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 
Taken on Destruction Island 
Photo by the Author 
, . , , i • i , r GLOVES ARE RECOMMENDED 
he knew (though it took him hall 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 
I 5 22 
