A duck in the hand...

Press, 6 May 1980, Page 20

A duck in the hand...

ROBYN WARREN, of Christchurch, a regular contributor to our travel pages, took a ducking to bag a duck while on holiday in Australia ...

My recent experience of duck shooting in Australia was a far cry from the way the sport is pursued on Lake Ellesmere. I was on holiday with friends on a property at Lightning Ridge in western New South Wales, only about 50 miles from the proverbial “black stump.” It was January, boiling hot, and the wild ducks were gathering on the dams provided for stock-watering needs in

the early morning, seeking respite from the burning sun. I had watched their activities for a few days and figured I stood a good chance of bagging one. Dressed in standard shooting gear, shorts, T-shirt and riding boots, I set off at 7 a.m. to the dam nearest the homestead. That relentless ball of fire was already making its presence felt and I had worked up a good lather by the time I reached the water. Creeping stealthily up the side of the dam, I peered over the top — one duck. At that moment, my quarry took off from the pond and the silly bird flew straight towards me. He veered sharply away, back over the water, when I stood up to shoot with the single barrel gun, but my shot only winged him, dropping him back into the water. I broke the gun open; it used to have an automatic ejector. When I tested it yesterday, it had an automatic ejector, but not today. Not a suitable stick was in sight to force the spent shell out and meantime. young “Daffy” was paddling about in the middle of the tank, so near, yet so far. I swore at the gun, the flies, the duck: that didn’t solve anything so I shouted to Daffy “I’m coming to get you.” No need to look about for spectators way out there so I stripped down to my birthday suit and waded in to the water the colour of which resembled an average cup of tea (with milk). That duck gave me some puzzled looks as I slowly swam towards him, then it became too much and he dived. I trod water and turned in a circle, waiting for him to come up. What a sight we must have made — the duck would surface, . I would take off in the general direction. Then he would disappear again while I

milled about and awaited his emergence. I steadily . closed the gap and not be- ■ fore time —so much swimming around was strictly for the birds. Something brushed my arm and I, lunged out. hoping it was the duck and not a water snake. I grabbed him by the rudder and struggled to shore to deliver the coup-de-grace before 'collapsing in a heap, slap bang in the middle of a mass of priekly burr. The only compensation was that he did at least taste pretty good.