Signs of uneasiness and unrest are now apparent amongst our winter boarders, the eiders and long-tailed ducks. Taking wing on the slightest provocation, they wheel aimlessly round the Rock, and instead of their usual steady persistence in diving for a living, they seem quite discontented with their lot, and plainly making up their minds to desert us for the summer. Advances by the males are as yet met with scornful rebuffs by their less showy plumaged partners, but soon a mutual understanding will be arrived at, and before the month closes they will have gone house-hunting, eiders possibly to the Isle of May, while the long-tails, being migratory, seek their homes in the frozen North. It seems a strange anomaly that the less robust looking longtail should choose such rigorous latitudes for the rearing of its brood, while the sturdy “dunter,” swathed in his arctic coat, should elect to stay at home. On the other hand, we have been visited on hazy nights by numbers of larks and thrushes returning to our shores, after wintering in “Norroway ower the faem.” These members of the spring migratory movement often come to grief on our lantern, and when one considers the number of lighthouses round our coasts, it will be understood that the death-roll from this cause alone must be extremely high. Designed to save life, we unwittingly lure our feathered friends to their destruction.
A couple of seals have been sporting round our door of late, and they also exhibit signs of exuberance in keeping with the season. At high water they come quite close to the tower, and their antics are seen to advantage from our balcony. Rolling over each other, they make for the bottom, gliding along the rocks like hounds hunting in couples; then with a rush they are on the surface, floating bolt upright, with their muzzles almost touching, staring with their large, expressive eyes into each other’s face. An almost human touch was given to their play by one taking the head of the other between his fore-flippers, as if about to salute him, or more likely her, in the orthodox fashion. One was seen the other morning in possession of a large fish, while a number of gulls sat at a safe distance round him, waiting for the fragments when the feast should begin. By the way he glared at them, he was evidently annoyed at their presence. Sinking for a few seconds, he appeared on the surface minus the fish. This was evidently intended as a ruse, and meant to imply that he had lost it; but the gulls seemed to know better, and kept their position. Diving, he made his appearance some distance off, this time with the fish in his mouth, only to find himself, to his annoyance, again the centre of wistful expectations. Presuming these gulls to be up-to-date birds, their exulting cacklings might be literally rendered—“You better begin, Mister Phoca; it’s no use trying, you know; you can’t possibly dewett us!” At least, the seal seemed to think so, for he there and then opened the banquet with a rip of his teeth that distributed the offal amongst the hungry cordon.
The rocks become at this season of the year invested with a slippery coating of algæ, which renders it extremely difficult to maintain one’s footing, and also necessitates repeated applications of hot lime to our gratings in order to render them passable. Myriads of minute whelks, no larger than turnip seed, strew the rocks and crunch under foot as we walk, while great patches of mussel spawn delight the heart of the more venturesome of the white whelks—a prospecting party who will doubtless communicate the promising state of the commissariat to their fellows still in winter quarters.
Fishing in the Rock pools has been tried for the first time this season, and resulted in the capture of a solitary “cobbler.” It may be a month hence before we meet with any success.
This month has been extremely mild, though the hills behind Arbroath are still seen to carry portions of their winter coat, while the higher ranges inland are completely snow-capped. On a clear day our view is limited by Tod Head, about twenty-five miles to the north, and St Abb’s Head thirty miles south of us. The coast-line presents a uniform flatness, which becomes monotonous in comparison with the more picturesque raggedness of the West Coast. A most conspicuous feature in the landscape in the vicinity of Arbroath is the clump of trees on the summit of the Law Hill—a landmark well known to navigators, and easily discernible, as it stands sharply defined against the sky-line. Arbroath, when not enveloped in smoke, is clearly seen, and with the aid of our telescope the after-church promenaders can be distinguished on the Protection Wall, or wending their way towards the Victoria Park.
April 1902.
APRIL 1902.
The extremely low tides prevalent at the opening of the month enabled us to extend our hunting grounds somewhat further than usual, and also to reach and demolish several “travellers” which the heavy seas had hurled into the boat tracks, thus constituting a serious danger at relief times. Quite a forest of luxuriant tangles now cover the lower lying portion of the reef. Their dripping blades appear on the surface, scintillating in the brilliant sunshine like so many diamonds, till the receding tide permits the warm sun to rob them of their freshness, their beauty vanishing in a perceptible vapour, leaving them flaccid and inert till the returning tide restores their pristine beauty. The badderlock or henware is here also in great profusion, and usually selects a position the reverse of peaceful, being generally found where the wash of the seas is most constant. Of rapid growth, they attain a great length, some measuring fully sixteen feet; one we had under observation was seen to increase a foot in length in six weeks time. Owing to hazy weather we had a number of compulsory visitors to dinner yesterday. Seated outside our kitchen window was a party of fog-bound travellers, consisting of a pigeon, a starling, a wagtail, a robin, and a couple of wheatears. The starling was sitting bunched up by himself, preserving a stolid indifference at his enforced detention, and appeared to treat the animated expansion and flirting of the wheatears’ tails as undue levity, unbecoming their sorrowful predicament. The beautiful black-throated wagtail is all alertness, and the slightest movement on our part sends him circling round the Rock till, unable to sight the land, he is fain to regain his resting place. The pigeon has been here a week now, and evidently has no intention of leaving. Should the window be left open he makes bold enough to enter, although but the other day he gave us a somewhat dramatic illustration of the proverbial hen on the hot “griddle” by rehearsing a fandango on the top of our cooking range, a position from which he had to be forcibly removed. To-day, the 21st, he has been joined by a companion of his own species, a red-chequered homer; but instead of the mutual demonstrations of pleasure one would expect to witness at their meeting in such isolation, they remained quite indifferent to each other’s presence, the newcomer possibly from motives of disdain, as he appears to belong to the aristocracy, seeing he sports an aluminium bracelet, on which are the letters “U.B.” and the year 1901, besides a number composed of three figures, which, unfortunately, I took no note of. A strong southerly breeze on the 22nd deprived us of their company. Losing the shelter of the tower, they were unable to make headway against the wind, and, fortunately for themselves, were driven landwards.
On the 20th a small patch of paidle-fish spawn was seen cemented in a sheltered nook of the rocks. This is unusually early for nesting operations, as it is generally May before they are much in evidence here. The extremely small quantity may denote a change of mind on the part of the depositor; besides, the site is badly chosen, as the nest is a couple of feet above low water, and consequently without the cock’s guardianship for some time each tide. Possibly the heavy seas prevalent during the past fortnight may have warned the builder of being somewhat premature in her operations.
We had ocular demonstration the other day concerning a matter of which doubts have been expressed, namely, the skinning of their prey by seals. Not only do they skin their fish, but each shred of skin is greedily swallowed as soon as stripped. The skinning entails a good deal of trouble, as the fish is pushed away from the seal at every mouthful, and consequently sinks, so that a dive is necessary each time in order to resume operations. Why he should take all this trouble is not apparent, but presumably he understands his own business best. His operations at present are watched by us with longing eyes, for though he appears to have all he wants we are as yet fishless. However, the presence of the paidle spawn is a hopeful sign, and is the first attraction for the wandering cod, by whom it is greedily devoured, providing they can steal a march on the red-coated sentry—a difficult matter, one would think, considering how assiduous he is in the protection of his charge. The white whelks, presumably adopting the promising report of the reconnoitring party sent out last month, have turned out en masse, and are now waging a one-sided war of extermination upon the defenceless mussels.