This season to the sportsman also is the most enjoyable. For now come in the duck and geese from far-away Siberia, halting here for a time in the lakes and marshes on their way to India. I have already described a duck-shoot in spring. In the autumn there is still finer shooting, for the duck have come in fresh and are in greater numbers than on their return journey. As I have already said, the Maharaja most hospitably places at the disposal of the Resident the shooting on the Hokrar Lake and marsh, which affords some of the best duck-shooting in the world, and it was here that Lord Minto and party shot over 1500 duck in one day in 1906.
Last year we had our first shoot on October 4th. We rode for six miles in the fresh morning air and brilliant sunshine to the edge of the lake, where the shikaris and boatmen were awaiting us. Over the reeds and over the open expanse of water beyond there was that glorious view of the distantly encircling mountains which I have before described. The lower slopes were at this season a reddish pink which merged into the rich purply blue of the higher and more distant portion of the range. Soft fleecy clouds and a hazy blue in the sky gave a dreamy tone to the scene. Many kinds of waterfowl were lazily disporting themselves on the water and among the reeds. The surface was often covered with numerous flat, round leaves and pure white waxy water-lilies with rich yellow centres.
Through these we were paddled swiftly to the butts, which were skilfully hidden among the reeds, and here amid clouds of mosquitoes, dragon-flies, and gnats, we awaited the first shot to be fired by the occupant of the farthest butt. The sun beat powerfully down. All was still, and drowsy, and silent, save for the drone of the flies and the occasional "quack, quack!" of the ducks paddling unsuspiciously on the lake.
At last a distant shot was heard, and then a suppressed roar, as of breakers on a far-off shore. Then from the direction of the shot a black cloud arose and advanced rapidly upon us. The roar increased, and in a few seconds the whole sky was covered with a whirling, swishing, whizzing flight of ducks. Thousands and thousands of them: flashing past from right to left, from left to right, backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards, in bewildering multitudes. For the moment one's breath was absolutely taken away. There was such a swish and swirr it was impossible to aim. Then as the first wild rush was over it became easier to be deliberate, and duck after duck fell to my companions' guns.