OUR ISLANDS 147 



Bill, I had determined to saUy forth today to 

 catch a fish, not for science, possibly not even edible, 

 but a fish caught merely for the sake of fishing. 

 This much talked-of business had to be investi- 

 gated and its thrills experienced. 



So now, at the commanding tones that echoed 

 from the ship's side, I hastily caught up a spoon 

 that was not a spoon, a squid that was not a squid, 

 and a large hunting-knife that was indisputably 

 just that, and dashed to the little boat with its out- 

 board motor. 



In all the archipelago called Galapagos, there 

 is no more beautiful spot than Gardner Bay. The 

 wonderful shore-line of Hood Island, with a thou- 

 sand fascinating coves, peninsulas, pinnacles and 

 caves, shelters the smooth surface where rocky is- 

 lets seem to float, like congealed drops flung off 

 from the parent island when that was still a seeth- 

 ing fountain of molten lava. The scars of the ter- 

 rible searing floods that have poured over Hood, 

 from summit to shore, are more nearly covered by 

 vegetation than elsewhere in the group, and on this 

 sunny April day the sea, sky and land seemed 

 wonderfully new, a vivid picture-world that had 

 not been created long enough to lose its delicious 

 freshness. 



The motor chugged us briskly to a sheltered 

 cove, where Bill laid some deep plots against the 

 lives and freedom of the crayfish in the shape of 

 baited traps, and then we set off to the passage be- 

 tween Hood and Gardner Islands. At the mo- 

 ment which was mysteriously declared to be the 



gS R A jrs Y i ::^i 



