SPORT IN CANTERBURY.

Otago Witness, Issue 1949, 2 July 1891, Page 29

SPORT IN CANTERBURY.

DUCK SHOOTING AT LAKE BLLBSMBRE. How westlln' winds and slaughtering guns BriDg autumn's pleasant weather ; The moorcook spring* on whirring wings Among the blooming heather. • .. —Burns. But, alas ! we have no "blooming heather" and no moorcock here; so Burns' lines do not wholly apply. Bub we have " autumn's pleasant weather," and we have ducks and swans and lakes and lagoons, and these are perhaps better. At any rate I prefer them. I have never yet missed the opening of the duck shooting season since I came to the colony, now well on to 13 years. As a rule I have gone to Lake Ellesmere. Once or twice I have tried other places—the Serpentine,- for instance ; but, on the whole, the former is better.. The company, no doubt, has much to do with it, and my Canterbury comrades are genial and keen sportsmen ; so this year found me with them as usual. It is a little late to reoOrd-our experiences, but let that pass. For once the Government and the acclimatisation societies knew their own minds and stuck to their resolutions. The opening of the season was fixed for the Ist April, but it is needful to be on the spot at least the day before. (Some are there two or three days before so as to get familiar with the fly of the birds.) So we start accordingly. The first detachment of our company consists of a dray, containing the camp and commissariat. It looks a formidable affair ; but then our party is large, and we are calculating four days under canvas. With the dray go the boys ; we call them the " boys." But, with one exception, they. ! are three tall strapping fellows, a down-like I prophecy of a beard on their cheeks, straight as [ columns, and shouldered and limbed like a I Hercules. They are capital types of the young manhood of the colony. The fourth is a lad, who goes this year for the first time, to win his purs among the ducks. We — the father and myself — follow later on in the trap. It is alO miles drive, or more, but how enjoyable ! A city man, my heart is in the country. It is a new birth to breathe the brisk autumn air, to let the eye rest on green fields and brown uplands, with their garnered wealth of golden grain. We talk together of many things— of the crops and the seasons, and the prospects and the changes, and, like the bairns in Heine's exquisite song,

Bemoaned us how things were a' better In times when oursels were young men.

And so the time slips by, and 12 o'clock finds us within sight of our camping ground. The place we have chosen is the margin of the lake, lying between the mouths of the Selwyn and the Halswell rivers. All around there are thousands of acres of lagoons, which form breeding and feeding grounds for the ducks, swans, pukaki, &c. As we drive up we see, on our right, a number of wooden structures, like exaggerated bathing boxes. These are the summer quarters of the disciples of Isaac Walton. They come up here during the fishing season to pursue the " gentle art " in the Selwyn. The trout here are very large, and take strong and expert hands to land them. The Canterbury Society appears to have gone one better than Ofcago. lam told they have got 25 acres of a reserve here for the use of members. My friend, who is an enthusiastic fisherman aa well, carries " two strings to his bow." He has brought his rod with him, and as this is the last day of the fishing season, intends to try the trout till the shooting hour has arrived. And now we have come up with our advanced guard — the dray — we choose our camping ground, unyoke the horses, and set about pitching tent. This done, we start on an exploring expedition in order to select our positions for the morning. Though we are here early we are by no means the first. There are nearly a dozen before us, and others are following on. So we mast hurry up, or the best places will all be monopolised. The plan of shooting is to wait in the lagoons in the early morning. The ducks came in from their feed in the country and gather in the pools to gabble and frolic together. Here at first is the. best shooting, but when daylight is fully abroad they betake themselves out to the open lake. The lake is not very deep, and the point is to wade out as far as possible into it and surround yourself with rushes or manuka. The water is quite bare of any sort of cover, so 'you mußt take it with you. The concealments must be constructed the night before, in order to be ready for the morning. To this we give ourselves now. Off we each go with our bundles of manuka on our backs. ~ We have brought this year, the half of a huge barrel, into which two of us propose to go. I, having wading trousers on, and being thus able to negotiate the deeper water, set out with this. It is a problem to push it before me. It is very heavy, and nearly full of manuka. By-and-bye, as the water deepens, it floats easier. lam plodding dreamily along, lulled by the lapping water, watching betimes the swans and ducks and wondering if they will be as tame this time to-morrow, when, by Jingo ! down I go, waist deep, into a spring hole. This breaks up my reverie and warns me to be more careful of my course. After wading out for half a mile or so I resolve to anchor my tub. But that's a problem. I have sticks to drive in to hold it down, but they are not long enough and the mud is too soft. I 8m nonplussed. Eventually I have to fill it with water. Then it goes to the bottom. I drive in my stakes, surround the tub with the manuka, and am ready for the morning. My mates have finished also, so we make our way back to the camp, boil the billy, and discuss, around the camp fire, the prcspeots of to-morrow. Then we become retrospective — talk of other years, of how the shooting went then, and who were here, and where they are now, and what experience has taught us of this and. other places of success in our schemes of duck shooting. Now and again a cheery " hullo " is eung out as some new comer is recognised driving past to seleot his camping ground, and so the slow hours slip till dusk deepens and night comes down. No one is supposed to shoot till 12 a.m. on the Ist of April. Hitherto it has been a law more honoured in the breach than the observance. "Lewd fellows of the baser sort," oannot restrain themselves. I confess before now to have been of this band. When others are shooting all round you, and you see their success, and know that they are spoiling all the sport for the morning, it is difficult to resist. I have yielded, I- confess, but this time we have all resolved to be virtuous and ' keep the "law. Swans, however, are not protected, and may be shot any time. It is a foolish arrangement that, for it is so easy to mistake a duck in the dusk for a swan— especially

