The Black Oyster-catcher 
Anon, birdlums! We are very much occupied just now with the 
problem of landing. Our island is nearly surrounded by rocky shoulders 
which are covered only at highest tide, and upon one of these, on the lee 
side, we hope to disembark. Albeit there is little breeze, there is a heavy 
swell running, and the boatman sculls cautiously as we draw near. Just 
as we prepare to leap ashore with the cameras we are swiftly upborne by 
Taken near Pizmo „ Photo by the Author 
AN ISLAND FORTRESS 
a quartering sea. “Look out!” the oarsman cries sharply, and we crouch 
in terror as the dory seems about to be dashed in pieces upon the flooded 
reef. But the boat just clears in the recoil and we go down, down, while 
a swift pageant of mussels, barnacles, sea-urchins, and bright-hued 
anemones shoots past us, sputtering and choking at the sudden exposure 
to air. When we do effect a landing, we must scuttle for safety before 
the next w r ave reaches, with a dull chug of satisfaction, our recent landing 
place. 
The lower levels of the bird-rock are sacred to the Oyster-catchers, 
and these engage our attention at once. Very diverting creatures they 
are at any time, but never more so than at close quarters. As large as 
domestic fowls, with sooty black plumage, they are provided with stout 
feet and legs of a pale flesh-color, and a strong chisel-shaped bill of a 
bright vermilion hue. The yellow eyes are surrounded by rings of car¬ 
mine, which impart a droll appearance to these wags in feathers; and in 
the midst of most earnest floods of bombast, they cannot forbear tipping 
you sly winks, like auctioneers. 
Now and then one will alight quite near and stand for a moment 
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