Salton Sea Ducks 
Tho Desolate and Unfrequented, the Country Holds 
the north; tune up your Over- 
land and let us be on our way 
to the Salton Sea after work. If this 
wind keeps up the ducks should be com- 
ing in fine,” said I to Dick, who was 
grinding in valves, face covered with 
- grease and tired. Although being tired 
and a long drive through a strong gale 
from Riverside, California, to the Sal- 
ton Sea are not in consistent conforma- 
tion with a day’s work, nevertheless 
the next day was Sunday, and with a 
morning’s shooting ahead nothing could 
discourage Dick and me, who are both 
lovers of wing Shooting. 
After a drive through 
a chilly, blustering 
wind, such as we get in 
Southern California in 
November, we arrived 
at the Salton Sea at 
midnight; guns, ammu- 
nition and lunch packed 
in Dick’s car, which af- 
forded us a sleeping 
quarter that _ night. 
However, we did not 
sleep much, being 
awakened occasionally 
by the yelping coyotes, 
and strong wind, which 
accentuated the desola- 
tion and weirdness of 
that stretch of land 
about the Salton Sea. 
We were quite obvious of all these con- 
ditions, however, with our minds in- 
tent on ducks. 
About four o’clock, just before day- 
break, we had completed our blind, con- 
structed of brittle brush, almost the 
only vegetation near that alkaline 
water. We set out our decoys and 
with anxiety awaited sunrise and the 
first incoming ducks. 
Amidst a discussion as to whether or 
not our decoys were situated far 
enough out, Dick motioned down. Com- 
ing in from the north were four blue 
bills making passenger train speed, 
swinging to the left and right. For a 
time it looked as if we would lose out 
on these, but it was gratifying finally 
to see them swinging into our de- 
coys. 
| OOK here, Dick, the wind is in 
WHISPERED to Dick to take a 
chance, and as our guns cracked, 
much to our amazement two ducks 
Good Possibilities for Sport 
By GERALD PHAROAH 
faltered on wing but hard hit, came 
down with a splash. This was, need- 
less to say, an encouragement and an 
inspiration for a starter. 
We retrieved these and were com- 
paring them in size to a red head, when 
a lone pintail quietly found his way 
into our decoys unnoticed for some 
time. At the instant we discovered 
him and were about to take aim, Dick 
motioned down, for sailing in from the 
northwest upshore, and headed straight 
over our heads were a bunch of what 
we first thought to be geese, but com- 
ing closer proved to be pintaiis. When 

Back from the marshes 
about 200 yards from us they sheered 
away from the blind and circled well 
out of range. With hearts fluttering 
and fingers trembling on triggers, we 
decided to wait to see if they might 
come in closer. 
Tee report of a gun perhaps a half 
mile up the shore startled them, 
and they were off on their way in less 
time than it takes to tell it, with our 
one decoyed pintail following. Dick 
raised and scored a clean miss the first 
shot, but the mighty ballistite brought 
him down with the second. 
While Dick was reloading his gun 
and boasting of his markmanship, we 
heard a roar of wings as at least fifty 
blue bills passed over our decoys. With 
four hurried shots from my old Stevens 
pump, we were rewarded with three 
nice blue bills. 
After jeering each other over hits 
and misses, we found ourselves crouch- 
ing low, as Dick assured me he saw a 
small flock coming our way in the dis- 
tance. These proved to be a canvas 
back leading three blue bills. 
T the word “Let them have it,” we 
raised to shoot. I missed my foot- 
ing in the mud, and while trying to re- 
gain it pushed Dick down, spoiling his 
shot, but scored a clean kill for myself 
after three hasty shots. Turning, I 
found Dick scrambling to his feet and 
muttering “How do you get that way!” 
and a few phrases that would not look 
well in print, hands and gun well cov- 
ered with mud, but with 
a smile that implied 
that it was all a part 
of the game. 
After Dick wiped his 
gun off as clean as pos- 
sible on the sleeve of 
his coat, we decided it 
was time to eat. Look- 
ing at our watches we 
found it to be only ten 
o’clock. I suggested 
waiting a while. “Wait, 
nothing!” exclaimed 
Dick. “I’m hungry and 
am going to eat, ducks 
or no ducks.” 
While Dick was un- 
wrapping the lunch, my 
attention being drawn 
to a ham sandwich, a 
butter-ball came in and_ alighted 
amongst the decoys. I motioned to 
Dick to keep down and raised, scoring 
a clean miss. After some laughter from 
Dick, ‘whescommented that butter-balls 
were too small a mark for me to hit, 
I assured him they wouldn’t be if he 
had kept the lunch in the back of his 
hunting coat, but that I found it impos- 
sible to keep one eye on the sandwich 
and one on the duck. Dick blustered 
out: “To miss is mystery,” and as I 
kept munching on, pouring coffee from 
the thermos bottle, Dick said: “For the 
love of Mike, get down! Here comes 
a nice bunch, must be all of a hun- 
dred.” 
TRAIGHT as an arrow they headed 
for our decoys. As luck was with 
us they swung in nice, easy range, leav- 
ing five of their followers to our trusty 
pumps. 
(Continued on page 241) 
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