174 WILD WINGS 



ing port. For a comparatively moderate consideration he 

 offered to take us across that afternoon. 



In due time we found ourselves out in the dense fog, the 

 steamer rolling her rails under as the great ocean swells 

 hurled themselves against her. It was no wonder that the 

 fishermen did not care to attempt it. Now and then a Sooty 

 Shearwater, wild wanderer from the Antarctic Ocean, on 

 long, narrow wings would come sweeping along the trough 

 of the sea and then go scaling over the crests to windward. 

 While man may be struggling and drowning, they are merry 

 and fearless. But now, though we did roll heavily, we were 

 climbing the old seas offshore at a steady pace, and every 

 foot was so much nearer Seal Island. Sails are pretty, but 

 when for days one has been baffled and beaten, he believes 

 in steam. 



At length the fog began to lift, which, with the lessening of 

 the swell, indicated an approach to land. Then the long-lost 

 sun beamed out over the tossing water, and Seal Island began 

 to emerge from the mist. Soon we could clearly see its spec- 

 tacle-shaped form, the two lobes with their dense spruces and 

 rocky shores, and the connecting bridge of sand. From the 

 thick forest of the southern lobe stood out the white light- 

 house tower, and above the dark foliage of both the white 

 Herring Gulls were hovering, in beautiful contrast. We were 

 approaching the eastern side, which was under the lee, so the 

 sea was not rough. Coming to anchor, we were set ashore in 

 a dory on a conveniently built slip in the cove, and were soon 

 enjoying the bountiful fare and hospitality of the owner of 

 the island and his family. For several days, now, the weather 

 was, for the most part, fair, and I was able to spend the 

 whole time in studying and photographing the birds. 



Our nearest neighbors were the Black Guillemots. Back 

 from the house, a short road led down through the spruces 



