Part 6

We have had occasional visits of feathered migrants during the month, but it is a matter of remark that each year sees a decrease in the number of arrivals here. Probably the increased number of lights on our coast accounts for this diminution, some proving more attractive than ours. A few years ago it was quite on the cards at this season of the year--thanks to the migratory instinct--to have an additional course at dinner, to which fieldfares, blackbirds, and redwings were the voluntary contributors, and even at times the gamey woodcock “graced the groaning board”--for our “board,” being double-leaved and somewhat senile, does occasionally groan, and this without reference to any superincumbent strain. Amongst the more noteworthy of our captures here, at various times, the following may be mentioned:--A peregrine falcon, large horned owl, small brown owl, kestrels, sparrow hawks, crows, cormorants, corn-crakes, and a turtle dove. Birds generally arrive here in a fagged condition, and are easily captured. As an instance, a kestrel landed on our balcony railing during fog, and, despite the explosions of our fog-signal twenty feet overhead, tucked his head under his wing and fell sound asleep. Another arrival of note was a common blue pigeon, which, after a few hours’ stay, surprised us by depositing an egg in our doorway. Disturbed on our appearance, it reluctantly deserted its treasure, but not without many backward glances before spreading its wings shorewards.

Podley-fishing has been fairly successful during the month, and several codlings have been taken from the pools at low water. Whilst photographing lately, another of our number was busy endeavouring to extract a breakfast from Port Hamilton. Hooking a fair sized codling, the camera was turned on the scene, and fish à la photo figured in our bill of fare next morning. A few years ago a photo was taken of a paidle cock and hen, both of which were taken from their nests for this purpose, and proved amenable sitters; the cock appearing in the photo quite conscious of his importance, though the hen appeared somewhat bored, having been snapped in the middle of a huge “gape,” which some of my previous sitters might interpret as a yawn. Both were returned to their nests none the worse of their unique experience, and possibly yet relate their feelings before the camera to the admiring wonder of fishy audiences, till puffed with the idea of their own importance they now probably suffer from a disease (peculiar to some higher vertebrates with as slender a reputation) resulting in what is colloquially known as “swelled head.”

Wouldn’t the fishermen of Arbroath fancy their lines had fallen in pleasant places should the fish they pursue at such hazard come sailing voluntarily into the harbour, and even without the usual ceremony of dropping them a line, appear on the surface, mutely asking to be lifted out? Such, however, was our experience lately. Shortly before daybreak one quiet morning our attention was attracted by the movements of a few gulls, evidently interested in some object in the water at the edge of the reef. As daylight advanced it was seen to be a large fish wobbling erratically upon the surface. On extinguishing the light and descending to the rocks, which the advancing tide had not yet covered, the fish was seen to have entered the Johnny Gray boat track, and was propelling itself, keel upwards, in our direction. A fish in this unusual position indicates an abnormal distension of the swimming bladder, which, by over-increasing its buoyancy, entirely upsets its centre of gravity, and forces it topsy-turvy to the surface. A steam trawler, which had been working close to the Rock for several days previous, was probably responsible for our friend’s “blown” condition. Stepping gingerly over beds of white whelks as we wade bare foot to welcome our visitor, we mentally contrast our inferiority with more juvenile days--a time when even road metal could be safely negotiated. The screaming gulls resent our interference with their expected feast, no doubt slanging us unmercifully as we land our capture, an arm-long lythe, safely on the grating. Their clamouring, however, is soon stilled, as each retires with as big a share of the offal as his strength and agility can command.

The long-tailed ducks are now only wanting to complete the list of our winter boarders, and their advent may be looked for early next month. The eiders have now attained their numerical strength for the winter, and are busily engaged picking up a living, not only for themselves, but also for the parasitical gulls which hover in close attendance, shepherding them with unwearied diligence. The peculiar cackling of the eiders--not unlike that of wild geese--becomes somewhat disturbing as their operations are occasionally carried on underneath our bedroom window. Gannets are now rarely seen here, but at their breeding haunts on the Bass Rock--which we had the opportunity of visiting while on our way here last relief--they are still in evidence, though by the end of the month they will have commenced their journey southwards. A new light is being completed on the Bass Rock, and on the first of December, yet another factor in our dwindling list of visitors will be in operation--ostensibly a lighthouse--but to our feathered friends, alas! a veritable slaughter-house.

NOVEMBER 1902.

