FISH PHOTOGRAPHIC EXCURSIONS 167 



fa fisherman's hut near by, to get him to row us over 

 the bay, but it was the Sabbath, and the fisherman 

 [refused to go. I was particularly anxious to see the 

 ;fish, and so trudged three miles to cross the river at 

 a ford. When I got to where the salmon had been 

 killed the fish were gone, and a boat had recently been 

 pulled on the shore I 



My friend and I now turned inland and trespassed 

 on an extensive deer forest until we lost our way. But 

 near Tarbert, where I stayed, there was a whaling 

 station, and if a south wind was blowing there was no 

 fear of one's bones bleaching on the bleak hill-side, for 

 it was always possible to smell one's way to the shore 

 and this is what we did. 



Arrived at the station, we knocked at the door of 

 the manager's house, and a bearded Norwegian, six 

 feet six inches in height, demanded in gruff tones our 

 business; but the forbidding appearance and the 

 gruff voice were merely a warning to trespassers, and 

 masked (as we found later) a most genial host. 



We were informed that the midday meal was at two 

 o'clock, and if we cared to wait till then we were wel- 

 come. As soon as we got in we were told to take off 

 our boots and were laid in bunks while our host slum- 

 bered on a sofa. 



Have you ever tried to sleep at a whaling station 

 in a wooden hut on an August afternoon, with the 

 temperature about 90 Fahrenheit, amidst thousands 

 of buzzing flies, and choked by a stench of decomposing 



