Bird studies with a camera

by Frank M. Chapman

There had been a heavy blow from the east the night before, the tide was ebbing, and ere we had passed the Rock, and while still under the lee of Bonaventure, our boat began to toss in a very disquieting manner. As we rounded the southwest end of Bonaventure we were more exposed to the action of the waves, but my physical balance was sustained by the anticipation of seeing “two, tree million of bird,” which the men declared would soon be visible on the cliffs.

The farther we advanced the less shelter had we from the land, and finally, passing the northwest end of the island, we were at the mercy of the full force of a long rolling sea, which made it impossible to stand, or even sit, without clinging to one’s surroundings. At this point, I believe, the promise of the most wonderful sight in the bird world would not have induced me to continue on our course another minute; but fortunately no promise was required, the sight itself existed, and under its inspiration I battled with weak nature for the next half hour with a courage born of enthusiasm and a desire to picture the wonders of the scene before me.

75. The Gannet cliffs of Bonaventure.

On the ledges of the red sandstone cliffs, which rose sheer three hundred feet above the waves at their base, was row after row of snow-white Gannets on their nests.^[75] Their number was incredible, and as we coasted slowly onward, the red walls above us were streaked with white as far as one could see in either direction, and the hoarse cries of the birds rose in chorus above the sound of the beating waves. It was a wild picture, which the majesty of the cliffs and the grandeur of the sea rendered exceedingly impressive.

How I longed for the internal composure of my boatmen! One moment I bowed to the waves, the next propped myself against the mast and, held by the captain, attempted to use the twin-lens camera. Water, cliff, and sky danced across the ground glass in bewildering succession, as, like a wing-shot, I squeezed my pneumatic bulb and snapped at the jumping sky line.

One or two exposures were followed by collapse, and in time by partial recuperation, which permitted fresh efforts. In the picture presented the cliff is well shown, but the birds are not so numerous as in others less successful photographically. And during this time how fared my assistant? Charity forbids a reply. I will only say that, in response to a hail from a passing fisherman, our captain shouted, “Son malade!”

The supply of 5 × 7 plates exhausted, we came about, and sailing before the wind quickly reached the leeward side of the island, where, under the reviving influence of calmer water, we determined to revisit the Gannets, this time, however, by land.

Disembarking at the fishing village, which is situated on the west side of Bonaventure, we were soon in the spruce and balsam forests, which occupy all but the borders of the island, here about a mile and a half in width. The change from the turmoil and vastness of the sea to the quiet and seclusion of the forest made the previous hour’s experience seem distant and unreal. The wind which had roared through our rigging now breathed peacefully through the tree tops; the heaving, frothy sea was replaced by stable earth, wondrously carpeted with snow-white cornel and dainty twin-flowers;^[76] instead of the harsh cries of the Gannets, we heard the Ave Maria of the White-throated Sparrow. Rarely have the woods seemed so beautiful. Approaching the eastern cliffs, the trees became dwarfed and singularly malformed by the winds. Finally they disappeared altogether, and were succeeded by fields blue with iris. Never have I seen this plant so abundant. There were acres of flowers reaching to the very edge of the cliffs, where, with only a change in the tint, the blue of the iris faded into the blue of the sea.