22 Gannets 



there are two stations, the one on the Bull Rock, Co. Cork, and a 

 large one on the little Skelligs, Co. Kerry, both in the extreme 

 south-west. 



The total number of known breeding stations in the United 

 Kingdom does not therefore exceed nine. 



Grasholm Island is probably one of the least known of these 

 breeding sites, and on that account, it seems worth while describing 

 a visit I paid to the lonely sea-girt rock some years ago. 



Grasholm is situated, as I have already said, off the Welsh 

 coast, lying out in the Atlantic opposite the middle of St. Bride's 

 Bay, the two extremities of the bay being formed by St. David's 

 Head to the north, and by Skomer Island to the south. The nearest 

 land is Skomer, and from St. David's, the island lies W.S.W. about 

 12 or 14 miles. 



Grasholm itself is a somewhat conical chump of rock, about an 

 acre in extent, rising sheer out of the ocean. Its western face, 

 which bears the full fury of the Atlantic storms, is steep and 

 precipitous. To the south and east, the cliffs slope down somewhat. 

 There is a more or less fiat table-land forming the summit, covered 

 with coarse grass, and occupied by innumerable Puffins. There are 

 only two spots where a landing can be effected on the Island, and 

 then only in ver\' fine weather, the one to the east and the other 

 (and better) to the south. 



Like the Stack and Skerry in the Pentland Firth, a visit to 

 Grasholm is a matter requiring some forethought. Often enough, 

 after an arduous journey, one finds, on reaching the rock, that a 

 landing is impossible, owing to the swell. For this reason, one is 

 forced to choose an absolutely calm day without a breath of wind, 

 and further to select a good-sized, seaworth}' boat in case the weather 

 should turn squally. A decent sailing breeze renders it certain that 

 a landing would be impossible, therefore rowing the whole wa\' 

 there and back becomes a necessity, a distance of, peihaps, 40 miles, 

 allowing for the set of the tide. 



Having made elaborate preparations, I waited for a suitable 

 day, and on June 13th, my boatman called me at about 4 a.m., and 

 told me that it looked an ideal day, and that we ought to be able 

 to make a landing without much difficulty. I turned out at once, 

 we soon reached the little harbour of St. David's, Porthclair, and 

 we were off on our voyage by about 5 o'clock. Our crew consisted 

 of myself and two boatmen, the senior of whom was also a 

 professional cliff-climber of the first rank. 



The sun was grilling, the air breathless, and we had five hours 

 real galley-slaving before we reached our destination. We chose 

 the southern landing-place, and effected a landing without difficulty, 

 leaving one hand in the boat, while N — and I, taking ropes, etc. 

 with us, clambered up onto the grassy plateau above. 



The cleft in the rock formed a miniature harbour, and above 

 our heads were hosts of Kittiwakes sitting in their swallow-like 



