The ranch comprises about 57,000 acres of land, and is the largest body of comparatively level land at even an elevation of 3500 feet in Southern California.  It is an immense circular valley, rock ribbed and mountain bound.  Out of it, through a narrow gorge to the southwest, flows the San Luis Rey River.  The ranch is well watered.  Much of it during the winter season is semi-bog or swamp land, and at all times affords wonderful grazing for stock.  There are circling hills and level mesas and broad valleys here and there.  Nestled between the hills are a number of mountain lakes, fed by innumerable springs around their edges.  These lakes furnish food for the canvasback duck in the various grasses and other growths, of which they are extremely fond.

First Bag.

Contrary to good judgment, we drove to one of these lakes, and had half an hour’s shooting that evening.  We got about twenty birds.  We proceeded to the hotel, and after drawing our birds, hung them up where they would freeze that night and not be in the sun while we were shooting next day.

A cold north wind was blowing, which whistled mournfully through the cottonwoods, and suggested a night where plenty of blankets would be more than acceptable.

The hotel is situated at the Warner’s Hot Springs, celebrated throughout all of Southern California for their wonderful curative properties.  The proprietor, Mr. Stanford, and his good wife, made us comfortable, and were as accommodating as we have always found them.  After a good supper we proceeded to our rooms and got ready for the next day’s slaughter.  Well into the night the wind whistled and blew.  It finally went down.  Then the temperature began to fall.  The thermometer went to 29 degrees before morning.  Wherever there was a thin surface of water, there was ice.

We did not get out very early.  It is not necessary at Warner’s.  The ducks fly from lake to lake when disturbed.  If too heavily bombarded they leave the valley.  We breakfasted about 7 o’clock.  Taking our guns and ammunition, we started out over the frosty roads for the lakes.  As we reached the lower ground the frost was heavier.  I found the surface of one small lake solidly frozen.  At the larger lakes there was just a little ice on the edges.  We distributed our men to the various lakes, and the shooting began.

Say, neighbor, did you ever hunt those big mountain canvasback?  If you have, you know the story.  If you have not, I am afraid I can not give you a correct impression of it.  Sitting in a frozen blind, all at once you hear the whirring of wings, far off in the sky.  Before you can locate the source of it, “Swish!” an old Can goes by.  You look at the streak of light he leaves in the atmosphere.  Then you hear another far-off alarm.  You seize your gun as the gray mark passes overhead at about 125 miles an hour.  You shoot at it and realize that you have shot just fifty feet behind it.  Another one comes by.  Bang! again goes the gun.  You have done a little better this time, but you are yet not less than thirty feet in the rear.  Again you try it.  Just a few feathers fly.  You are alarmed now, and there comes to you the admonition of an old duck hunter, who laid down the following three rules for duck shooting, viz: