[86647] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Tactical LED Flashlight
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Shadowhawk Flashlights)
Thu Aug 11 21:34:04 2016
Date: Thu, 11 Aug 2016 21:22:25 -0400
From: "Shadowhawk Flashlights" <shadowhawk-flashlights@hklwa.com>
To: <mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu>
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<h1>Tactical LED Flashlight</h1>=20
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<p>Tactical LED Flashlight<br /> The hotel is situated at the Warner's H=
ot Springs, celebrated throughout all of Southern California for their wond=
erful curative properties. The proprietor, Mr. Stanford, and his good wife,=
made us comfortable, and were as accommodating as we have always found the=
m. 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 finall=
y 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. Th=
e 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 ammu=
nition, we started out over the frosty roads for the lakes. As we reached t=
he lower ground the frost was heavier. I found the surface of one small lak=
e solidly frozen. At the larger lakes there was just a little ice on the ed=
ges. We distributed our men to the various lakes, and the shooting began. S=
ay, 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 corr=
ect impression of it. Sitting in a frozen blind, all at once you hear the w=
hirring of wings, far off in the sky. Before you can locate the source of i=
t, "Swish!" an old Can goes by. You look at the streak of light h=
e 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 s=
hoot at it and realize that you have shot just fifty feet behind it. Anothe=
r one comes by. Bang! again goes the gun. You have done a little better thi=
s time, but you are yet not less than thirty feet in the rear. Again you tr=
y 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 rul=
es for duck shooting, viz: "First, lead them considerably. "Secon=
d, lead them a little more than last time. "Third, still lead them fur=
ther yet." The next time you get your bird, a great big, magnificent C=
an. Kerplunk! he falls into the water, or with a dull thud, he strikes the =
ground with force enough to kill a horse if hit squarely by it. What a bird=
he was! How beautifully marked! How bright his wing! How deep his breast, =
compared with any other duck in the land! How magnificent the dark brown, v=
elvet coloring of his head! How soft and satiny the white streaked back! Al=
l over the valley the guns were booming. Out of the sky, a mile away, you w=
ould see ducks flying rapidly, suddenly crumple up and plunge to the earth =
or water. Ducks Go Skating. In a lull in the shooting I left my blind and w=
ent a quarter of a mile away to the little lake mentioned before as frozen =
over. I crept up to the top of a hill and looked down upon it. Although the=
sun was high in the sky, the lake was still frozen. It was surrounded by d=
ucks. I don't want to say that they were skating on the ice. I saw one old =
canvasback drake, however, peck at another duck. The latter squawked and wa=
ddled out of the way, going where the water should have been. When he struc=
k the ice, he slid for quite a little distance, balancing with his wings in=
a most ludicrous fashion. While cautiously watching them, I saw this perfo=
rmance repeated several times. There was no hope of my approaching them wit=
hin shooting distance, so I stood up to arouse the ducks, hoping to send th=
em to my companions. They filled the air with a great clatter of wings, and=
circled off to various portions of the valley. I heard a great bombardment=
as they crossed the other lakes, and I knew that someone had taken toll fr=
om them. It was a beautiful day, with cloudless sky. The sun's warm summer =
like rays were in marked contrast to the icy breath of winter, encountered =
at sunrise. What a grand sunrise it was! From behind the mountains of the E=
ast, up out of the depths of the Salton Sea, Old Sol first illuminated the =
sky, the mountain tops and wooded ridges to the southwest and north, and th=
en with a rich show of crimson coloring, he suddenly vaulted into the sky, =
touching with his golden wand each frosted leaf and frozen bush and tree, a=
nd hill and vale and mountain top. Fine Luck. We shot with varying success =
during the morning hours. Many of the ducks, especially the larger ones, ci=
rcled high in the air like miniature aeroplanes, almost beyond human vision=
How they sped on frightened wings, gradually going higher and higher, and=
finally darting off over the eastern rim of the valley in the direction of=
Salton Sea. Just before noon time my companion at one of the lakes, and my=
self, gathered up our ducks and hung them high in a tree at the water's edg=
e. We then went to another lake by which the autos stood, where we had agre=
