A FLYING VISIT TO SPITSBERGEN. 85 



after the anchor was let go, at 6 p.m., several of us went on shore. 

 Some of the party proceeded along the south side of Advent Bay ; 

 I and a sailor to the south-west along the shore of Ice Fiord. I 

 searched the slopes of the hills for Ptarmigan, but only found 

 their feathers, droppings, and dusting places. Seeing a Reindeer 

 moving below us to the westward and following the shore-line, 

 we went in pursuit. As we walked along an endless procession 

 of Fulmars accompanied us. They were heading the same way 

 as ourselves, evidently bound for a roosting place, but avoiding 

 the sea they passed along the foreshore between the slope of the 

 hills and the water. Hundreds of these birds passed close over- 

 head and on each side. They showed no fear, many sailing past 

 within ten feet of us. Raising a rifle or shouting only made them 

 sheer off a little, with a slight shudder of the wings and a blink of 

 the eyelid over their lustrous black eyes. I had never before seen 

 a vast body of Fulmars deliberately leave the water and take to a 

 passage overland. In the most northern latitudes, and when the 

 sun is at its highest altitude, in June and July, I have noticed 

 some slight appreciation by birds of the hour which in lower 

 latitudes would be midnight. They are silent for a short time, 

 they seek their resting places or cover their eggs ; but the period 

 of repose is brief, and long before the sun has passed from the 

 northern to the eastern quarter of the sky they are again in 

 activity. Nevertheless there is an indefinable something in the 

 surroundings which tells the traveller, without reference to his 

 watch, that the hour which should be midnight is at hand. 



We found the Reindeer about Advent Bay so tame, that 

 I presumed we were the first who had invaded their haunts that 

 season, and recollections of previous onslaughts had faded. 

 Following the track of the Reindeer which we had seen, led us to 

 a valley that opens on to the shore of the fiord some six miles 

 from our anchorage. Seeing a Reindeer feeding on the slopes of 

 the glen we stalked it. This involved crossing a rushing torrent 

 of icy cold water up to our waists. Crawling and creeping, I got 

 within eighty yards of where I supposed the animal to be, and, 

 cautiously peeping over the knoll, saw the deer feeding. As 

 its stern was towards me, I gave a low whistle, in the hope that 

 the animal would turn and give a side shot. It turned, and to 

 my surprise, instead of making off, walked up to me with head 

 elevated sniffing the air. I shot the poor creature within a few 



