Turning over some loose stones in the shallow pools numbers of young paidle-fish are seen adhering to the under sides by means of their breast suckers, and when taken in the hand readily adhere to the fingers. I lately saw an illustration in which the paidle “hen” was depicted as leading a brood of about two dozen juveniles after the manner of the domestic fowl. This is stretching the simile with a vengeance, and not in accordance with facts. The “hen,” on depositing the ova, takes no further interest in it, and the “cock” alone guards the nest till the young are hatched out, when he also disappears, neither of them being seen till the following season. Considering that each nest probably contains millions of embryos, one can imagine the maternal anxiety in “airing” such a brood.
Cooped indoors so long, one is glad to take advantage of the quiet weather and the absence of the tide to enjoy a spin along the gratings, even though at night and in darkness. At first the darkness seems to preclude all possibility of holding a straight course along the narrow path, but as the eyes get accustomed to it the twenty steps and a round turn can be accomplished with wonderful precision. Should the round turn be omitted, however, you will probably be reminded of it by coming a cropper on the Bell Rock, which, though historical, is not at all sympathetic. A similar omission at the other end meets with more sympathy, if such sentiment can be said to enter Neptune’s embrace. The flash from the lantern overhead sheds no light below, though some fugitive rays escaping between the flashes illuminate the outlying perches or boat-guides. Any attention to these wandering rays occasions a halting tendency in one’s steps and a disposition to lurch laterally, demanding our undivided attention. The night is clear and dark and the various lights along the coast, which on moonlight nights are partially eclipsed, now show to the best advantage. Fifteen miles to the sou’-west the powerful electric light of the Isle of May flings its quadruple flash with startling brilliancy, a faint bar of light travelling athwart the base of our tower with each flash similar to what would be produced by a lighted carriage passing at a few yards distance. This light is said to be of three million candle-power and is of the arc type, using carbons one and a-half inch in diameter. To a stranger entering the light-room while the light is in action a somewhat disagreeable sound is heard. This is occasioned by the tremendous current bridging the arc between the carbons, and for all the world resembles the sound made by a circular saw passing through exceedingly knotty timber. The Bass Rock emerges from the right shoulder of the “May,” and prevents us seeing the light lately erected on its south side. A little to the right of the “May,” the eye encounters the fixed white light of the North Carr Lightship, three miles off Fife Ness, and distant from us nine miles. This light consists of six small argand lamps, set in silvered reflectors and enclosed in a lantern encircling the mast half-way up. Colza oil was the illuminant used until recently in the North Carr Lightship, as it was formerly in all the Northern lighthouses, where it had ousted the more expensive sperm, but which in turn has been superseded by paraffin. The lamps are hung on gimbals to obviate as much as possible the pitching and rolling of the vessel. With due allowance for the exaggeration that a penny piece placed on the deck shows “heads” or “tails” at the vessel’s own sweet will, one can understand that the motion in bad weather must be considerable. Table guards, though retaining the dishes on the table, do not in the slightest restrain the liberty of their contents, which find lodgment as they list. On such occasions the men resort to the expedient of squatting on the deck of their quarters with their backs against the bulkhead and their outstretched feet firmly opposed to those of their opposite neighbour, and only thus, plate in hand, are they enabled to discuss their soup with any degree of certainty.
Further to the right, in line with the town of Crail—landlocked from us—a dull red glare in the sky marks the position of Edinburgh, distant forty miles as the crow flies. Following the loom of the Fife coast, the twinkling lights of St Andrews next meet the eye, while further up the Firth the two fixed lights of Tayport greet their doubles of Buddonness on the opposite side. Midway between the lights of Tayport and Buddon a single flash every half minute marks the position of the Abertay Lightship. Unlike the other lights here mentioned, the three last named are under the control of the Dundee Corporation. Journeying northwards till almost at right angles to our starting point, the next visible are the lights of Arbroath, twelve miles distant. Viewed through the telescope how dreary and desolate they appear, without the usual accompanying signs of life, a feeble cluster in the vicinity of the harbour dwindling away to the Victoria Park in a solitary line. Further north the occulting light of Montrose Ness catches the eye with its thirty seconds of light followed by thirty seconds’ darkness. Northwards still, twenty-five miles from us, the light of Tod Head, near Bervie, limits our view in that direction. Only in exceptionally clear weather is it visible from here, and then only from the elevation of our balcony. The characteristics of this light are six white flashes in quick succession during fifteen seconds, followed by fifteen seconds’ darkness. Returning to our starting point, the Isle of May, and journeying till thirty miles due south from here, our view is again limited by St Abb’s Head, showing a white flash every ten seconds. About midway between the latter light and the “May” the light of Barns Ness, near Dunbar, is, like St Abb’s and Tod Head, only occasionally seen, its characteristic being a triple white flash every thirty seconds. The presence of these lights makes our coasts as safely navigable by night as by day, and the demand is still for more—a fact which drew from a facetious old “salt” the remark that “sailors nowadays want a hand-rail along the coast.”
December 1903
DECEMBER 1903.
