March 1902.MARCH 1902.
MARCH 1902.
Signsof uneasiness and unrest are now apparent amongst our winter boarders, the eiders and long-tailed ducks. Taking wing on the slightest provocation, they wheel aimlessly round the Rock, and instead of their usual steady persistence in diving for a living, they seem quite discontented with their lot, and plainly making up their minds to desert us for the summer. Advances by the males are as yet met with scornful rebuffs by their less showy plumaged partners, but soon a mutual understanding will be arrived at, and before the month closes they will have gone house-hunting, eiders possibly to the Isle of May, while the long-tails, being migratory, seek their homes in the frozen North. It seems a strange anomaly that the less robust looking longtail should choose such rigorous latitudes for the rearing of its brood, while the sturdy “dunter,” swathed in his arctic coat, should elect to stay at home. On the other hand, we have been visited on hazy nights by numbers of larks and thrushes returning to our shores, after wintering in “Norroway ower the faem.” These members of the spring migratory movement often come to grief on our lantern, and when one considers the number of lighthouses round our coasts, it will be understood that the death-roll from this cause alone must be extremely high. Designed to save life, we unwittingly lure our feathered friends to their destruction.
A couple of seals have been sporting round our door of late, and they also exhibit signs of exuberance in keeping with the season. At high water they come quite close to the tower, and their antics are seen to advantage from our balcony. Rolling over each other, they make for the bottom, gliding along the rocks like hounds hunting in couples; then with a rush they are on the surface, floating bolt upright, with their muzzles almost touching, staring with their large, expressive eyes into each other’s face. An almost human touch was given to their play by one taking the head of the other between his fore-flippers, as if about to salute him, or more likely her, in the orthodox fashion. One was seen the other morning in possession of a large fish, while a number of gulls sat at a safe distance round him, waiting for the fragments when the feast should begin. By the way he glared at them, he was evidently annoyed at their presence. Sinking for a few seconds, he appeared on the surface minus the fish. This was evidently intended as a ruse, and meant to imply that he had lost it; but the gulls seemed to know better, and kept their position. Diving, he made his appearance some distance off, this time with the fish in his mouth, only to find himself, to his annoyance, again the centre of wistful expectations. Presuming these gulls to be up-to-date birds, their exulting cacklings might be literallyrendered—“You better begin, Mister Phoca; it’s no use trying, you know; you can’t possibly dewett us!” At least, the seal seemed to think so, for he there and then opened the banquet with a rip of his teeth that distributed the offal amongst the hungry cordon.
The rocks become at this season of the year invested with a slippery coating of algæ, which renders it extremely difficult to maintain one’s footing, and also necessitates repeated applications of hot lime to our gratings in order to render them passable. Myriads of minute whelks, no larger than turnip seed, strew the rocks and crunch under foot as we walk, while great patches of mussel spawn delight the heart of the more venturesome of the whitewhelks—a prospecting party who will doubtless communicate the promising state of the commissariat to their fellows still in winter quarters.
Fishing in the Rock pools has been tried for the first time this season, and resulted in the capture of a solitary “cobbler.” It may be a month hence before we meet with any success.
This month has been extremely mild, though the hills behind Arbroath are still seen to carry portions of their winter coat, while the higher ranges inland are completely snow-capped. On a clear day our view is limited by Tod Head, about twenty-five miles to the north, and St Abb’s Head thirty miles south of us. The coast-line presents a uniform flatness, which becomes monotonous in comparison with the more picturesque raggedness of the West Coast. A most conspicuous feature in the landscape in the vicinity of Arbroath is the clump of trees on the summit of the LawHill—a landmark well known to navigators, and easily discernible, as it stands sharply defined against the sky-line. Arbroath, when not enveloped in smoke, is clearly seen, and with the aid of our telescope the after-church promenaders can be distinguished on the Protection Wall, or wending their way towards the Victoria Park.