THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 223 



summer the women and boys and girls attend to 

 the croft, for small cattle and sheep flourish, and 

 they can grow fine crops of rough cereals, potatoes 

 and hay. (The cattle and potatoes seem to live 

 a life of chronic disappointment. They have 

 hardly recovered from the severities of the climate 

 when another winter is upon them.) 



It took seven hours to reach the little port at 

 Skagen, on the island of Lango. Here we were met 

 by our keeper, Emil Ericksen, who afterwards 

 proved an excellent friend and helper in more ways 

 than one. Ericksen was a nervous, highly-strung 

 creature of some fifty-seven years. Like many 

 Norwegians, he was very excitable, but possessed 

 a large share of intelligence and buoyancy of spirits 

 (in spite of the fact that he possessed thirteen 

 children). In him I found a sympathetic friend, as 

 he loved Natural History. He spoke English quite 

 well, and was fond of attaching weird adjectives 

 to a multitude of subjects. Most things that 

 excited his imagination were described as " curioos " 

 or " mystarioos." The fact that a certain person 

 was the son of a clergyman, that cartridges could 

 be made damp-proof, that the weather was about 

 to change, that people came from other lands, and 

 a host of normal matters, were all " mystarioos," 

 whilst the fact that my companion was about to be 

 married was only " curioos." It was all very 

 strange and wonderful. Yet his observation of 

 Nature was, for the most part, accurate and in- 

 telligent. The Hooded Crow was aptly designated 

 as " the baddest of birds of all place." Occasion- 

 ally he lapsed into strange comparisons. A certain 

 German agent whom we were engaged in out- 



