With nature and a camera

Chapter III. The birds and fowlers of St Kilda (continued)

Squally weather *

WHILST sitting on the rocks round Village Bay watching birds through my field glasses, I several times observed the curious behaviour of the wind on the water during squally weather. It would descend from the hill-tops round about, and striking one particular spot spread out in an almost perfect circle, producing an effect very similar to that of a stone cast into the middle of a placid pool.

Of the dangers of squally weather at St Kilda we had heard a great deal, but certainly never dreamed that we should soon have such a very disagreeable example of its treachery as to make us doubt seriously whether we should ever live to tell the tale of our experiences.

It came about in this way. We had been unable to do any photographic work one rather blustering, showery day, and as the weather cleared up, and apparently became quite settled towards evening, young Fergusson invited my brother and me to go fishing with him in Village Bay.

We commenced operations by the gap dividing St Kilda from the Doon, and rowed quietly along, hugging the shore until we came to the end of the latter island. As we put about to pull back I noticed a black, ominous-looking cloud looming up behind Conagher, and asked the boatmen, who were all of the younger generation and could speak English very well, what it meant. "Just a shower," they answered.

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By the time we had rowed half-way back along the Doon it had become so dark that we could hardly see across the bay. This seemed to increase the voracity of the fish, and we hooked one monster after another as fast as we could haul them up. Just as I was in the act of landing one the boat was struck by a blinding deluge of rain. The sea rose directly, and the wind swept the crests of the waves off and twirled them into stinging showers of white spray. Our crew, consisting of four strong young fellows, pulled away at the oars vigorously, but made no progress so far as I could note by such jutting crags as were visible through the mirk of the storm. By-and-by they made the boat creep along, and in a while we came to a cave in which the St Kildans hoped to find shelter from the wind and waves. Instead, however, of proving a haven of safety, it turned out to be a veritable death-trap. The huge waves lifted our wee craft and flung it forward with such force that it looked perilously like being jammed into the crevice in which the little cave ended.

Our boatmen had hitherto been speaking in English, but the exciting character of the situation soon sent them back upon their Gaelic, in which tongue they yelled at each other furiously. One of them lost his head so far that, instead of keeping his oar against the side of the cave in order to push the boat off, drew it in and held it straight up, mast fashion, and in we went on the next roller. I made sure that her bows would jam under an overhanging crag and that the succeeding wave would fill her, a disaster which would undoubtedly have befallen us had not my brother jumped up and held her out by placing both hands against the rock. He told me afterwards that the effort was so great that it appeared to strain every muscle in his body. Some idea of the danger of our situation may be gathered when I state that more than once, as a wave broke against the overhanging side of the cave on our starboard, it splashed into the boat, and during the back suck of the swell we trailed and bumped on the sloping rock on our port.

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Kittiwakes nesting on Doon

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The whole scene was one of indescribable grandeur from an elemental point of view. Outside, the sea and the descending torrents of rain were mixing in a wild tumult of spray and foam. The waves were leaping against the black basaltic crags, and making fearsome thunder in the great caves that tunnel the Doon in places right through from Village Bay to the Atlantic.

Perhaps the strangest thing of all in this scene of gloom and uproar was that afforded by twenty or thirty gentle little Kittiwakes, sitting on their nests in the utmost peace and security only a few feet over our imperilled heads.

In from twenty minutes to half an hour the storm blew itself out, and I think we all breathed a sigh of relief when we regained the open water in safety. As a matter of fact, to seek refuge in such a place was the maddest thing we could have done.