It was on this day that I once or twice had my "eye wiped," and I recall
it even now with anything but satisfaction. It is a provoking thing to
miss a fair shot, but to have your companion after you have had your
chance knock down the bird by a long, hard shot makes one feel somewhat
distressed. This we call "wiping the eye"; but I have always thought the
sensation caused by this operation justified calling it "gouging the
eye."
We left for home after one more very cold day spent in the blinds, with
some good shooting. Every one of the party was enthusiastic in speaking
of the pleasure our outing had afforded us, and all were outspoken in
the hope that our experience might be repeated in the future.
Now, let it be observed that most prominent among the things that had
occupied us and were thus delightfully remembered, and among the
experiences desired again in the future, were the rigors and discomforts
we had undergone in our shooting. So far as the good things and the
comforts of the club-house itself entered into the enjoyment of our
trip, it would be strange if they did not present great allurement; for
nothing in the way of snug shelter and good eating and drinking was
lacking. It is not so easy, however, to reason out the duck hunter's
eagerness to leave a warm bed, morning after morning, long before light,
and go shivering out into the cold and darkness for the sake of reaching
his blind before daybreak--not to find there warmth and shelter, but to
sit for hours chilled to the bone patiently waiting for the infrequent
shot which reminds him that he is indulging in sport or healthful
recreation. Suppose that such a regimen as this were prescribed in cold
blood as necessary to health. How many would think health worth the cost
of such hardships?
"The Duck Hunter Is Born--Not Made"
Suppose the discomforts willingly endured by duck hunters were required
of employees in an industrial establishment. There would be one place
where a condition of strike would be constant and chronic. If it be said
that the gratification of bringing down ducks pays for all the suffering
of their pursuit, the question obtrudes itself, how is this compensation
forthcoming in the stress of bad luck or no luck, and how is it that the
duck-hunting propensity survives all conditions and all fortunes?
I am satisfied that there is but one way to account for the unyielding
enthusiasm of those who hunt ducks and for their steady devotion to
their favorite recreation: The duck hunter is born--not made.