
Veering with the wind—a good chance for gun or camera. 
Shooting Ducks With a Movie Camera 
If You Make a Good ‘‘Bag’”’ You 
May Enjoy the Sport Later On 
WINTRY sun was beginning to 
fight his way through the thick 
cloud of mist which enveloped 
the marshes as, pajama-clad, we stood 
in front of the blazing fire of maple 
wood, sipped our early morning tea 
and lemon, and looked out upon what 
was visible of land, sky and water 
through the broad, high windows of 
the shooting cottage. 
“It’s going to be a fine day, and not 
much wind,’ muttered Jackson pessi- 
mistically, with a glance at the corner 
whence the black barrels of the guns 
dully reflected the fire-light. 
Roy Tash, the cameraman, and I 
thought the weather probabilities 
rather a matter for congratulation 
than otherwise, but we prudently re- 
frained from voicing any note of jubi- 
lation that might offend our hospitable 
host. We had been waiting patiently 
several days for an opportunity to do 
a litttle “shooting” on our own account 
on the famous Lake Erie marshes, and 
now the weather man seemed about to 
710 
By H. M. BLAKE 
accord a tardy recognition to our fond 
hopes and aspirations. 
We had been two days on “location,” 
and so far had had no luck. We had 
learned how quickly a smiling sky can 
turn to a scowling one in November, 
and what it means to sit all day long 
in a ten-foot punt with our feet up to 
the ankles in wet straw, our beauti- 
ful Bell and Howell locked up while 
the rain blew dismally about us. 
As we passed out to breakfast a long 
line of ducks, undulating like a bat- 
talion of recruits on their first march- 
past, streaked by high overhead. 
“Canvasbacks,” snapped Jackson. 
“And heading in to the marshes 
from the bay,” I volunteered with ama- 
teur alacrity. “We’re in luck.” 
“TN luck, nothing,” said Jackson with 
a gesture of disgust. “They’re go- 
ing out to the lake. We’ll not see that 
bunch again to-day. There must be 
five thousand of them, too.” 
It is always the unobtainable that 
es he 
attracts. There would be plenty of 
black ducks, pin-tails, widgeon and teal 
in the marshes, but, unless it blew 
hard, the canvasbacks would keep to 
the more open waters, only coming in 
at night to feed. 
HEN we returned from break- 
fast, the punters had already 
fastened the tripod in our boat, and 
Tash was soon ready getting the cam 
era threaded-up for the day’s work. 
The punters, who were to be respon- 
sible for piloting us through some 50,- 
000 acres of marsh, possessed typical 
characteristics. I remember having 
read somewhere—in a book written 
during the war—that the features of 
airplane pilots in time became sharp- 
ened into a sort of bird-like aspect, so 
that the term “bird-men” came to have 
an added significance. It would be un- 
warrantable assumption to compare 
any of our punters to the game which 
they assisted the shooters to secure, 
but they were certainly marked with 

