consternation and dismay, on all 
the broad waters of the bay not a 
duck was to be seen. That great 
concourse of wild fowl of the 
night before had vanished utterly! 
After our high hopes we were of 
course greatly disappointed and 
after some debate we separated. 
Uncle William stayed at West 
Point, Uncle Billy went to Stooling 
Point, while I departed for Mike’s 
Island, which place I reached just 
at sunrise. As quickly as possible 
I placed my decoys, covered my 
sneak box with duck grass and 
reed, and was ready for what might 
come. The southerly wind began 
to freshen and veer to the west, 
with little rain squalls now and 
then, and the tide kept rising. 
About nine o’clock, the ducks be¬ 
gan flying up the bay from the south, 
as they had the evening before. They 
came over the island from behind me, 
in a great procession, flock after flock, 
but too high to shoot, and they would not 
decoy. I tried them a few times but they 
were out of range. I gave it up and lay 
back in my boat and watched them. It 
was a wonderful flight. They were nearly 
all “smees” and widgeons, and made their 
way for the “Dry Flats.” Suddenly three 
“smees” were poised over the decoys. As 
I rose two of them crossed to be dropped 
by the first barrel, the other I missed. 
After another long wait a single “smee” 
came in and was killed. Still the ducks 
passed over me in multitudes, but no more 
came to the decoys. 
T HE wind had now become west, and 
was blowing very hard, and much 
colder. Uncle Billy on Stooling 
Point was getting an occasional shot, while 
from Uncle William on West Point came 
the constant “Bang 1 Bang 1 ” of his muzzle 
loader; he was getting the shooting. At 
twelve o’clock I could stand it no longer, 
so taking up my decoys I started on my 
return to West Point. The wind had now 
become Northwest and was blowing a gale, 
and I had a long mile to row dead to 
windward and was very tired when I 
