body, as the hair was on the snow, and no blood, when I went to look. This was my last season at Egg and I never saw or heard of this buck again.
The late autumn and early winter here was the best season for sport in my opinion, as then we generally had lovely still, bright weather, though long ascents in the snow were sometimes very hard work, and it was necessary to carry an extra warm coat if one had to wait long in the shade. We thus escaped the wet muggy weather and frequent mists which often spoil the sport in August and September. And to my mind, the advantage of being able, by tracks in the snow, to know exactly what is going on in the woods, and to find out the habits of the game by their tracks, is an unfailing source of interest which one cannot have until snow falls and lies, as it generally did here from some time in November till April or May.
Though there were a fair number of capercaillie and black game at Egg, and their playing-places were well known, we rarely saw them in summer or autumn. I only once went out in the spring to try the sport which is so dearly loved in Austria of shooting the cocks at their “balz platz," or, as they say in Scandinavia, at the "lok.”
In order to do this one must get up sufficiently early—which means any time between two and three in the morning—in order to reach the spots where the birds assemble before the first peep of dawn. Then you have to wait in the dark till you hear the song of the male capercaillie— an extraordinary sound divided into three parts, which is repeated at intervals of two or three minutes for some time.
Whilst the bird utters this sound, at least during the latter part of his song, he is so much excited by sexual passion that he is for a few seconds blind, deaf and stupid; and as soon as you have located the tree in which he sits, you can approach close to him, by three long steps at a time, taking care to remain absolutely motionless when he is not singing. The approach is sometimes an affair of some duration, as if the bird becomes suspicious and stops singing, you just have to wait till he begins again. Sometimes he hears or sees you and flies off; and if you succeed in getting within shot, it is often vety difficult to see him clear enough through the branches above you to kill him in the correct sportsmanlike way with a rifle. Sometimes two, three, or even more birds sing within a hundred yards of each other, and if you are lucky you may get two or three successive shots, for even if you miss your bird, he does not always fly away. I soon had enough of this sport, which does not seem to me as exciting as it is to some noble sportsmen in Austria, who spend three weeks or a month during the spring in going from one place to another on the chance of getting a shot or two every morning, returning to their hut or shooting lodge to finish their broken night’s rest. Black game are shot in the same way, but this sport I have only seen in Russia, where it appeared to me more interesting than shooting capercaillie. For several black cocks assemble to dance, fight and court the hens on the same patch of ground, usually an open glade in a marshy forest, and their antics are very curious to watch, though the actual shooting is easy enough.
We had excellent quarters at Egg in two or three inns which were in different parts of our ground, and it is surprising how well they cook
