Duck-Shooting on Oahu.—For a country where the occupation of the sportsman is so little followed as here, those who do occasionally spend a day in its pursuit are amply rewarded by the sight of the many beauties of nature of our island. The wild duck is peculiar in its habits, and loves to haunt the lonely solitudes of the mountain fastnesses during the daytime, coming down at night to visit the streams, the taro-patches and the sea-shore for food. One of these noted haunts of the wild duck, which is very seldom visited and never has been described in print, lies far up in the bosom of the mountains, at the head of Palolo valley. It is evidently the crater of an ancient extinct volcano, somewhat in the shape of Leahi, or Diamond Head, though smaller. Standing on its steep sides and looking down into the great depression, the bottom appears covered with luxuriant verdure,—an oasis amidst the surrounding hills,—a lovely paradise walled in from the rest of the world. Near the centre of the crater is a perpetual spring of clear cold water, and the surrounding surface of the ground is a quaking bog. There is a legend to be learned from the natives, concerning this curious spot, which is called “Kaauhelemoa.” This was the name of an akua, or god, half-man and half-fowl, who used to inhabit this spot, and dwelt near the spring, where may be seen to this day, as it is said, the remains of a stone aqueduct constructed by him. They show you also the trees on which this feathered deity was wont to roost. He was famous for his fighting prowess, and his fame having reached to Hawaii, another god of the same genus, came hither to fight him. In the battle which ensued Kaauhelemoa was conqueror, and ate his antagonist. The feathers of the defunct god, as they were plucked, fell over the ferns that grow luxuriantly in the neighborhood, which accounts for the peculiar shape of their fronds, resembling the feathers of a chicken. So much for the legend. In this secluded retreat the ducks very sensibly pass the hot hours of the day, but the keen sportsmen find them out. One day this week two of our fellow townsmen, Messrs. Rawson and Smith, accompanied by “Gun,” the well-known pointer of the former gentleman, made a raid on the privacy of the ducks and brought away twenty in a very short time. The birds at the season are fat, and from personal experience we can testify that they are deliciously flavored. It may be thought cruel to disturb the poor creatures in the romantic solitudes they choose for their hiding places, but Rawson’s gun kills them so quick and easy that it is fair to suppose it is sport to them, even. That gun, by the way, is well worth examining,—a perfect beauty, known as Dougall’s Patent Lockfast Breech-Loader, of London make.
(Advertiser, 7/15/1871, p. 3)