Exceedingly stormy weather, with a prevalence of sou’-easterly winds and heavy seas, has been our portion here this month, restricting our movements out of doors, till with circling round our promenade on the balcony one almost doubts the possibility of ever again being able to hold a straight course when opportunity offers. Workmen have been engaged this month fitting up a service of copper piping from the grating at the base of the tower to the cisterns in the oil store on the third flat, whereby the operation of storing oil will in future be rendered much easier. The oil will now be landed in forty-gallon casks, instead of the small six-gallon ankers as formerly, emptied into a sifting tank on the grating, and by means of a rotary pump forced upwards to the oil cisterns--a vast improvement on the old system, when each anker had to be hoisted indoors, and then shouldered upstairs to the cisterns.

A pleasing incident of the month was the arrival of a handsome present for each of the keepers, consisting of a silver mounted briar pipe, a pound of golden bar tobacco, and a liberal supply of first class reading matter. All keepers throughout the service--over 200--were similarly supplied, so that the gift will be seen to be a pretty extensive one, and the donor, James Coats, junr., Paisley, has without doubt earned the gratitude of the service by this generous act of kindness.

About the beginning of the month we had a few feathered visitors, chiefly blackbirds, fieldfares, and starlings. On the morning of the 5th several struck heavily on the lantern, but were swept away by the strong sou’-east wind then blowing. The gannets have now all disappeared, none having been seen since the 27th. The eiders continue in close attendance and have had their numbers augmented by the arrival of the longtails on the 9th, a week earlier than last year, thus completing our list of regular boarders for the winter. At 6 p.m. on the 13th we were privileged with the unusual spectacle of a lunar rainbow. The bow--a faint white arc against the dark background--was distinctly visible in the nor’-west, though, of course, void of the vivid colouring inseparable from its solar namesake.

While taking a turn round the balcony on the evening of the 15th, our attention was attracted to what appeared to be a peculiar shaped mass of foam resting on the rocks immediately beneath us. On careful observation, however, the object was seen to move slightly in the faint moonlight, and by the aid of our telescope the outline of a seal could be dimly seen. On the change of the watch at 6 p.m. an attacking party, including the workmen then on the Rock, was organised, and a plan of campaign drawn up. Descending the outside ladder, which was fortunately in deep shadow, we were able to gain a footing on the Rock unperceived. His suspicions had, however, evidently been aroused, as he was seen to lift his head sniffing uneasily in our direction. Bracing ourselves within the margin of the shadow cast by the tower, we charged down upon him at the double, expecting to see him beat a hasty retreat to the water; but, to our surprise, he made no effort whatever in that direction, but seemed to consider himself quite a match for us, and that there was no present necessity for retreating. Snarling and snapping viciously as we surrounded him, he appeared at a great disadvantage compared with his agile movements when in his element, his hind flippers being now of practically little use to him, his lumbering movements being effected by the aid of the fore flippers alone. His furious efforts to sample portions of our anatomy were easily avoided, and by laying hold of his hind flippers, as one would trundle a barrow, he was immediately placed hors-de-combat. An unfortunate squid or cuttlefish, which had been left stranded by the receding tide, when pushed within his reach was seized and energetically shaken with all the vim of an accomplished ratter. The wooden shaft of a boat-hook was similarly treated, and still bears evidence of his utter ignorance of the dental profession. A rope being procured, a clove hitch was slipped over one of his hind-flippers, the other end made fast to an eye-bolt on the Rock. Thus secured, he was left to his novel reflections for the night.

As the tide covered the Rock he could be seen in the clear moonlight ploughing along the creamy surface, stretching his tether in every direction in futile efforts to escape. At daylight next morning he was found sheltering under a projecting ledge of rock. What a clean, well-groomed fellow he looked, with his sleek, glossy coat glistening in the sunshine, his squat, plump body adapting itself to the inequalities of the surface on which it rested. His coat, by the way, as much fur as that of a horse--grey above, mottled with dark spots, while the under surface is of a creamy yellow. His beautiful teeth gleaming white against the scarlet interior of his mouth, as he snapped fruitlessly on either side, suggested the maximum of robust animal health. As a memento of his visit the camera was brought on the scene, and another addition made to our list of illustrious visitors.

Liberating him proved to be more difficult than his capture, for when cut adrift he persisted in facing us instead of making for the water, towards which we endeavoured to drive him. After some manœuvring, however, he was driven to the edge of the gulley, but even with his body half submerged he maintained a defensive attitude, not seeming to realise that he was at liberty to depart. An incoming wave, however, moved him to a sense of his position, and with a defiant snort he slipped under water. Omitting, in his hurry, to take proper bearings, he took the wrong direction, and, finding himself in a cul-de-sac, made his appearance again on the surface, and with a hurried glance at his position again sank, this time making a bee-line for the outlet, being clearly seen, as he passed under water close to where we stood, and was last seen buffeting his way through the foaming breakers, evidently none the worse for his compulsory detention on the Rock.

