154 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



the dredge, the mark of whose iron shoe is like the 

 tiny track of a snail on the leaf mould of a vast 

 forest. 



The first plunge beneath the icy waters of 

 Fundy is likely to remain long in one's memory, 

 and one's first dive of short duration, but the 

 glimpse which is had and the hastily snatched 

 handfuls of specimens of the beauties which no 

 tide ever uncovers is potent to make one forget 

 his shivering and again and again seek to pene- 

 trate as far as a good-sized stone and a lungful 

 of air will carry him. Strange sensations are ex- 

 perienced in these aquatic scrambles. It takes a 

 long time to get used to pulling oneself downward, 

 or propping your knees against the under crevices 

 of rocks. To all intents and purposes, the law of 

 gravitation is partly suspended, and when stone 

 and wooden wedge accidentally slip from one's 

 hand and disappear in opposite directions, it is 

 confusing, to say the least. 



When working in one spot for some time the 

 fishes seem to become used to one, and approach 

 quite closely. Slick-looking pollock, bloated lump- 

 fish, and occasionally a sombre dog-fish rolls by, 

 giving one a start, as the memory of pictures of 

 battles between divers and sharks of tropical wa- 

 ters comes to mind. One's mental impressions 

 made thus are somewhat disconnected. With the 

 blood buzzing in the ears, it is only possible to 

 snatch general glimpses and superficial details. 



