The Worcester spy. [volume] (Worcester, Mass.) 1898-1904, 1898-11-06
DUCKS.
This is Their
Season.
is NOW ON.
Shooting That Sport of the
Very Best Kind.

A crowd of sportsmen were telling
stories about deer hunting at the club
the other night, the meantime blowing
smoke rings into the air and gazing
languidly at them, when a prominent
member walked in.
Il say, Tom" remarked a Maine en-
thusiast, why don't you join our par
ty and get some real hunting this fall?"
The new conner dropped into COM
Portable chair and leisurely lighted
cigar. Then he turned and addressed
the questioner.
You mean so into Maine?" he quer-
led, a bit sarcastically. why" he con
tinued, Il wouldn't give my two weeks
duck shooting in New Hampshire for
a whole season of the kind of hard
ship you imagine is pleasure. You can
have your lean-to and your camp fire,
and sleep cold on a bed Of 6oughs.
You can thrash around through the
woods after a guide and have him show
you what to shoot; but give me a
warm, dry bed in a comfortable farm
house. Give me three good meals a
day and quiet smoke and chat be-
side the blazing fireplace with the far
mer's family in the evening, Give me
eXhilarating, exciting sport that calls
into play all that's best in man. In
a word, give me two weeks good duck
shooting, and I come back satisfied,
ready TO wait until another year with
out grumbling.
Il spend the day quietly up there,
perhaps hunt birds, rabbits or foxes;
but the ending of the day is what I
look forward to. AS the Sun gets low
| go with the farmers son, to a lake
that nestles among the mountains We
unhitch our boat and row leisurely to-
ward the point where the river emp
ties in. Hardly a ripple breaks the
placid water, which mirrors the dark
wood on the shore beyond, and the blue
sky above. The suns slanting rays
makes the foliage golden green, the
tree trunks vibrate with color. All!
1t is the time to be out.
ION reaching the river, we make our
way slowly UP short distance, put
out the decoys and Push the boat inside
the blind Sere, brown bushes spread
away in every direction, amid which
wild celery grows in great quantities
The sun is a ball of fire on the western
horizon. The little pools of water dot
ting feeding grounds here and there.
ly heron flies lazily by casting a sus-
picious eye at the decoys. There is a
low whistling in the reeds close at
hand. The dry seed-pods on the bushes
rattle family in the COOL crisp evening
breeze. Pickerel are breaking among
the lily pads, sending little circles of
water rushing toward the shore. A
muskrat sticks his nose up close to the
boat and sinks with a splash But we
wait quietly buttoning our hunting
Jackets close to the throat as the air
becomes more chill The sun drops out
of sight beyond the distant mountains
with a parting beam.
1--WE scan the horizon eagerly. Pres
emily dark spot fiecks the clear sky
at the southwest. BY Jove, The sight
brings us to our feet with a thrill Of
expectation. On comes the speck like
the wind, straight for us. growing larg-
er every moment until it evolves itself
into a flock Of ducks. The evening
fight has begun. They come down on
the wind to our left, swing and a mo-
ment later are lowering a few feet
above the decoys Our guns flash twice
simultaneously. Heavy splashes in the
water are followed by a conyulslve flut-
tering. There is hardly time to load
before there is a swishing of air over
head, and a second fock passes us be-
fore we have time to shoot. The birds
are suspicious and take a big circle,
but we finally get in a shot at long
range The air is full of ducks almost
before we know it; shooting pest us like
rockets, darling here and there, hover
ing over the decoys. We load and fire
with nervous haste. Time passes
quickly By Jove, it is sport! Sudden
ly 1t is dark. We try to see the sights
on the guns, but cannot
1.-THE air is full of dark, indistinct
forms rushing here and there. The
sound of wings is like the wind sigh
ing through the forest Presently all
is still From distant parts of the
marsh occasionally a hoarse quacking
and a great splashing and luttering
come to our ears. The sport is over.
We gather up the birds as thew lie on
the silvery water and row down the
river.
Presently the boat CRATES upon the
shore. short walk along the dark
road brings us in sight of the farm
house, with its warm, welcome light
cleaning forth into the night. AS we
push open the door, the smell of good
things smoking on the table makes the
appetite raVenous. Glad shouts of well
come greet US. Ali"
The speaker bent forward for a mo-
ment His cigar had gone out.
"Humph. muttered a deer hunter,
but several fellows near at hand want
ed to know more about duck shooting.
The duck shooting season is at hand,
and many local enthusiasts are look
ing forward with keen anticipation to
their annual trip. A note from "Cap'n"
John" down on the Cape, or Uncle
Toby up in New Hampshire, contain
ms the simple words, The ducks are
here" will send them off post haste,
and later they will come back bringing
ducks, and pleasant memories. A few
hunters have already tried their luck,
but the sport is just beginning. and for
three weeks now the flight will be at
its height.
Duck shooting in New Hampshire is,
generally speaking. for the few, as the
hunters who know where the birds
come guard their secrets with great
care. but on the Cape there are ducks
and places enough for the sportsmen of
the country, and they flock there in
great numbers each fall.
Marsh shooting is much like the inland
sport to be found in the northern and
western lakes. Sea shooting lacks
little il. excitement, but it is royal sport
ana a lover of it feels that no other
cunning equals it.
The hunters hereahouts frequently
bag a duck, for they sometimes stop in
good numbers at the north and south
ends Of the lake. One may, possibly,
find a few most any day now in the
outlying ponds.
SPANS GREATEST NEED.
Mr.. R. p OLIVIA, of Barcelona, Spain,
spends his winters at Aiken, S. c, Weak
nerves had caused severe pains in the
back of his head. On using Electric Bit
ters, Americas greatest Blood and Nerve