312 The Field Naturalist's Quarterly Nov. 



it suffice that after coaling at Hartlepool, and being de- 

 tained a couple of days by stress of weather at Kirkwall, 

 in the treeless Orkneys, we eventually sighted the glittering 

 heights of Oraefa JokuU, the south-eastern point of Iceland. 

 At Ingolf's Hof, an inlet at the foot of the mountain, good 

 fishing is to be had, but our skipper on this occasion was 

 bound for other grounds. Accordingly we kept on our 

 course to Portland (the homely name of which sounds 

 strange amidst the tongue-twisters of Icelandic nomenclat- 

 ure), on the southern coast, shooting our trawl in the 

 vicinity of the Portland Blow Hole, an immense natural 

 arch beaten by the waves in a protruding cliff, and a 

 familiar landmark to all navigators of these waters. 



Many readers are probably acquainted with the modus 

 operandi of the trawler : at all events, the process is too 

 difficult of detailed description to be attempted here. 

 Briefly, the trawl — a wide-mouthed, tapering net, kept open 

 by two heavy " doors," to which are attached the steel 

 warps — is towed for a varying period of time over the 

 bottom, at a distance of, say, 400 yards from the ship's 

 stern. At the expiration of this period the steam-winch is 

 set working, and the warps are hauled in until the afore- 

 said " doors " are pulled up on the derricks rigged fore and 

 aft at the ship's side. It is at this stage of the proceedings 

 that there occurs the first of what, to the present writer at 

 all events, seem puzzling phenomena. 



The business of hauling having ceased, and the mouth of 

 the net in consequence brought alongside, a pause of a few 

 moments ensues during which the skipper looks anxiously 

 over the side. Presently a patch of water some fifty yards 

 away assumes a light-greenish tinge, and amidst a swirling 

 mass of air-bubbles the catch floats to the surface, the 

 " cod-end" — or tail of the net enclosing the fish — being met, 

 as it pops out of the water, by a fierce onslaught of countless 

 gulls, eager for the sand-eels spewed up by the cod and 

 haddock in their discomfort. Puzzler number one (to me) 

 is to account for the mass of air-bubbles which accompanies 

 the bag in its progress to the surface. I had better, perhaps, 

 disarm criticism by observing, in the words of a famous 

 phrase, that I am a child in these things, seeking to gain 