DECEMBER 1902.

The broken stones and other debris, consequent upon the late alterations here, which had collected in various holes in the Rock and maintained their position up till now, have nearly all been cleared out by the severe gales of this month, and a couple of heavy iron poles, erected lately to mark the boat tracks or entrances to the landings, and which were sunk two feet in the solid rock and heavily cemented, have been shaken loose in their sockets by the pounding seas which have been besieging us of late. The rocks appear bleak and bare, and utterly void of vegetation. The white whelks have collected their scattered forces, and gone into winter quarters. Secure in sheltering nooks, they lie huddled together in close packed squadrons. Numerous small white banded whelks adhere to the base of the tower with a tenacity that seems surprising considering the swirling seas they are subjected to. This species, however, never seem to dream of hibernating. The eiders and longtails, with an unswerving attention to business, pursue their calling amid the hurly-burly of broken, tumbling seas--evidently little concerned whether the weather be fair or foul--and in the glassy hollows alternating between the breakers they can be distinctly seen scurrying over the rock surface like so many fish. Gannets this month are conspicuous by their absence, and only a few parasitic gulls divide their attention between the kitchen refuse and the hard won earnings of the eiders.

On several occasions during the month our fog signal was brought into action through the occurrence of heavy snowfalls. A silent, feathery fall on shore no doubt has charms peculiarly its own, but at sea constitutes a very serious danger to the anxious mariner as he steams at reduced speed through the fleecy curtain, shrieking his every two minute warning, his vessel’s head scarcely visible from the bridge. In snowstorms such as we have had of late our lantern soon becomes plastered up with snow on the weather side, necessitating constant removal to prevent it from completely blinding our light in that direction. This is an operation often accomplished with difficulty, especially when carried out in the teeth of a gale--an experience somewhat akin to lying out on a yardarm under similar conditions, only one doesn’t have the lift and ’scend of the vessel to contend with; yet his grip must be equally as sure, or, as the old salts phrase it, “Every finger a fish-hook,” on such occasions. Mounting by an outside ladder to the grated gallery which encircles the base of the lantern, one is exposed to the full force of the blast, and a firm grip must be taken to avoid being blown away. Below, the seas in wild tumult break against the building with a deafening roar, sending a perceptible tremor through the entire structure with each impact. Only by energetically hauling on the hand-rail can the slightest progress be made in the desired direction, the wind’s eye being the objective point, where possibly on arrival one may find himself pinned flat to the lantern, like an entomological specimen, by the force of the wind. The snow removed, the return journey is effected by simply allowing oneself to be blown gradually back.

While relieving the Bass Rock on our way ashore last relief, a good opportunity was afforded of witnessing the mode of effecting a landing under adverse circumstances. On arrival there, it was considered dangerous to attempt a landing at either of the two landing places, owing to the heavy sea then running. The landings--a flight of concrete steps from the water edge to the rocks above--are situated on either side of a slight promontory immediately beneath the lighthouse; and as deep water obtains to the rock face, it will be obvious that similar conditions must frequently prevail at either landing. The boat being loaded with the necessary stores, and the relieving keeper on board, an approach was made to within suitable distance of the Rock. A kedge anchor was then thrown overboard, and the boat slacked down till within working distance. The keepers meanwhile had been busy erecting an iron pole or derrick on the rocks above the position now occupied by the boat, and which, being slightly inclined seawards, a tackle from its extremity was drawn by means of a guy-line to the boat, and the stores hoisted ashore by the keepers in charge of the tackle-fall above. Seated in a loop of the rope, the relieving keeper was then hoisted, and his shore-going neighbour similarly lowered. As an extra precaution, a second boat was sent from the ship to stand by the working boat in case of accident. Fortunately, however, their services were not required.

Our final relief here for the year was effected with some difficulty on the 29th. Owing to the doubtful aspect of the landing, only one boat was sent ashore instead of two as usual. The fortnightly supply of coal and water being omitted on this occasion does not, however, inconvenience us, as a three months’ reserve stock of necessaries is always maintained during the winter months.

JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1903.

