92
to present a neatly typewritten note in English, carefully preserved in a cellophane envelope, stating that the area was prohibited.
The pheasant shooting season continued until the Chinese New Year holiday, which falls late in January or early in February. It was generally possible to get two or three days off for this holiday, and at this date in 1937 two of us found ourselves some ten miles up the Yangtze above Nanking in the neighbourhood of the Three Hills. We had come in the houseboat, now so seldom used owing to the opening of the countryside to the greater convenience of the motor car. Only where the river bank was steep-to could we bring the boat sufficiently inshore to throw a plank across and step off; and so having disembarked we had to walk awhile until we reached a small creek, which we crossed in a borrowed sampan, before arriving at the extensive reed beds for which we were heading.
At this late season great stretches of the reeds had already been cut by the country people for use as fuel, leaving small clumps and narrow strips standing here and there. Inland, the fields, turned over by the shallow Chinese plough, showed long rows of soft green where the shoots of winter wheat sprouted. The country was ideal for pheasant. Unfortunately it was drizzling and blowing hard. Sandy, the smooth-haired black Labrador was at the top of his form, but nonplussed by the poor shooting. In such weather the birds would as a rule sit tight until the last moment, when they would get up suddenly at your feet; for some reason today they were wild and rising almost out of range. As we approached each patch of reeds, inside which pheasant might be sheltering from rain and squall, we would carefully move to the lee end and beat our way back upwind. My wife worked with us, and two of the boatmen, who also served to carry the bag. The pheasants were reluctant to fly, and would run unseen out of the reeds through the more open stretches of stubble to start up cackling indignantly at unexpected moments. The expenditure of cartridges was considerable, but so far as I remember, the bag only held six brace. Late in the afternoon, soaked, we boarded the houseboat. Luckily the run down with the tide was much quicker than the outward trip, and there was something in the icebox to keep the damp out. Little did we realise that was to be the last shoot for many a season!
That year was Coronation year: great preparations were made by
92
to present a neatly typewritten note in English, carefully preserved in a cellophane envelope, stating that the area was prohibited.
The pheasant shooting season continued until the Chinese New Year holiday, which falls late in January or early in February. It was generally possible to get two or three days off for this holiday, and at this date in 1937 two of us found ourselves some ten miles
up
the Yangtze above Nanking in the neighbourhood of the Three Hills. We had come in the houseboat, now so seldom used owing to the opening of the countryside to the greater convenience of the motor car. Only where the river bank was steep-to could we bring the boat sufficiently inshore to throw a plank across and step off; and so having disembarked we had to walk awhile until we reached a small creek, which we crossed in a borrowed sampan, before arriving at the extensive reed beds for which we were heading.
At this late season great stretches of the reeds had already been cut by the country people for use as fuel, leaving small clumps and narrow strips standing here and there. Inland, the fields, turned over by the shallow Chinese plough, showed long rows of soft green where the shoots of winter wheat sprouted. The country was ideal for pheasant. Unfortunately it was drizzling and blowing hard. Sandy, the smooth haired black Labrador was at the top of his form, but nonplussed by the poor shooting. In such weather the birds would as a rule sit tight until the last moment, when they would get up suddenly at your feet; for some reason today they were wild and rising almost out of range. As we approached each patch of reeds, inside which pheasant might be sheltering from rain and squall, we would carefully move to the lee end and beat our way back upwind. My wife worked with us, and two of the boatman, who also served to carry the bag. The pheasants were reluctant to fly, and would run unseen out of the reeds through the more open stretches of stubble to start up cackling indignantly at unexpected moments. The expenditure of cartridges was considerable, but so far as I remember, the bag only held six brace. Late in the afternoon, soaked, we boarded the houseboat. Luckily the run down with the tide was much quicker than the outward trip, and there was something in the icebox to keep the damp out. Little did we realise that was to be the last shoot for many a season!
That year was Coronation year: great preparations were made by
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