The few boats which have been prosecuting the lobster fishing here for the last three months have now abandoned it. Although fairly successful at the commencement, they were latterly reduced to a mere pittance. A return of four lobsters for the hauling of fifty “sunks” is but a precarious living. Anchored close to the Rock, in order to avoid being run down by prowling trawlers, they often passed the night, sleeping underneath their sails. Their cooking range, consisting of an old metal pail with holes punched through the sides, set on a stone slab, while an empty meat tin did duty as kettle, fish-pan, or tea-pot, as occasion required. It is only within this year or two that the Rock has again attracted the attention of the lobster fisher, after a lapse of many years. Prior to that time, we could always rely on an occasional lobster being found in the holes on the Rock at low water; while crabs, which could be had in abundance, are now extremely scarce, and the lobster, as far as we are concerned, might well be as extinct as the Dodo. We had rather a surprising catch in a lobster-creel one time here. On hauling our creel, instead of the expectant lobster a huge conger-eel was found in possession, his girth just barely admitting him through the “funnel.” A further surprise, however, awaited us; for, on being cut open, a full-grown lobster was found in his stomach. How the biter in this case escaped being bitten is a mystery, as one would naturally suppose the lobster, with his powerful claws, would be more than his match. This recalls an incident which happened the other day. A pretty little fish, of a kind we had not yet seen, was, after some manœuvring, placed in a bucket of water along with some other fish, sea weeds, and shells. On examining our catch a little later, our pretty stranger was nowhere visible; suspicion falling on an ugly-looking little “poach” complacently resting at the bottom of the bucket, Jeddart justice was summarily meted out to the suspected cannibal; a post-mortem conclusively established his guilt. That these fish are cannibals there is not the slightest doubt. I picked up one about a foot long on a beach in Orkney, which had partly succeeded in swallowing, tail first, a brother half his size, but had been choked in the attempt; the horns on either side of his victim’s head becoming embedded in his gullet, he could neither entertain nor reject him. Amongst the numerous _aliases_ by which the “Poach” is known are the following--Bullhead, Hardhead, Cobbler, Shoemaker, Gunflucker, Comper, and Johnny Mainland, the latter being his Orcadian name.