Bright, sunny weather characterised the opening day of the year, the sea assuming a suspicious placidity quite summer-like in appearance but for the keen nip in the air perceptible out of doors. This state of affairs, however, proved but ephemeral, and for the remainder of the month we have experienced most boisterous weather. Strong westerly winds occasionally attained the force of a gale, accompanied with driving seas, which roared and sang a lullaby scarcely compatible with the shore-dwellers’ sense of security, but which, strange to say, has a more somnolent effect upon us than a breathless stillness, though an occasional thumper of a sea, more forceful than its fellows, demonstrates the stability of our domicile by imparting a gentle tremor to the entire structure, awakening in the sleeper a glimmer of consciousness and a hazy impression of a traction-engine lumbering somewhere in the vicinity.

Our entrance doorway--thirty feet from the Rock--faces south-west, and is guarded by a heavy double leaved door, which opens outwards, and held open against the building by means of heavy brass thumb-snecks. An inner or vestibule door of solid brass is placed six feet further inwards--the walls here, by the way, being seven feet thick, tapering to one foot immediately beneath the balcony, sixty feet higher up. This door is also double-leaved, with the upper panels of heavy plate glass, frequently obscured by the strong westerly wind whipping the tops of the seas as they rise in front, and carrying them souse into the doorway. Standing here during the prevalence of a gale, the outlook is being constantly darkened by a curtain of hissing foam drawn across the doorway, as each sea breaks against the base of the tower, flinging the spray high overhead. Fifteen miles in front of us lies the Isle of May, with its castle-like lighthouse crowning its summit, while on a lower level stands a whitewashed relic--remnant of a time, not so long ago, when the Island boasted a double light, and electricity had not as yet usurped sole sway. Emerging from the right of the May appears the bluff outline of the Bass Rock, while away in the far distance North Berwick Law cleaves the sky-line. Away to St Abb’s Head, on the left, the Haddington coast stretches hazy and indistinct, while the green, grassy slopes of Fife, with the spires of St Andrews faintly visible, fill in the right of the picture. Laying hold of the man-ropes suspended in the doorway, and turning to the right, the Forfarshire coast is seen extending from the Tay in a long unbroken line, with the snow-clad Grampians towering majestically in the background. Right in front of us are the smoking stalks of Arbroath. Two conspicuous white dots in the foreground mark the pierheads, in front of which an impatient “flaxer” cruises in glorious uncertainty of ever being permitted to fulfil her charter and deposit her Riga-run freight on the right side of the bar. This is the panorama from the viewpoint of our doorway on a clear day, but, as seen of late through sheets of flying foam, it reminds one of a cinematograph display, in which the films are far from perfect.

On the first Sunday of the year hundreds of gulls were seen resting on the surface of the sea, half a mile nor’-west from here, evidently by their movements enjoying a feast of “fry,” and in all probability proclaiming the presence of herring shoals. During the gale of 10th January over a dozen gannets were seen swooping and diving, presumably at herring. Only with difficulty could we maintain our position on the balcony, owing to the force of the wind, yet these birds circled and dived amid the turmoil of wind and water with a graceful ease and precision that seemed truly wonderful considering the force of wind they occasionally beat up against, or, as they turned broadside on, were wafted without the least exertion in the opposite direction. The first week of February saw hundreds of these birds back to their breeding haunts on the Bass Rock. From the deck of the “Relief” steamer lying within a few hundred yards their movements are clearly seen. Each projecting ledge of the precipitous cliffs is tenanted by some members of the cackling crowd, their heads see-sawing from side to side. The birds are evidently engaged in brisk conversation, a monopoly of which is certainly not tolerated amongst them, judging by the vigorous efforts of each to be heard above his neighbour. Probably the new lighthouse is being discussed in the light of an innovation on their ancestral rights of possession, and later, as its beams fall athwart their nursery, tradition may recall man’s former intrusion on their solitary keep many hundred years ago. No doubt their ups and downs since last meeting on terra firma are fully discussed, for it is a curious fact that these birds are rarely, if ever, known to rest on shore except when engaged in domestic duties. Occasionally a depraved specimen may be seen floating helplessly on the water, a victim of his own gluttony, having dined not wisely but too well.

February has been a repetition of its predecessor, cold and blowy, with excessive rainfalls. In a shallow depression on the higher rock surface our attention has been attracted to a solitary plant, a specimen, I understand, of “Himanthalia lorea.” A cylindrical stem (an inch in length) supports a thick, fleshy disc, about an inch in diameter. From the centre of this disc three separate branches rise with their terminals, blunted at first, but which were gradually seen to bifurcate. This is our “flower in the crannied wall,” and is in its own way equally as suggestive.

