By the establishment of shore stations these difficulties have been largely eliminated. The whales are usually drawn entirely out of the water upon the slip where, before the blubber is stripped off, they can be measured, photographed, and described. As they are being cut in it is possible to make a fairly detailed study of the fresh skeleton and other parts of the anatomy—if the investigator is not afraid of blood and grease. Moreover the great number of whales of a single species brought to the stations allows a study of individual variation, which evidently is greater among some of the large cetaceans than in other groups of mammals. Since shore stations are located in widely separated parts of the world, they have facilitated investigations of the distribution, life history, and relationships of large whales, which otherwise would have been impossible. Thus it is obvious that a naturalist who is fortunate enough to stay for some time at a modern factory has opportunities for original work such as were undreamed of before the days of steam whaling. The directors of the companies, and the managers of the stations, have usually been glad to assist in the study of the animals which form the basis of their industry, and have generously extended the courtesies of their ships and stations. In some instances they have gone to considerable trouble to secure specimens which could be prepared and presented to museums in various parts of the world for exhibition and osteological study. It is deeply to be regretted that the wholesale slaughter of whales will inevitably result in their early commercial extinction, but meanwhile science is profiting by the golden opportunities given for the study of these strange and interesting animals. Thus, the old saying that “it is an ill wind that blows good to no one” applies very decidedly to the whaling industry. CHAPTER I MY FIRST WHALE HUNT Great lumbering swells of gray water rolling out of the fog from the wide sweep of the open Pacific were the picture I saw through the round, brass-bound frame of the porthole on the _S. S. Tees_. It was the last of May, but the cold of winter still hung in the sea air, and even when we drew in toward the foot of the mountains which poked their fir-clad summits far up into the mist clouds, I shivered in my heavy coat and tramped about on deck to keep warm. Finally when we were right under the towering mountain’s walls, we swung abruptly into smooth water, the long roll and pitch of the ship slackened and died, and we were quietly plowing our way up river-like Barclay Sound, which, from the west coast, cuts into the very heart of Vancouver Island.