A month of dull, dark, unsettled weather, with scarcely any sunshine to speak of, and admitting of but little heliographic communication with the “shore,” a condition of things, by the way, preventing the “shore station” proclaiming to anxious eyes the interesting advent of another addition to the census. Quite a depressing effect is experienced at such prolonged absence of the land, and the reappearance of the Grampians, though swathed in winter vestments, would be a welcome sight. Our fish supply ceased early in the month, and its renewal need not be expected before the month of May. Gulls are numerous at present, and evidently on short rations considering their vigilant attention to the kitchen slops. Our only feathered visitor for the month was a belated bullfinch, who reached us only to die. The eiders and longtails continue in evidence, and have now the company of four cormorants.
Star-fish are always plentiful here, though of course more numerous in summer. All are of the five-rayed variety, including the “brittle” star-fish, which, unlike its fellows, discards its rays on the slightest irritation, and possesses a body no larger than a shirt button, in ludicrous contrast with the squirming rays two inches in length. In startling contrast with the latter was a specimen found in a shallow pool early in the month, and which was quite new to us here. Six inches in diameter, the stranger appeared all body, with very short rays, of which there were twelve. Unlike the usual five-pointed star shape, it might be better described as a deeply serrated disc, the upper surface being richly coloured with concentric rings of crimson. Another object of note at present is seen scattered about the rocks, resembling small coils of ribbon, apparently the egg-cases of some fish. These are white in colour, and somewhat resemble the outline of the human ear. The enveloping membrane, of rubber-like consistency, is quite transparent, and is seen to contain a frothy fluid. The inner edge of each coil is furnished with an adhesive margin, by means of which it is firmly fixed to the rock surface.
It is interesting to note the different modes adopted by fish to ensure the propagation of their species. Some, apparently careless of results, consign the spawn to the mercy of the waves, while others conceal it from predatory neighbours in the soft, sandy bottom. The skate family, adopting a different procedure with their egg cases—those purse-like receptacles often seen cast up on our beaches—moor them securely to the vegetation on the sea bottom by the long elastic tendrils—prolongations of the four corners of the case. Parental interest is, perhaps, better evinced in the case of the “paidle-fish” standing guard over his nest with unwearied vigilance, exhibiting all the care of a brooding hen for his future offspring. Again, in the case of the dog-fish—the plague of fishermen—how different. Here the young are brought forth, after the fashion of mammals, fully developed. A common sight in fishing boats where these pests are brought on board, is to see the finger-long juveniles swimming briskly about in the bilge-water with the yolk-sac still attached. In some parts it is customary to split and dry these fish for winter consumption, though the flavour of roasted “dogs” would scarcely recommend itself to anyone unaccustomed to its use, nor its relationship to fish even be suspected. The liver at one time supplied the natives of the Hebrides with lamp oil, and was also considered a panacea for all bovine ailments, the method of administering the dose being to keep the head of the cow elevated while the mouth was forced open, and the entire liver, as removed from the fish, slipped gently down the throat; no “sugar-coated pills” about that!
Spring tides occurring at the “full” and “change” of the moon, and our gratings consequently being then uncovered for a much longer period each tide, the “reliefs” are so arranged as to fall on or about these dates. Consequently, during the winter months, when the reliefs are made after dark, there is always the chance of every alternate relief being favoured with full moonlight. On the night of the 18th our final relief for the year was effected in comparatively quiet weather. At relief times, providing the weather is quiet, the landing gratings begin to uncover when the ebb has run four hours. Whenever a footing is possible the keepers descend with the signal-lamps, and by their colour—red, green, or white—indicate to the relieving steamer the landing they consider it safest to attempt. Two boats are immediately dispatched from the steamer in charge of the first and second officers, and, guided by the steamer’s searchlight, cautiously approach the landing signalled. Given quiet weather, the narrow passages leading to the different landings are easily negotiated, though to a stranger, even in quiet weather, the attempt would be extremely hazardous. Should there be any surf on the Rock, the boats take up a position as near the entrance as is prudent with safety, and there wait the opportunity of a lull. This generally occurring at the termination of three bigger waves than usual, the officer gives the word, and the first boat shoots forward into the boiling track. Talk about “shooting the rapids,” why, it isn’t a circumstance to it. Swinging through “Johnny Gray” track on a dirty night in mid-winter is quite “rapid” enough to satisfy the most morbid desire for excitement. At times disaster lies beneath the very oars, but the necessary impetus has already been given to the boat, and she clears it with a rush, to be met the next moment with a drenching sea on the port bow, which threatens to slew her upon the opposite ledge, despite the strenuous resistance of the starboard oars, the tips of which grate on the shelving ledge as they urge her through the narrow channel into safety, the entire effort affording a splendid demonstration of the necessity for doing the right thing at the right moment. The seamen understand exactly what is expected of them, and respond with alacrity to the officers’ orders. Despite the danger attending such work, that no serious accident has ever been recorded reflects much credit on all concerned, from the captain, who, as a boy, began his career on board the vessel which he now commands, downwards. Particularly is the second officer—a veteran of forty years’ experience in this work—to be congratulated on the possession of a “clean sheet” after such protracted service in what is frequently an extremely hazardous calling.