When the Birds Fly High

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23339, 6 May 1939, Page 14 (Supplement)

When the Birds Fly High

WHEN autumn's chill is in the air the sportsman's trigger finger begins to itch and his mind wanders to scenes in the great-out-of-doors. His fowling piece, mute companion of many a happy day, becomes his constant care. As he practises imaginary £hots to test the steadiness of his hand a thousand memories flit across the field of his imagination augmenting the joys of anticipation.

If he is a pursuer of the wily wild duck, he dreams of the dull, swampy waters of Lake Waikare heaving restlessly in the dawn, the willow-fringed banks of the Waikato and its tributaries, and of the vagaries of an unstable Maori canoe as he pushes his way up some secret stream, expectation high at every bend. Over his evening pipe he visualises the' camp beneath a stark willow with the waters of the lake lapping close by, the rough-and-ready meal cooked by unaccustomed hands over the open fire, the pungent smell of the tea-tree smoke in the twilight, and the harsh touch of blankets as he and his mate discuss the shooting over a good-night cigarette. : Out at Dawn If he is more luxuriously inclined he anticipates the crowded quarters of the Rangiriri hotel, the hearty greetings of old friends, the high-spirited conviviality in the smoke room, the sudden

summons from deep sleep before dawn s left hand is in the sky, and the chilly, half-unreal journey in the ghost-like, f°ggy darkness up the narrow stream that flows from .the lake to the broad [Waikato. Again he feels the thrill of expectancy. as, crouched in his damp and arrow ''loo" in the pitch darkness that precedes the coming of day. he listens to the life in the reeds about him —the peculiar sucking noise of the teal as they fussily feed in the raupo, the deen boom of a bittern from afar, the defiant dawn note of the weka, and the fugitive quack of a restless duck. Then comes the imperceptible filtering of the light through the dripping fog, and his decoys, laid out so carefully the dav before, drift into his view. On the Wing' Suddenly is heard a sharp whistle of wings and a splash as a mob of ducks drops near his decoys. But they are wary and nervous, and rise quickly from the water, quacking in alarm. His trusty double-harrel speaks twice, and three dark forms drop to the As the ducks sweep round the shores

of the lake gun answers gun until the birds seek the far sanctuary > of Lake Rahgiriri. Then comes the patient waiting as the fog reluctantly disperses, the quick shot as a pair of ducks, fleeing from hunters in a near by arm

By KIA KAHA

of the lake, whizz by, to be stopped in full flight. .Anon come two black swan with necks the white under their wings flashing? in the light as they slowly and rhythmically beat the air. Though fair game, our shooter lets them pass, as lie cannot bring himself to kill these beautiful birds, but the man in the next "loo" has no such thoughts. A sudden report, and one of the swans drops to the water. So, when full light of day comes, our sportsman wades ashore and loafs the hours away, or explores a secret lagoon which in the imagination of the Maoris is peopled with thousands of duck. Actually, it is found to contain two shags. Later, the lengthening shadows take him again to' his damp "loo" to await the evening flight. After Pheasants If he is a pheasant shooter he think 3 of wide fields with patches of fern and tea-tree between the cultivated lands, of bracken-covered hillsides backed by the standing bush, of swamps with their flax and cabbage trees. Perhaps pictures come to his mind of yellow rustling maize stalks and the dark green of the turnip fields. Then there is ,a glimpse of the blue Bay of Plenty caught at the end of a long valley. His faithful old 'setter. Bang, has thrown off the lethargy of summer and greets his master with an eager and expectant gaze. Well he knows the call of the wild that comes with the falling leaves.

In the shooter's mind- there constantly recurs the sight of the old farmhouse among its sheltering trees, the hearty welcome of the farmer by the open door, and the quiet greeting of his wife as she leaves for a moment her multifarious duties in the great warm kitchen. The children put their moist little hands into his with shy smiles and downcast looks.

Then in the morning, just as the sun peeps over the pink hills, there is the walk acro'ss the liome paddock through the sharp air with the frost crackling underfoot. Bang races to and fro in desperate eagerness tp catch a scent. Through the wire fence he moves into the maize patch. On the edge of the maize Banc stands rigid and immovable. Then, crawling on his stomach, the dog slips noiselessly between the dry stems while his master follows close. Tense Moment "With startling suddenness, a cock pheasant, gleaming in scarlet and gold, bursts into the air and darts toward the safety of the hills. Then comes the tense moment when the sights swing into line just ahead of the flying game, a press of the trigger, a sudden jolt to the shoulder, and the caught in full flight, falls to the ground. A word to Bang, and off he scampers, to return with the prize in his mouth, his tail wagging his pleasure and a gleam of laughter in his eyes. The hunt continues through a patch of blackberries. Bang, his veneer of training overcome by the sight of a bobbing tail, chases a rabbit and is severely reprimanded by his master. They cross the turnip field where the hard round vegetables turn underfoot and ben pheasants flutter unharmed into the air, much to the disgust of Bang. Hunter and dog flounder through the stickiness of the swamp and resting astride an ancient log the shooter drops a cock pheasant by a neat shot as the bird sailed over the swamp, high overhead.

Soon the full day closes with the walk homeward in the pink afterglow. The calm, crisp air, the smoke or the chimney rising incense-like to the sky, gives promise of another perfect day to come.