FISHING ON LAKE VICTORIA 
47 
The large fish are split, cleaned, and dried, while the small 
sprats are threaded in rows on sticks which are hung up to 
dry in the sun. This work is done by the women of the small 
fishing-camps, and, as may be supposed, the odour in the vicinity 
of the drying fish is the reverse of fragrant, recalling memories 
of the nesting haunts of the cormorants and gannets on the 
Bass Rock. While camped near one of these stations news 
was one day brought in of the nest of the Hagedash Ibis 
(Hagedashia hagedash) close by. The afternoon was far 
gone, but the nest of this bird being new to me the chance 
was not to be missed, so quickly getting camera, &c., we set 
off, and after wading through a shallow swamp, the bird was 
seen on its nest on a small tree close to the lake. On sighting 
us the bird flew off with its weird cry, which is something like 
4 ah-a-aaah,’ long drawn out and so dismal, like the wail of 
lost, despairing spirits, when uttered in the evening gloom. A 
few minutes sufficed to lash the camera to the tree and focus 
the nest, which contained two young about a week old, and 
an addled egg. The shutter set, a long thread was cautiously 
attached to the release and the end carried to the bushes, 
where one crouched expectantly, not heeding the damp of 
the loathsome swamp in the hopes of getting a picture. Half 
an hour passes, and as the sun sinks lower and despair is 
seizing one, hopes are renewed by the sound of swishing wings 
as the bird returns. How one quivers with excitement 
as one wonders if it will settle on the nest, or whether the 
strange object decorated with leaves so near its nest will 
alarm it ? One almost holds one’s breath as the bird comes 
straight back and alights on the nest with food for its young. 
Instantly it sees the strange object and stands erect, full 
of wild suspicion, and one feels almost suffocated with excite- 
ment as the sun just shines through a break in the clouds 
and one pulls the thread and hears the click of the shutter. 
Instantly the bird vanishes ; and crawling out, one climbs 
the tree and resets the camera. Another long wait, but no 
bird comes back, it distrusts the camera with its gleaming 
eyes, and as darkness is coming on, one removes the camera 
and tramps home, dirty, soaking wet, yet curiously happy 
at having outwitted wild nature and observed it at close 
