one is sufficient, provided the hunter 
will only remain quite motionless until 
the birds are within range of his gun. 
And after shooting it is better to re- 
load immediately, as if we have been 
successful in the first discharge any 
remaining birds can frequently be 
whistled again over the stool, for an- 
other shot. 
A® to the selection of the place to 
out the decoys, unless one has had 
considerable experience in this kind of 
shooting and is familiar with the local- 
ity and with the spots most favored by 
the birds under the varying conditions 
of wind and weather, my advice to the 
new hand would be to engage the ser- 
vices of an experienced native hunter, 
from whom may be learned much that 
will be invaluable to his future suc- 
cess in this branch of sport. The 
wooden or cork decoys representing 
several varieties of snipe, on their stake 
legs, are grouped on a sandbar some 
25 yards off, much as are the real birds 
when feeding or resting. The heads of 
all or the great majority should point 
to windward, and if they can be placed 
so as to stand in a few inches of water 
so much the better as they make a 
greater show and can be seen much 
farther by passing birds. It is also 
wise to have about two-thirds of the 
flock of decoys ranged slightly to lou’- 
ward of the blind as this will afford 
better shots at any birds coming to the 
stool, as they almost invariably head up | 
wind, or windward, in so doing and 
will thus give more incoming or semi- 
incoming shots. 
Perhaps an account of a good day’s 
shoot enjoyed by me in quite recent 
years, in fact, just be- 
fore the Federal law, 
clouds, a forerunner of a change in the 
weather and probably a drop in the 
fever heat of summer to the first chill 
of the dying year. During the after- 
noon a constantly freshening Sou’- 
wester had sprung up, the sun had gone 
to bed in a bank of clouds, and when 
Gene and I walked down to the boats 
to see that all was right, 
after supper, the wind was 
still freshening out of the 
Sou’west, and laden with 
the briny smell of the broad 
Atlantic, brought every now 
and then a light gust of 
rain. 
“I saw several bunches of 
birds movin’ on coming in 
from fishing this after- 
noon,” said Gene. “It cer- 
tainly looks kinder Snipy 
now, and if this wind holds 
we'll kill some birds over in the cove at 
Hongkong to-morrow.” 
\Wieate: these encouraging signs and 
cheering words I trudged off to 
bed and was soon dreaming of phe- 
nomenal shots at endless streams of 
snipe. In my sleep I seem to hear fre- 
quent shots but it’s only the rattle of the 
wind on the shutters. My deepest slum- 
bers are, however, soon rudely shat- 
tered by a pounding on my door and 
Gene’s voice announcing that it’s 3.30, 
so after a hasty toilet I go down to a 
good hot breakfast, rubber booted and 
ready for the fray. We soon set forth 
in the dark with guns, lunch boxes and 
a plentiful supply of shells. Arriving 
at the dock we find the wind still strong 
and “breezin’ up” all the time, and as 
we stow away our things the halyards 

limiting us to certain 
species, went into ef- 
fect, will best give an 
idea of the sport to be 
had with the bay birds 
when conditions are 
right. 
I had gone down to 
Shinnecock Bay in the 
late afternoon during 
the last week of August 
to spend a few days 
with my old friend, 
guide, and trusted com- 
panion of many cam- 
paigns after snipe, 
duck and geese, Eugene 
Jackson, of East Quo- 
que. During the last 
few days it had been 
still and sultry, but the 
evening before we had | 
had a very pink sun- 
set with curious opales- 
cent lights on the fleecy 
Page 465 

An ideal spot for blind and stools 

keep up a constant slap, slap, slap 
against the mast of our skiff. Putting 
on our oilskins we are soon scudding 
across the bay with the spray flying in 
showers off our bow. It’s a dark morn- 
ing though every now and then a star 
peeps from behind the fleeing clouds or 
a brilliant ray from the lighthouse mo- 
mentarily lights our path, 
and as we near the low ly- 
ing southern shore of the 
bay a gray streak is show- 
ing in the East, a forerun- 
ner of the coming day. We 
run the skiff up under the 
lee of a bit of salt meadow, 
take in the sail and after 
making things snug, shoul- 
der one gun and duffle and 
wade off several hundred 
yards across a shallow cove, 
to our blind, which faces a 
low sandbar covered with about three 
inches of water. 
After setting out the stool to our 
satisfaction we get an armful of dry 
hay from a stack on the meadow and 
make a comfortable nest of our blind, 
then all ready, come what will. Day 
is fast breaking by now and several 
shadowy forms pass overhead as some 
Bittern, or “quauk,” as they are locally 
called, fly off from their night’s feed- 
ing grounds. A pair of black duck whiz 
past in easy shot knowing quite well 
that they’re safe for another month 
yet, but listen! yes, there it goes again, 
for from far off over the bay comes the 
drawn out plaintive call of the black 
breast plover. Out come our whistles 
and we give an answering call and 
again back on the breeze comes the call 
of the black breast. There they are, 
just skimming over 
that point of meadow, 
six, seven, eight of 
them. Again we call 
and with a quick 
| swerve in their flight 
| they pay off to lou’- 
' ward, set their wings 
and come hurtling over 
the stool. Now! Bang! 
and our guns crack off 
together and again 
Bang! Bang! Pretty 
good—four down in the 
stool and wait, yes, 
there’s another, let’s 
go and drop out on that 
sand bar. We promptly 
gather up our birds, 
five beauties and settle 
ourselves again in the 
blind. I take out my 
pipe and pouch for 
a comfortable morning 
smoke. Everything 
seems just right with 
(Continued on p, 505) 
