. Feathered game of the Northeast . eir livesis transacted by the light of the moon, and dur-ing the day (when out of season) they taketheir rest from their midnight wanderings,basking in the sun in the openings among thebirches of the side-hills, ^lazying around inthe brushy ledges until their healthy appetitesagain demand attention. About sundown theybrighten up and begin their hunt for food, fly-ing out into the open glades to push their longnoses into the moist soil of the brook banks. InRussia the sportsman takes advantage of thishabit and about sunset places himself in theedge of the woo
. Feathered game of the Northeast . eir livesis transacted by the light of the moon, and dur-ing the day (when out of season) they taketheir rest from their midnight wanderings,basking in the sun in the openings among thebirches of the side-hills, ^lazying around inthe brushy ledges until their healthy appetitesagain demand attention. About sundown theybrighten up and begin their hunt for food, fly-ing out into the open glades to push their longnoses into the moist soil of the brook banks. InRussia the sportsman takes advantage of thishabit and about sunset places himself in theedge of the woods bordering some likely feed-ing ground, and facing the western light, shootsthem as they fly out to feed. This is called stand shooting, a method, I think, almost un-tried in America. My nearest approach to ithappened one evening when with dog and gunI started for a nearby cover to see what was theprospect for sport with grouse in the was early in November, when after a longdrought a fierce rainstorm had raged for sev-. uou QO o < y s AMERICAN WOODCOCK 113 eral days, and as the breeze out of the north-west drove the broken rearguard of the stormseaward I came into the woods. The sun wassetting and in the western sky the promise ofbetter weather was heralded in the red and goldglowing on the cloud rims. As the daylightfaded and the enclosing walls of fir took on anadded gloom, I saw an occasional Woodcockdrop into an alder swamp which skirted theedge of the woods. At times a pair, but oft-ener a lone straggler dashed silently across thesky from the wooded hills, and darted down tofeed in the thicket along the brook, and for ashort time there was good fun in the edges ofthe cover, taking them as they came in or lettingmy dog flush them and doing my best to snapthem as they came up sharply outlined againstthe sky. It was uncertain shooting and hardto tell when the barrels were properly half an hour I could not see to shoot, butwent home content—two par
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