The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



hills with which Ascension abounds have not 

 a particle of earth or grass on them, being 

 nothing more or less than gigantic hills of 

 clinkers. The island too is often unapproach- 

 able owing to the great single and double rollers. 

 Frequently it is impossible to land at the jetty, 

 and a big scoop-net has to be let down from a 

 crane, into which you step and are hauled to 

 terra firma. 



As soon as we could get our invalids out of 

 hospital we were bound for St. Helena, and, 

 pending this, I spent my time seeing the sights 

 of the island. Ascension is famous for its edible 

 turtles (the green turtle), which periodically 

 visit its sands to lay their eggs. 



With the consent of the captain of the island 

 I sat up one night in order to watch the modus 

 operandi of turtle-catching, having to go about 

 three miles over a clinkery path to a tiny shanty 

 of a place, with two bunks in it, where the 

 marines who caught the turtles spent the nights 

 when thus employed. 



I could see plenty of turtles swimming about 

 in the sea, disappearing and re-appearing fre- 

 quently, and was told that in all probability 

 some of them would come up that night. 



We each took a nap for two or three hours, 

 as it was useless to go out until 12 p.m., and 

 about that time one of the marines wakened me, 

 and we sallied forth. It was a glorious night, a 



64 