if you want to. So I take my gun and sally away out, if perchance I may drop a swan. Bang, bang, I hear the guns go, and round about me lots of ducks. It is a sore temptation, but I triumph. After wandering around for a while I resolve to get back to_ camp, turn in, and make an' early move in the morning. About 12 o'clock a fellow from one of the adjoining camps looks in to tell us that his mates had been caught shooting. This was news. How beautiful our virtue appeared now ! It would not have been half so nice had nobody been arrested for breaking the law. Our good behaviour might have seemed foolish but for this. And especially as we read it in the light of the fines which were afterwards inflicted — some £10, and costs-— it waa altogether lovely to be good.

After the narration of this episode there was not much sleeping done. Indeed in any case sleep is little thought of. The novelty of your bed, the barking of dogs, the singing ot newcomers, who keep arriving all through the night, the anticipation of the morning, all these are not conducive to plumber; so we are all glad when the time arrives to turn out. This is, if your camp is not far from your position, shortly before daybreak. The first nip of the night atmosphere as you put your nose out of the tent is nob inspiring. " The air bites shrewdly." But you soon cease to feel it in the expectation of what is to come. The first morning is not so bad, because yonr boots and clothes are all dry ; but on the second, when these are wet, and half-frozen perhaps, the warm blankets seem specially comfortable. We find our way to our several stations. It is sometimes a difficult matter this, for the water and the rushes are all so much alike in the darkness that you very readily mistake the road to the place you have marked. You come across lots of shooters on the same mission as yourself. All over the ground you see the glimmer of tent lights, which, on being constantly added to, gathers, till at last the placa looks like the camping ground of an army. If you are early at your stand you will have time for thought and meditation. It is perhaps a curious place for such, but you can do nothing else, and there is abundance of material. If you stand still for a little the whole place seems alive. Every now and again there is a rustle in the rushes. There is a tinkle of feet on the short cri«p grass, crumped with frost : a water rat plumps into the river close by you. A big eel gives a sort of "Blithery- go-easy" roll in the shallower water of the lagoon. The harsh call of the pukaki is answered by a hundred mates. Occasionally a stray bittern " sounds bis drum, booming from his sedgy shallow." Further off there is the unanimous " Quack ! Quack ! " of ducks, telling the morning "to hurry up." That falls in with your own desire ; you look to the east to see if there be any signs of day breaking. You are conscious that it is nob far away. The chill that foreruns the morn is felt,

And sucked from oub the distant gloom A breeze began to tremble o'er— the lagoons, and curls the water, and rocks the raupo, and sends a low passionate shiver through the sedges, and whispers to the expectant — " The dawn ! the dawn." You hear the twitter of an early lark, and the " Tweet ! Tweet," of a less notable bird. Suddenly, far away on the margin, a red flash gashes the ' gloom, and then another, and another. You are all 'ears and eyes now, for you know the moment is at hand. Soon you hear the " Swiss— s ! Swiss— B" so dear to the duckshooters' heart; and high overhead a " mob " sails by in all the loneliness of wings. But it is too dark yet to work, '-Swiss! Swish," and a brace goes past me, low and near, but rapid as greased lightning. It is getting clearer. I hear wings again, then a speck grows out of the grey dusk, and I burn my first fire. My aim was much faith as sight, but to my surprise I hear the thud that tells me I have dropped him dead. My dog fetches him up, but bother ! it is only a pukaki. lam disgusted ; but it is something to draw blood, and kill your first bird. And now the fun grows apace, a rattle and rumble of guns spread all around. The first movement of birds consists of those scattered in small batches among the lagoons; but when dawn has declared itself the flocks from the country feeding grounds come thickly in. These supply the best shooting, and now here they are, and bang, bang, go hundreds of guns. For the first half -hour or so the shooting is easy. The birds come in pretty low, but as they begin to get scared they keep higher altitudes. There is always a crowd of new-chum shooters, and you can tell these by their wild firing. They will let drive at flocks half a mile high. They have no notion of distance. If a bird is visible 1 that is enough for them. It is very annoying this, but we are tolerant of them for the fun they cause. I saw one of them once creep cautiously ronnd a lagoon where I had four decoys and let drive at them, and when they sat skill he thought he had secured a grand haul, till I sang out to him and broke the spell of his delight. As this morning went by it was one of these new-chum shooters we heard calling oufc to his mates : "jßan Bill ! run Bill ! I have got two down ! Man, isn't that fine ! Run !" And then some irreverent wag answered the enthusiastic numbskull— ".Hi, there ! Somebody run and hold that fellow's hair on." -Thus, ready wit is not wanting either. I bad ehofc at a bird. It was hatd hit, and was gradually rooming down. It turned up the river. It; had to run, or rather fly the gauntlet of a line of shooters there. It is wonderful how sometimes a bird manages to get through. One after another let drive at this one, but it still kept on its course. However, its was so near the last man's gun that a fellow/satirically yelled at him as he was shooting :"Ah ! ah ! Pub your hand on it ! " These little episodes help to enliven the proceedings. About an hour exhausts the duck shooting in the lagoons. Stray singles and pairs keep coming and going all morning. As ('ay comes on and the ducks grow scarce, the guns are turned on the pukakis. Those who do nob care for this make their way out into the lake, plant their decoys, and wait. There is usually very good shooting here. The manuka coverings can be counted in scores all round the edges of the lake. I am trying this year tin decoys. I find they are no good, unless along with wooden ones, or the dead birds used for the purpose., It is a little amusing sometimes to watch the manoeuvres of the live birds around the shams. Sometimes they will come and settle down, look at them, watch them bowing stiffly, and yet, as they make no sign of living welcome, wondered what in the world sort of aristocratic kindred they have got here. Now and again swans go lazily by, and if you can induce a pair of them to stop with you, they make the best decoys. My big tub is not a success. It has to be half full of water to keep it steady, and I haye to stand in this water. Fortunately the morning is not oold, and the time passes pleasantly enough. About 10 a.m. then comes a lull in the shooting, and we go back to camp to see about breakfast. What a rare appetite you have gotl 'The spoils of the morning are compared, and the experiences recounted. We lie in the sunshine— for it is a glorious day — and wish a sou-wester would come up. This drives the ducks in from the open lake. But there is no sign of ifc, so we have to do the best we can without it. During the day there is not much duck shooting, but

