VAST as their aggregations may be, yet wildfowl do not necessarily—merely by virtue of numbers—afford any sort of certainty to the modern fowler. Half-a-million may be in view day by day, but in situations or under conditions where scarce half-a-score can be killed. This elementary feature is never appreciated by the uninitiated, nor probably ever will be since Hawker’s terse and trenchant prologue failed to fix it.[19]
What “the Colonel” wrote a century ago stands equally good to-day; and mutatis mutandis will probably stand good a century hence.
Long before the authors had appeared on the scene with breech-loaders—even before the epoch of Hawker with his copper-caps and detonators—the Spanish fowlers of the marisma had already devised means of their own whereby the swarming wildfowl could be secured by wholesale. As a market venture, their system of a stalking-horse (called a cabresto) was deadly in the extreme and interesting to boot, affording unique opportunity of closely approaching massed wildfowl while still unconscious of danger. We have spent delightful days crouching behind these shaggy ponies, and describe the method later. But this is not a style that at all subserves the aspirations of the modern gunner, and we here study the problem from his point of view.
The essence of success lies in ascertaining precisely the exact areas where fowl in quantity are “strongly haunted,” by day and night, together with their regular lines of flight thence and thereto. Obviously such exact knowledge in these vast marismas, devoid of landmarks, demands careful observation, and it must be remembered that these things change with every change of weather and water. Having located such well-frequented resorts or flight-lines, the degree of success will yet depend on the strength of the “haunt.” It may happen (despite all care) that the partiality of the fowl for that special spot or route is merely superficial and evanescent. A dozen shots and they have cleared out, or altered their course. In the reverse case, so strong may be their “haunt” that no amount of disturbance entirely drives them away, and even those that have already been scared by the sound of shooting will yet return again and again.
By night ducks feed in the slobby shallows and oozes, but concealed by the samphire-growth which flourishes in such places. Hence the use of the stancheon-gun is not here available as in the case of bare, plant-free, tidal flats at home and elsewhere.
In the dusk the ducks have arrived at these feeding-grounds in quite small trips or bunches. But as the stars pale towards the dawn, they depart in larger detachments, often numbering hundreds in a pack. Still, such are their enormous numbers that, even so, their shifting armies form an almost continuous stream in the direction whither they take their course. But where is that? That is the problem on the solution of which the fowler’s success depends. We will presume that you have so solved it. In that case, you will have witnessed, between an hour before sun-up and half-an-hour thereafter, as marvellous a procession as the scheme of bird-life can afford.
Let us follow the fowl throughout that matutinal flight. Away through leagues of empty space they hold their course, now high in air where vistas of brown samphire loom like land and might conceal a lurking foe, anon lowering their flight where sporadic sheets or lanes of open water break the tawny monotony. Beyond all this, stretching away in open waters like an inland sea, lies a big lucio. That is their goal. One by one, or in dozens and scores, the infinite detachments re-unite to splash down upon that glassy surface. Within brief minutes the whole expanse is darkened as with a carpet.
Upon this lucio the assembled ducks command a view for miles around. Hardly could a water-rat approach unseen. If the fowl persisted in passing the entire day thereon, no human power would avail to molest them—they could bid defiance to fowlers of every race and breed. Two circumstances, however, favour their human foes. The first is the perpetual disturbance created among those floating hosts by birds-of-prey. These—chiefly marsh-harriers, but including also the great black-backed gulls—execute perpetual “feints” at the swimming ducks, sections of which (often thousands strong) are compelled to rise on wing by the menacing danger. The dominant idea actuating the raptores (since they are unable to attack the main bodies) is to ascertain if one or more wounded ducks remain afloat after their sound companions have cleared—the cripples, of course, affording an easy prey. The disturbed fowl will not fly far, perhaps half-a-mile, unless indeed they happen during that flight to catch sight of an attractive fleet of “decoys” moored in some quiet creek a mile or so away.