Taking these in the order named, it may at once be stated that flight
shooting gives beautiful sport, but has the disadvantage that it is
selfish amusement, because one cannot invite friends to assist in a form
of sport that not only depends much on the weather, as all sports do,
but altogether upon it. “Flighting” is the interception of the wild duck
in the evening when they come from the sea or other resting-places to
their inland feed. Consequently, the line of flight must be known, and
besides, this knowledge is not quite enough, because a change of wind
alters the course of the fowl, which may be said to have a different
line of flight for every wind. But even when the fowler has hit off the
correct land spot where the fowl go over, that is not all. The weather
counts for much more than this; for it usually happens that upon a still
night the duck go over at so great a height that shooting is out of the
question. Then upon a starlight night they are so difficult to see that
hitting is out of the question, and it is only on cloudy, windy, moonlit
nights that much good can usually be done, and only then is much
execution likely if a good head wind is blowing against the fowl. At
most, flight shooting only lasts from a quarter to half an hour in the
evening. In the morning, when the fowl have fed and betake themselves
seawards, it may last a good deal longer, especially if, after those
have gone which are not inclined to rest in their feeding-grounds (and
there are generally a good many of these), those grounds are disturbed
purposely. Flighting is a sport that has one very great advantage: if
positions are well chosen—not too near either the day home or the night
feeding ground—no harm whatever is done by shooting every day. The fowl
cannot be driven away by that means. One hears the present generation of
shooters disparaging the easy shots their great-grandfathers gloried in,
but flight shooting is as old as the “scatter gun,” and it is still the
most difficult of all shooting. The author’s experience of shooting in
the half light is that it is next to impossible to hold sufficiently
forward. But this is an observation that he has never been able to
explain satisfactorily to himself. It is not suggested that half light
travels slower than good light, but merely that the true position of the
moving mark is not recognised by the brain as quickly as anything in a
good light.