ed to muster for lunch. The entire party were in high spirits, and pronounc=
ed the sport the best they had ever had. After lunch two of the party in th=
e runabout drove out of the valley to some place familiar to them. They ret=
urned later with the limit of jacksnipe--big, fat, thick-breasted, meaty lo=
oking birds. My companion and myself returned to our blinds. The duck fligh=
t during the fore part of the afternoon was exceedingly light. I managed to=
land, among others, a beautiful canvasback drake. Shortly afterwards I sto=
pped as fine a Mallard drake as I ever saw. This was the only Mallard kille=
d on the trip. In the gathering shadows of the coming night we drove back t=
o the Springs. Seven guns had killed 118 ducks, fifty of them canvasback. T=
here was a fine sprinkling of sprig, redhead, widgeon, plenty of teal, blue=
bills and some spoonbills, all fine, fat birds. Then there were the jacksni=
pe. Tired and happy we dined. Until retiring time, we lived again the sport=
of the day. When we sought our beds, sleep came quickly, and I do not thin=
k any of us turned over until it was time to get up. We had packed our belo=
ngings, taken on gasoline and breakfasted, and started homeward a little af=
ter 7 o'clock. We visited another section of the country known to one of ou=
r party, and fell in with some mountain pigeons, and in a couple of hours m=
anaged to kill sixty-eight of them. Talk about shooting! Oh, Mama! How thos=
e pigeons could fly! And pack away lead! No bird I ever saw could equal the=
m in that particular. Even at close range, a well-centered bird would, when=
hard hit, pull himself together as his feathers flew in the breeze, and sa=
il away out into some mountain side, quite out of reach of the hunter, undo=
ubtedly to die and furnish food for the buzzards or coyotes. We had to take=
awful chances as to distance in order to kill any of them. While looking f=
or a dead pigeon that fell off towards the bottom of a wooded bluff in some=
thick bunches of chapparal, I heard the quick boof! boof! of the hoofs of =
a bounding deer. I did not see that animal. An instant later, in rounding a=
heavy growth of bushes, I saw a magnificent buck grazing on the tender gro=
wth. He stood just the fraction of a second with the young twig of the bush=
in his mouth, looking at me with his great luminous eyes, and then he made=
a jump or two out of sight. Strange that these two animals had not fled at=
the sound of our guns. A game warden hailed us and insisted on seeing all =
our hunting licenses and on counting our ducks. This privilege, under the l=
aw, we could have denied him, but we were a little proud of the birds we ha=
d, and as we were well within the number we could have killed, we made no o=
bjection to his doing so. As a result of its speedy run the day before, the=
runabout had for some little time been running on a rim. We left its occup=
ants, who disdained our help, putting on a new tire. After a beautiful run =
we again reached the Newport place, where we lunched. The car did not appea=
r. We hated to go away and leave them, as we thought they might be in diffi=
culty. We telephoned to Temecula and found they had passed that point. Abou=
t two hours after our arrival they came whirling in. They had had more tire=
trouble. They took a hasty lunch, and we all started together. We made the=
home run without incident. Spread out in one body our game made a most imp=
osing appearance. Besides the 118 ducks there were 50 jacksnipe and 68 fine=
large wild pigeons. Such days make us regret that we are growing old. They=
rejuvenate us --make us boys again. Boyhood Days in Early California My bo=
yhood days, from the time I was five until I was fifteen years of age, were=
spent on a ranch in Yuba County, California. We were located on the east s=
ide of Feather River, about five miles above Marysville. The ranch consiste=
d of several hundred acres of high land, which, at its western terminus, fe=
ll away about one hundred feet to the river bottom. There were a couple of =
hundred acres of this river bottom land which was arable. It was exceedingl=
y rich and productive. Still west of this land was a well-wooded pasture, s=
eparated from the cultivated lands by a good board fence. The river bounded=
this pasture on the north and west. In the pasture were swales of damp lan=
d, literally overgrown with wild blackberry bushes. They bore prolific crop=
s of long, black, juicy berries, far superior to the tame berries, and they=
were almost entirely free from seeds. Many a time have I temporarily bankr=
upted my stomach on hot blackberry roll, with good, rich sauce. The country=
fairly teemed with game. Quail and rabbit were with us all the time. Doves=
came by the thousands in the early summer and departed in the fall. In win=
