96 BIRD LIFE ON ISLAND AND SHORE 
that of the well-known Sounds of the west coast 
of the South Island. Picturesque, however, as it 
may be, the magnificent mountains and towering 
heights of the west coast Sounds are lacking. 
The several narrow entrances to Pegasus harbour 
lead direct from the ocean to vast expanses of 
deep still water. In one of its innumerable bays 
lies the tiny hamlet of half a dozen houses and 
huts, a small refrigerator for the preservation of 
fish, and a sawmill run by motor-power, used at 
the date of our visits chiefly in preparation of 
timber for tram-lines to the neighbouring tin mine. 
A certain liveliness—the phrase had not been in- 
vented then—was, however, added to the place 
during our stay by boats and fishing-craft anchored 
in the lee of the wooded islet that nearly closes the 
mouth of the little bay. Some of the houses are 
on its northern, some on its southern side. There 
is not a chain of roadway on the place; inter- 
communication is by boat alone. In other parts 
of the world men step ashore; at Pegasus they 
climb out of the ocean by ladders fastened to the 
cliffs that without a break edge the small cove. 
Pegasus is distinguishable from all other town- 
ships by the habits of its citizens. They arise 
perpendicularly from the ocean. They leap from 
sea-level to land. They are a pelagic folk. The 
ocean basin is a ship’s hold, the surface of the 
earth its deck, and the perpendicular steps or 
