The Horn-billed Puffin 



in the shelter of the oaks, with a view 

 to meeting the diving beau up coast. 

 It worked to a nicety. The Diver 

 pulled in and moved along a 

 hundred yards to good country 



Takerfon Destruction Island 

 Photo by the Author 



GLOVES ARE RECOMMENDED 



he knew (though it took him half an 

 hour to do it) and then peeled off his coat, at it were, and dived in. I 

 surprised him at close quarters and got in an exposure, No. I. The Rhino 

 was too dignified to scamper, but he quickly edged away and moved up 

 coast fifty yards and began to work close in. Again I surprised him and 

 this time he stood his ground. It was royal sport. I was simply trembling 

 with excitement like a bird-dog whose master is about to shoot. Where 

 in the boiling cauldron would he come up next? Here perhaps; no, there! 

 And down he goes before I can swing on him. Once he came up within 

 fifteen feet, but I missed him. Twice I got him fair as close as thirty feet, 

 all sparkling with water and bristling with alertness. He gave me several 

 square chances, and then edged off along the shore where the water was 

 fairly seething, and I marveled that anything could live. Twice he came 

 up within two feet of the rocks, and once he actually stranded on a ledge, 

 not attempting to move until the water eased him. I followed again, and 

 I give you but a faint idea of the thrill and glory of it all when I tell you 

 that my legs were nearly too weak to carry me. Seven shots at a Horn- 

 billed Puffin at work in the churning sea! And the shore-work was rough 

 too. Once I took too big a chance, — the camera was heavy, and my foot 

 slipped, with a nasty smash in prospect, throwing my whole weight un- 

 expectedly on one hand. The thumb went over backward, but it held 

 long enough to save my footing, and once recovered, I dashed on after 



1522 



