66 WILD WINGS 



mangrove swamp, but at length the clouds began to break, 

 and we decided to go. 



We left the large boat anchored near the shore of an inner 

 bay, and in the skiff, with blankets, and provisions for sev- 

 eral days, approached the mangrove thicket which lined the 

 shore. No opening whatever was visible, but, on pulling 

 apart the branches with our hands, we could see a narrow 

 stream of water flowing out into the sea. The branches closed 

 behind us, and we were in the meshes of the mangrove 

 swamp. The channel was just wide enough to float the skiff. 

 Branches met overhead and shut out the sunlight ; tangled 

 roots and snags reached everywhere through the water, across 

 which trunks or limbs had grown or fallen. Some of these 

 had been chopped out previously by the guide, so our task 

 was easier. But by the time we had sculled and paddled, 

 poled and dragged the boat for seven miles over and under 

 obstructions, with an occasional respite in crossing one of 

 the chain of small lakes before entering the next overgrown 

 channel, we were glad enough to see the desired lake open 

 up before us. There lay the famous island, not altogether 

 white with birds, yet with enough of them in evidence to 

 verify the wonderful tales I had heard. A good many birds 

 were visible upon the tops of the trees, and there was a con- 

 stant procession to and from the island. 



We ate dinner out on the lake to avoid the clouds of 

 "skeets," then cleared a spot for a camp in the mangrove 

 swamp on the shore nearest the island, after which we pulled 

 for the rookery. The nearer we approached, the more birds 

 we could see, some white, some black, and others of interme- 

 diate shades. I sat in the stern with the reflex camera in my 

 lap, the slide withdrawn from a 5 x 7 plate, and the focal plane 

 shutter set for one five-hundredth of a second. The sky was 

 well filled with broken clouds, through which the sun shone 



