It is essential to bear in mind the fact that the geese have come with the intention (unless prematurely alarmed) of alighting. Hence, as they often circle two or three times around before finally deciding, a judicious refusal of all uncertain chances has a concrete reward when, a few seconds later, the pack sweep overhead at half gunshot. The first element of success lies in concealment; the second in ever allowing the geese to come in to such close quarters as renders the shot a certainty.
Greylag geese are, of course, huge birds, very strong, and impenetrable as ironclads. But to tyros (and many others) in the early light they are apt to appear much larger, and consequently much nearer, than is actually the case. All this has, the night before, been impressed upon our friend, the tyro, in solemn, even tragic tones. The urgency of the thing seems to have been graven deep on the very tissues of his brain, and he promises with earnest humility to bear the lesson in mind when the vital moment shall arrive; to deny himself all but point-blank shots well within thirty yards, whereby he will not only himself assist to swell the score, but enable his companion to do likewise.
Words fail to describe that companion’s frame of mind at the dawn, when, despite over-night exhortations and assurances, he sees to his horror pack after pack of incoming geese (some of which he has himself let pass within forty yards) “blazed at” at mad and reckless ranges by that wretched scarecrow who never ruffles a feather and afterwards tries to excuse his failure by enlarging on “the extreme height the geese came in at!”
These goose-hills, it may here appropriately be stated, lie midway between our two shooting-lodges and distant between two and three hours’ ride from either. Thus every morning’s goose-shooting presupposes some fairly arduous work. It means being in the saddle by 4 A.M. with its resultant discomforts and a long scrambling ride in the dark. Hence the disgust is proportionate when all that work is thrown away in such insane style. Never again for any tyro on earth, though he be our clearest friend, never will the authors turn out at 3 A.M., abusing with clattering hoof the silence and repose of midnight watch and the hours designed for rest—never again, unless alone or with a known and reliable companion.
A word now as to the “decoys.” These, in design, are American—first observed and brought across from Chicago—cut out of block-tin, formed and painted to resemble a grey-goose. Geese being gregarious by nature are peculiarly susceptible to the attractions of decoys. Hence these tin geese have a marvellous effect when silhouetted on the skyline of a sand-ridge, being conspicuous for enormous distances and the only “living” objects on miles of desert. They are most deadly before sunrise, after which they are apt to glint too much despite a coating of dried mud. As daylight broadens, incoming geese are apt to be disconcerted at losing sight of their supposed friends, which event must occur as each decoy falls end-on—one can interpret the hurried queries and expletives of the puzzled phalanx at that mysterious disappearance! For these reasons it is desirable as soon as possible to supplement the decoys with, and finally to substitute for them, the real article, that is, the newly shot geese, set up in life-like attitudes by aid of twigs brought for the purpose. Fallen birds must, in any case, be set up as fast as gathered; if left spread-eagled as they fell, inevitably the next comers are scared. The more numerous and life-like the decoys, the more certain are the geese to come in with confidence and security.
Naturally great care must be used in getting into and out of one’s hide to avoid breaking down its loose and crumbling substance. But it is of first importance quickly to gather and prop up the dead. A winged goose walking away should be stopped with a charge of No. 6 in the head.
As illustrating the life-like effect produced by our tin decoys, on one occasion a friend, after firing both barrels, was watching a wounded goose, when a strange sound behind attracted his attention. On looking round, a fox was seen to have sprung upon one of the tin geese! That a fox, with his keen intuition and knowledge of things, should have considered it worth his while to stalk wild-geese (even of flesh and blood) on that naked expanse seems incredible. The fact remains that he did it!
Strange indeed are the sensations evoked by that silent watch before day-dawn, in expectation of what truly appears incredible! Buried virtually in a desert of sand the fowler has nothing in sight beyond the dark dunes and a star-spangled sky overhead. For his hide is cunningly hidden in a slight depression with a hanging buttress on two sides.
Several hundred yards away, concealed under stunted pines, stand our horses, while the men cower round a small fire, for we have had a biting cold two-hours’ ride, and freezing to boot. Half-a-mile away on the other side—the east—begins the marisma, though hidden from view by the waves of rolling sand that intervene.