Snipe Shooting in Virginia

Hog Island, Va., August, 23rd, 1873.

EDITOR FOREST AND STREAM:

The precise locality from whence I date my letter, is not I think very well known, I therefore trust such information as I may give may be of interest to your readers. How to get to Hog Island, is I suppose first in order. From New York I took the Norfolk steamer. On board I met several fellow sportsmen, bent on the same errand as myself, to shoot bay snipe and curlew, intending to make Chincoteague and Mockhorn Islands the center of their operations. All these islands are situated within a few miles of one another, lying near Capes Henry and Charles. Arrived at Norfolk, I took steamer to Cherry Stone, some sixty-five miles distant. At Cherry Stone I hired a small fishing smack to carry me to Hog Island. I happened to get a good boat and a fair breeze, and a pleasant sail of two hours landed me on the island. On the way I had a chance to try my Snider Allen, on a flock of curlew flying near the boat, and killed eight birds. Hog Island is not a paradise, though old Jake may be the colored Adam. The island is a sandy waste, with a few sand dunes, and some occasional trees, rugged specimens of the red cedar. Jake, the landlord of the locality, has a rough shanty, and makes you welcome, for the reasonable price of one $1.50 per diem, throwing in his valuable services for the money. I had provided myself against all contingencies, by laying in a stock of bread and ham, and after having arranged my baggage for the night, I turned in early, in order to be up the next morning before the dawn. Long before day-break Jake had me out. Though an ardent sportsman, Jake's imitative faculty as far as the manufacture of decoys went was not pre-eminent, therefore our stool-birds were of the most peculiar ornithological character, though Jake said they would do. From his manner I thought he had some surprise in reserve. After a bite of bread and ham, we took to the beach, and about a mile from the shanty we commenced digging our blind. The stools Jake planted quite artistically about twenty-five yards from our blind; then Jake chuckled as he drew from his pocket no less than three live willets and two marlins, which he declared were well "educated birds." These he had tethered with a bit of leather and a piece of string and they were packed among the wooden shams. Now Jake showed himself a master of his art, and piped the willet's cry with a skill which was inimitable. The tide now was rising rapidly, and the decoys fluttered and whistled away. Soon in the distance loomed a flock of willets. Coming strong with the wind they overshot the decoys, but flew low enough for me to let them have both barrels; then returned undismayed, apparently recalled by the cries of some of the winged birds. "Let 'em have it agin, Massa," said Jake, and so I did. These four shots gave me some thirty birds. The wind then became so fresh, piling in the sea so far on the beach, that we had to pick up the decoys and make another screen further inland. Again came the willets, and by ten o'clock I had bagged eighty-six snipe. The shooting then ceased for the day, ebb-tide putting an end to the sport. Next day I tried the curlew on the other side of the island. This time Jake's stools, if not perfect as to form, were better as to color, having been fresh painted. Jake again gave me the benefit of his acquaintance with the curlew, using a bandana handkerchief tied to a stick which he waved to and fro, attracting the birds. I had seen this particular dodge tried before, but never with the same success. I shot for about three hours, killing some thirty-two birds. They weighed on an average one and one-half pounds each and the longest bill measured precisely twelve and one-half inches. On the third day I varied my sport by spearing sea-eels. I must confess that my first experience was an unfortunate one, as I fell overboard from the boat, in my eagerness to kill my prey. But gaining courage and address, after having speared a bushel basket full of eels I had enough of it. Sincerely yours,

C. B.

P. S. - Having lost my pen I write this with a bill of a curlew. I softened it first with vinegar, then split and nibbed it nicely, and it makes quite a good stylus. Jake is a master in cooking snipe and curlew, and has a stock of excellent Southern red pepper, but if any of your friends have the least bit of gourmandism about them, tell them not to forget the lemons, the juice of which enhances the flavor of these birds.