The eiders are occasionally seen varying their diet with a vegetable course. Seizing the tip of a tangle blade two or three inches from the surface, they spin round it like a top, till the portion held in their bill is twisted off and greedily swallowed. No need for them to evade the gulls while engaged in this repast. It is most amusing to witness the discomfiture of the gulls as they hurry from a distance expecting to share in something edible, only to find the duck negotiating six inches of seaweed. That the white whelk itself is not immune from enemies was recently brought before our notice, one being picked up with a long black worm dangling from its mouth. On withdrawing the worm--somewhat resembling a boot lace--portions of the deceased tenant followed. Doubtless every organism has its own particular parasite.

“Big fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite ’em, And these again have lesser fleas and so ad infinitum.”

MARCH 1903.

Traditionally correct, the advent of this month was decidedly leonine, and its exit as certainly lamb-like; but between these periods, though a few really beautiful days could be credited to the latter symbol of peacefulness, the lion was largely in the ascendant. Borne on the off-shore wind comes the odour of heather--not the fragrant perfume one usually associates with this sweet-smelling plant, but the smoky incense consequent on moor-burning--and at night the higher levels of the coast line exhibit lights which are certainly not recognised in the Mariners’ Sailing Directions.

Over a score of steam trawlers have been busy in our neighbourhood all the month. Sunday or Saturday is all the same to them; they are at it night and day, and the weather must be bad indeed to detain them in port. Often they are seen passing here burying themselves to the foremast in the seas on their way to the fishing grounds, perhaps twenty miles outside of us. The Rock seems to be a recognised stage in their journey; for, whenever abreast of it, over goes their log, and a compass course is laid for the distant banks. Here, far outside the three-mile limit, the presence of the Brenda or the Minna causes no alarm; and, providing their numbers are correctly exposed, receive no interference from these coasting policemen. A few summers ago, one of these same trawlers, while on her way out from Dundee one Sunday, surprised us by driving right up on the reef in broad daylight, a hundred yards from the tower. Fortunately, the sea was like glass at the time, otherwise the consequences must have been disastrous. The tide being on the ebb, their attempts to back off were unsuccessful; and there they remained hard and fast from one o’clock till six in the evening, when a passing trawler succeeded in towing them off, evidently none the worse of their brief acquaintance with the Bell Rock. During their detention, the crew paid us a visit in their boat, recalling to our mind a story in which a clumsily handled brig, in coming to an anchorage in a crowded harbour, ran aboard of a vessel already anchored. Visiting this vessel a few days later, to apologise for the occurrence, the offender was thus announced by the steward: “Captain S----has come on board, Sir.” “Oh, indeed,” sarcastically remarked the aggrieved mariner. “Has he brought his brig with him?”

The rocks are this year more plentifully strewn with mussel-spawn and acorn barnacles than usual; and already the whelks have sallied from their winter’s sleep, bent on their destruction. Hundreds of hermit crabs have also made their appearance, notably first in the deeper pools, but gradually taking up their quarters in the shallows. Towards the end of the month, a few small spats of paidlefish spawn were seen deposited in convenient crevices of the rocks. This is unusually early for “nesting” operations, and engenders hopes of an early fishing, as the ova is generally the first inducement for the wandering cod to come within reach of our rods. Numerous clusters of the wheat-like ova of the white whelk are also seen; but, unlike that of the paidlefish (lumpsucker)--which may be detached from its gelatinous fastenings in a solid mass--each egg adheres separately by its own footstalk. Though the adult “paidles” are only to be seen here during the period of incubation--the term seems quite applicable, seeing that the guardian “cock” is always in close attendance, with his nose thrust into the centre of the mass of ova, at which point there is always a depression, and frequently a hole right through it--juveniles are occasionally met with at all seasons; and, on the first anniversary of their birthday, are seen to have attained the length of two inches.

Numbers of peculiar looking slugs are met with at present, somewhat resembling a section of a small orange with the skin attached. On their upper surface, near to one end, a minute orifice is seen, through which a small rosette like arrangement is protruded when at rest, but which is instantly withdrawn when the animal is disturbed. This is the only visible sign of life in this otherwise inert object, and is probably its means of obtaining a living. Its under or ambulatory surface is similar to that of a limpet, without its tenacity, but with a somewhat similar rate of progression. Another small slug noticed this month--no larger than one’s finger nail and recalling the general appearance of the “fretful porcupine,” with “quills” arranged along its back, and displaying beautiful shades of brilliant blue and crimson.