the pukakis get attention. There are thousands of them here, and they are punished terribly. When evening comes we make ready for the ducks again. We take our places in the lagoons to catch them as they leave the lake for the country. How beautiful is the autumn evening on these wide lagoons. And sunsets: never even in southern Europe, where the day dies gorgeously, have I seen any to surpass those I have looked at here. ** Bathe, oh disciple, thy thirsty soul in the dew of the dawn," says Faust to us; and it is glorious to gaze upon That dear ihlning of the eattern air, When Helloi riling shake* the splendour of hit hair. But to see him set here sometimes, and this evening in particular, becomes an imperishable memory. "'Tib the low sob makes the colour." Surely it is. Earth and sky become one scene of shifting splendours. The king of day lingers lovingly about his white throne on the Southern Alps, and from there he burns his brilliant fires in the heavens above and along the level world below. Red, crimson, amber, saffron, gold, sulphur, orange, ruby, ochre, aquamarine, amaranth, and others — singly and in combination — for whioh there are really no names and not even thoughts in the mind. By and bye, as he sinks behind the snowy domes, the splendours lose their piquant brilliancy, and become softer and soberer in tone. There are fewer varieties of colour, but what remains look as if they ■were thinned out, thrice sifted, and etherealised till we feel that words are too clumsy to catch their beauty. We are hushed ; we are awed. The very soul in us seems drawn out and away into the refining glory until till we have to touch ourselves to see if we are in the body or oat of it. And yet the very movement makes us shrink, like wine to lips upon which the life is fluttering. We fancy that yon splendour, Overtated with beauty and silence .will leem Bat a babble that broke in a dream ; If a bound of degree to this grace be laid, Or a wund or a motion made. Nor is there. Nature hushes herself. She kneels and listens. How soft and smooth the fading light is making everything. The sky seems to uplift the earth, and steep it in its own languorous charm. The heavy mountains lose all their grossness, and float at last like puffs of smoke upon the far horizon. And still the light is changing. The outwearied sun has gone down, and is dying behind the Alps. As I look and listen a lark goes a little way up, then tarns, " shakeß his song together," and drops to the earth, and into the dream of paling crimson and sifted pink that flush their benison above the dying day a line of swans, with their Jazy, r easy motion, wing their westward way. It irresistibly suggests Juan's song in the " Spanish Gipsy " : ! Day U dying! Float, oh, long, ! Down the westward river, j Bequtem chanting to the day. Day, the mighty giver. i Pierced by shafts of time he bleeds, Melted rubles tending * Through the river and the sky, Barth and heaven bending. All the long-drawn earthy banks, | Up to elondland lifting:, I Slow between them drifts the swan 'Twixt two heavens drifting. Day fs dying I float, oh, swan, Down the ruby river Follow tong, in requiem To the Mighty Giver t Bat I forget. I am here to shoot, and was I writing about that, and how could one kill after all this, gentle reader ? I don't know, but it was done, and done to some effect ,too, for at the end of three days we returned with a score of ducks or thereabouts, a dozen of hares and pukakis uncounted, not to mention an exhilaration of health and spirits won from the free fresh touch of Natnre's life, worth all the doctor! and all the medicine in the world.