Long Shots at Wild Fowl 
DEAR FOREST & STREAM: 
HEN my youngest brother and I 
were grown, I purchased a double 
barrel breech-loading shotgun, an S. S. 
Northcott brand, a gun that was very 
heavy in the breech. We loaded our 
own shells with from 3 to 4 drams of 
powder, for the long shots we used the 
4-dram load. 
It had been rafning a great deal for 
several days and the ducks had come to 
feed in the corn and oat fields where 
the cropgrass seed was plentiful. 
Out in about the center of the field 
was a straw stack in the flattest part of 
the ground, and a small rise which held 
the water several inches deep. It was 
fine for the ducks to sit in and feed 
on the seed in the water. Observing 
some ducks lighting in this field close 
to where we lived, we decided to go try 
for some of them, and accordingly we 
donned our equipment and went out to 
the place. 
On arriving there, we found there 
was no place for a blind. The only 
thing to do was to dig a hole in the 
top of the straw stack, but in getting 
to the stack, the ducks all flew away. 
While they were gone, we hastily con- 
cealed ourselves in the top of the stack 
with the purpose of getting in gun shot 
when they come back. 
We had scarcely got hidden when 
some of them began to return and we 
watched them through a small peep 
hole. Those ducks seemed to know just 
how far to circle from that stack for 
none came in close range but all finally 
alighted from 150 to 200 yards of the 
stack and not a duck had we fired at. 
There they sat in the water feeding and 
having a jolly good time, but too far to 
think of killing any. 
Time began to hang heavily and no 
more ducks seemed to be coming. An 
acre or more of the ground was thickly 
covered with the ducks. I concluded to 
put in some large shot that I had with 
me and proceeded to load with the 
heavy 4 drams of powder with B. B. 
shot and aiming about 15 feet over the 
bunch of ducks, I fired two shots, with 
the hope that some of them would fly 
near us in good gun shot in dispersing 
from the spot, but none came that way. 
After they had cleared away, I saw a 
wing flop out where I had shot. My 
brother went to investigate and it being 
so far out, I asked him to step the dis- 
tance, which he did with long strides; 
he paced 175 of them to where. he 
picked up the dead duck. The shot had 
so hit the head as to lift the’ crown 
bone from over the brain like the lid 
of a trunk. 
He brought the duck in and we hid 
in the blind and waited. Some few 
98 
bunches returned but none would alight 
again. They made several circles but 
none came close enough to the stack to 
affect a killing. They had all flown 
away to another field to feed but three 
of the bunch still hung around as 
though they would alight. The wind 
was blowing pretty hard from the 
northwest and the three ducks flew east 
of the stack to the south then circled 
to the northwest in the direction that 
the others had flown to the other feed- 
ing grounds. Figuring this would be 
my last chance at them, I resolved to 
unload another heavy charge at them 
anyway. Two of them were flying close 
together with the third one following 
forty or fifty feet behind the two and 
about the same distance below or lower. 
Not having shot any ducks on the wing 
to speak of, naturally I pointed point 
blank at the two leaders and fired. I 
took my gun down to my side and by 
this time the single and hindmost duck 
high in the air, began to descend to 
the ground in an over and over descend 
straight to the ground; imagine my sur- 
prise. It was some time before I could 
figure out such an unusual shot, but 
having my brother to step off the 
ground 165 steps it was easier to real- 
ize the angles of such a shot. The 
wind was blowing hard enough to drive 
the shot sideways as it went so as to 
meet the duck coming towards the shot 
and lower down. Judging the distance, 
and the velocity of the wind, makes it 
very hard to kill game on long shots and 
only those that are wise to these facts 
can get their birds. It takes a great 
deal of practice to be a good long-range 
sportsman. These shots were more or 
less accidental. 
M. S. BRANSTITTER, 
Little Rock, 
Ark. 
Broadcast from Maine 
DEAR ForREST & STREAM: 
OR me the “Letters” f-rm one of 
the most interesting departments 
of this journal, so I trust that a little 
something concerning sport in this 
“neck of the woods” will be likewise 
appreciated by readers living elsewhere. 
With respect to the deer hunting, let 
me first state the singular fact that 
not a deer has been killed within the 
limits of this town (Cornish) this sea- 
son. Hunters in all the near-by towns 
have been more fortunate, although 
while there seemed to be about the usual 
number of deer, the kills were compar- 
‘atively small, owing to the constant dry 
. weather which made it noisy getting 
about in the woods. Practically no 
snow fell until after the season ‘closed, 
so the advantage of tracking was lost 
here, but in the adjoining portion of 
New Hampshire, where the open sea- 

Rev. Wm. W. Lait, Maine pastor, with two 
deer 
son does not close until two weeks later 
(December 15), we hear of many deer 
being got on the snow. 
Late in the season a bunch of deer 
took refuge in what is known as Red 
Brook swamp, in the adjoining town of 
Baldwin. In this well-nigh inaccessible 
tangle they for a time eluded the twenty 
or more hunters that _ persistently 
hounded them, but at length four of 
them were knocked over and the rest 
fled the place. 
Hight. or ten hunting parties from 
Cornish have visited various sections. of 
the’ “Big Woods,” with but few excep- 
tions returning with from one to four 
deer. Of them, Daniel G. Chaplin, a 
veteran hunter, was easily “high 
line,” knocking over a buck in the Cold 
River Region, Oxford County, that 
dressed 246 Ibs. Dan had had to stand 
no end of roasting from the boys for 
missing a big buck last year, but he 
certainly got it back on them this time. 
All report grouse as scarce, in contrast 
to an abundance bagged last season. 
Rev. William W. Lait, of the Port- 
land district of the Maine Society of 
Methodists, is an ardent sportsman, 
finding an annual visit to the wilds the 
most potent relief from the mental 
strain attendant upon his calling. He 
is here shown with the splendid fruits 
of his latest trip to the north woods. 
W. H. Hatch, who has been guiding 
in the Moosehead Lake region for 25 
years, reports plenty of deer, but found 
them unusually wary and hard to get. 
One of the parties had the phenomenal 