ter the wild ducks and geese were more than abundant. In the spring wild pi=
geons visited us in great numbers. There was one old oak tree which was a f=
avorite resting-place with them. Sheltered by some live oak bushes, I was a=
lways enabled to sneak up and kill many of them out of this tree. I began t=
o wander with the gun when I was but a little over eight years old. The gun=
was a long, double-barrel, muzzle-loading derelict. Wads were not a commer=
cial commodity in those days. I would put in some powder, guessing at the a=
mount, then a wad of newspaper, and thoroughly ram it home, upon top of thi=
s the shot, quantity also guessed at, and more paper. But it was barely sho=
ved to the shot, never rammed. Sad experience taught me that ramming the sh=
ot added to the kicking qualities of the firearm. How that old gun could ki=
ck! Many times it bowled me over. St. George Littledale, a noted English sp=
ortsman, in describing a peculiarly heavy express rifle, said, "It was=
absolutely without recoil. Every time I discharged it, it simply pushed me=
over." That described my gun exactly, except that it had "the re=
coil." I deemed myself especially fortunate if I could get up against =
a fence post or an oak tree when I shot at something. By this means I retai=
ned an upright position. Armed with this gun, an antiquated powder flask, a=
shot pouch whose measurer was missing, and a dilapidated game bag, I spent=
hours in the woods and fields, shooting such game as I needed, learning to=
love life in the open, the trees, the flowers, the birds and the wild anim=
als I met. I was as proud of my outfit as the modern hunter is of his $500 =
gun and expensive accompaniments. When I went after the cows, I carried my =
gun, and often got a dozen or more quail at a pot shot out of some friendly=
covey. If I went to plow corn, or work in the vegetable garden, the gun ac=
companied me, and it was sure to do deadly execution every day. When it was=
too wet to plow, no matter how hard it was raining, it was just right to h=
unt. Clad in a gum coat, I would take my gun and brave the elements, when a=
seat by the fireside would have been much more comfortable. I loved to be =
out in a storm, to watch the rain, to hear the wind toss and tear the branc=
hes of the trees, to hear at first hand the fury of the storm, and watch th=
e birds hovering in the underbrush, and the wild waterfowl seek the protect=
ion of the willows. In such a storm great flocks of geese would scurry acro=
ss the country within a few feet of the ground. They usually went in the te=
eth of the gale. At such times they constantly uttered shrill cries and app=
eared utterly demoralized. If there were game laws in those days, I never k=
new it. It was always open season with me. Often my mother would tell me to=
shoot something besides quail, that she was tired of them. There was a slo=
ugh on the place which was full of beaver and beaver dams. How I tried to g=
et one of them, always without success! They were very crafty, very alert, =
and at the slightest indication of danger dived under water to the doors of=
their houses, long before one was in gunshot of them. Full many a weary ho=
ur have I spent, hidden in the brush, watching a nearby beaver dam in the h=
ope of getting a shot, but always without avail. They would appear at other=
dams, too far away, but never show themselves close enough to be injured. =
In the winter the slough fairly swarmed with ducks of every variety. They w=
ere disturbed but little, and they used these waters as a resting place, fl=
ying far out into the grain fields and into the open plain at night for the=
ir food. The beautiful wood duck, now almost extinct in California, was ver=
y plentiful. They went in flocks as widgeon do. They would go into the tops=
of the oak trees and feed upon the acorns. I killed many of them as they c=
ame out of these trees. In flying they had a way of massing together like b=
lackbirds, and one shot often brought down a goodly bag of them. The slough=
I mentioned above was not a stagnant one. It was fed by water from Feather=
River. After winding around an island, it emptied its waters back into the=
river farther down stream, so that fresh water was continually entering an=
d flowing from it. Along its banks grew a fringe of tall cottonwood trees. =
Many of them were completely enveloped with wild grapevines, which bore abu=
ndantly. The slough was full of two or three varieties of perch, or, as we =
called them, sun-fish; also a white fish called chub. These fish were all v=
ery palatable, and I caught loads of them. In the fall, when the wild grape=
s were ripe, they would fall off into the water and were fed upon by the fi=
sh. Beneath the vine-clad cottonwoods the fishing was always good.</p>=20
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