The man that pours the water out has certainly been paying attention to his business, and in conjunction with the puffy bellower of storms favoured us with weather anything but peaceful. Unlike the farmers, we have little cause of complaint. No sodden fields or ruined crops appal the eye, for even after a “regular snorter” things here remain pretty much as they were. True, the aspect changes as the season advances. The whitewashed appearance of the rock surface in summer, due to the presence of the acorn barnacle, has now vanished—thanks to the voracity of the white whelk—and the rocks appear in their natural colour, a reddish-brown. The “sere and yellow” is well represented in the once luxuriant crops of heavy tangles, but lately swaying on the surface with a freshness and beauty peculiarly their own, now storm-tossed, frayed and abraded, denuded of their palm-like fronds, they appear but a vestige of their former selves. The turbulent state of the weather interferes seriously with our fishing, keeping the poddlies at a respectful distance from our door; indeed, any approach in our direction at present would certainly denote suicidal mania on their part. At a safe distance outside the breakers, they are to be seen playing on the surface in the early morning and evening, so that our expectations are still high should the weather but abate.
The eider ducks, which on the 20th September were represented by a solitary individual—the first arrival—now number over a hundred. The longtails are still awanting to complete our list, but their advent may be looked for early next month. On suitable nights for the past two months we have always had some feathered visitors “becking and booing” to us through the lantern. On 4th October an extremely rare visitor—here at least—made its appearance, namely, the ring-ousel, the first I have seen. In size, shape, and general colouring, this migrant might easily be mistaken for a hen blackbird, but for the conspicuous white crescent across the throat, in this instance somewhat faint, but well defined, owing possibly to the bird being in immature plumage. On the morning of the 24th October over two dozen tiny gold-crest wrens were circling round our lantern, jostling and tumbling over each other in frantic efforts to keep in line with the white flash, the red flash evidently having no attraction for them. A skylark and robin were also of the company, as well as several redwings. The robin always seems to have a truer sense of his position than any other of our visitors. While the others clamour futilely against the glass he maintains an aloofness and self-possession truly remarkable. His eyes seem to be everywhere, and only with difficulty and the exercise of a little strategy is his capture effected. Of course, our captures are but temporary, and merely for the sake of a few minutes’ examination.
We had rather a disappointing experience with the Channel Fleet while cruising in these waters last month (September). Passing north in the dark, we were quite unaware of their presence, the Sutlej alone being seen later steaming north at 6 p.m. on the 21st, nearer to Arbroath than to us. On returning south a string of brilliant lights passing three miles outside of us at two o’clock in the morning was all we saw of the procession.
On 29th October a flock of thirteen field-fares passed at 9 a.m., flying towards Arbroath. This is the first arrival here of these birds, and earlier than usual.
On examining a lark which had been killed on the lantern the other night, a small land shell was found adhering to the feathers on the under part of the body. Arguing from this instance, the assumption that they also are imbued with the migratory instinct and adopt this mode of travelling would probably be considered far-fetched. That there is much undreamt of in our philosophy is as pregnant as when uttered, and possibly the connection between mollusc and bird was due to circumstances other than purely accidental.
November 1903
NOVEMBER 1903.
Sunday, 1st.—A flat calm. A pleasant change, indeed, after our recent experience, and one which has fortunately continued for the greater part of the month. Fish, which had maintained a safe distance during the turmoil of last month, now ventured within catching distance, and several good takes were had. After the middle of the month heavy seas again drove them out of reach into deep water. Those that were caught were seen to be gorged with soil half an inch in length, resembling a piece of white thread with a black dot on either side at one end representing the eyes. Amongst the first that were taken the small jellyfish—cydippe pileus—seemed to have been their principal diet, but latterly the soil appeared to be preferred to the medusae. Outside the breakers they are still occasionally seen playing on the surface in the evenings. “Playing” is scarcely correct, as their play is, in reality, strict attention to business, and their appearance on the surface merely denotes their having overleaped themselves in pursuit of their legitimate prey. Our flock of eider ducks, much larger than it has been for several years back, now numbers 120. Amongst the smothering breakers they seem to be in their glory, and are busily engaged in clearing off the immature mussels that have escaped the voracity of the white whelks. On the 2nd, the first two longtails were seen, exactly a week earlier than last year, but their numbers are being but tardily reinforced, as they only totalled six at the end of the month. Though the main body of the solan geese or gannets left their breeding haunts on the Bass Rock on the 5th of the month for the fishing grounds—in the Mediterranean it is said—occasional stragglers are still seen in our vicinity.
On the night of the 8th we had a few migrants on the lantern, ten blackbirds—three only of which were males—and three fieldfares. Several of them appeared much fatigued, and after a few preliminary hops round the lantern, settled down on the lee side to have a nap. A fresh breeze blowing at the time, those still on the move were frequently hustled by the wind against the sleepers, who, thus rudely awakened, vigorously resented what they no doubt considered a deliberate attempt to assault, with the result that all hands were at times engaged in a battle royal; the hen “blackies” only engaging with those of their own sex, while the cocks and fieldfares tackled all comers indiscriminately. It was rather amusing to witness the finish between a pair thus engaged. Edging round the narrow pathway in their struggle, they gradually came under the influence of the wind sweeping round the lantern, when suddenly one of them would be wheeled off its feet away into the darkness, its opponent peering after it in evident astonishment, and probably congratulating itself on its prowess. The haze, responsible for their appearance here, clearing after midnight, before 3 a.m. they had all resumed their journey shoreward. On the 20th, a pair of grey crows passed, going east, and on the 22nd a heron was seen travelling in the same direction. Again, on the night of the 27th, three hen blackbirds and a starling had the lantern all to themselves.
The white whelks have now gone into winter quarters, and only a few are to be seen lingering among patches of immature mussels. The black edible whelk, or periwinkle, whose vegetarian habits demand a more inshore life, is here conspicuous by its absence. Occasionally, during the summer months, a very close search reveals a few solitary specimens. Two different varieties of slugs have been much in evidence among the rocks here of late. One of them (Doris coccinea), resembling in shape and colour a section of an orange, I have already described; the other somewhat resembles the common snail. Furnished with anterior horns and fleshy spines, ranged along the back, it curls itself up when out of water like a hedgehog. Earlier in the season they were mostly of a beautiful bluish colour, now they appear quite red. Without any visible means of defence, one can fancy these shell-less molluscs furnishing a delectable tit-bit for a hungry cod.