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Chapter 1

The rest of his body was so streaked, and spotted, and marbled with the same shrouded hue, that, in the end, he had gained his distinctive appellation of the White Whale; a name, indeed, literally justified by his vivid aspect, when seen gliding at high noon through a dark blue sea, leaving a milky-way wake of creamy foam, all spangled with golden gleamings.

Nor was it his unwonted magnitude, nor his remarkable hue, nor yet his deformed lower jaw, that so much invested the whale with natural terror, as that unexampled, intelligent malignity which, according to specific accounts, he had over and over again evinced in his assaults. More than all, his treacherous retreats struck more of dismay than perhaps aught else. For, when swimming before his exulting pursuers, with every apparent symptom of alarm, he had several times been known to turn round suddenly, and, bearing down upon them, either stave their boats to splinters, or drive them back in consternation to their ship.

Already several fatalities had attended his chase. But though similar disasters, however little bruited ashore, were by no means unusual in the fishery; yet, in most instances, such seemed the White Whales infernal aforethought of ferocity, that every dismembering or death that he caused, was not wholly regarded as having been inflicted by an unintelligent agent.

Judge, then, to what pitches of inflamed, distracted fury the minds of his more desperate hunters were impelled, when amid the chips of chewed boats, and the sinking limbs of torn comrades, they swam out of the white curds of the whales direful wrath into the serene, exasperating sunlight, that smiled on, as if at a birth or a bridal.
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Chapter 2

His three boats stove around him, and oars and men both whirling in the eddies; one captain, seizing the line-knife from his broken prow, had dashed at the whale, as an Arkansas duellist at his foe, blindly seeking with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. That captain was Ahab. And then it was, that suddenly sweeping his sickle-shaped lower jaw beneath him, Moby Dick had reaped away Ahabs leg, as a mower a blade of grass in the field. No turbaned Turk, no hired Venetian or Malay, could have smote him with more seeming malice. Small reason was there to doubt, then, that ever since that almost fatal encounter, Ahab had cherished a wild vindictiveness against the whale, all the more fell for that in his frantic morbidness he at last came to identify with him, not only all his bodily woes, but all his intellectual and spiritual exasperations. The White Whale swam before him as the monomaniac incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them, till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung. That intangible malignity which has been from the beginning; to whose dominion even the modern Christians ascribe one-half of the worlds; which the ancient Ophites of the east reverenced in their statue devil;—Ahab did not fall down and worship it like them; but deliriously transferring its idea to the abhorred white whale, he pitted himself, all mutilated, against it. All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in Moby Dick. He piled upon the whales white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot hearts shell upon it.

It is not probable that this monomania in him took its instant rise at the precise time of his bodily dismemberment. Then, in darting at the monster, knife in hand, he had but given loose to a sudden, passionate, corporal animosity; and when he received the stroke that tore him, he probably but felt the agonizing bodily laceration, but nothing more. Yet, when by this collision forced to turn towards home, and for long months of days and weeks, Ahab and anguish lay stretched together in one hammock, rounding in mid winter that dreary, howling Patagonian Cape; then it was, that his torn body and gashed soul bled into one another; and so interfusing, made him mad. That it was only then, on the homeward voyage, after the encounter, that the final monomania seized him, seems all but certain from the fact that, at intervals during the passage, he was a raving lunatic; and, though unlimbed of a leg, yet such vital strength yet lurked in his Egyptian chest, and was moreover intensified by his delirium, that his mates were forced to lace him fast, even there, as he sailed, raving in his hammock. In a strait-jacket, he swung to the mad rockings of the gales. And, when running into more sufferable latitudes, the ship, with mild stunsails spread, floated across the tranquil tropics, and, to all appearances, the old mans delirium seemed left behind him with the Cape Horn swells, and he came forth from his dark den into the blessed light and air; even then, when he bore that firm, collected front, however pale, and issued his calm orders once again; and his mates thanked God the direful madness was now gone; even then, Ahab, in his hidden self, raved on. Human madness is oftentimes a cunning and most feline thing. When you think it fled, it may have but become transfigured into some still subtler form. Ahabs full lunacy subsided not, but deepeningly contracted; like the unabated Hudson, when that noble Northman flows narrowly, but unfathomably through the Highland gorge. But, as in his narrow-flowing monomania, not one jot of Ahabs broad madness had been left behind; so in that broad madness, not one jot of his great natural intellect had perished. That before living agent, now became the living instrument. If such a furious trope may stand, his special lunacy stormed his general sanity, and carried it, and turned all its concentred cannon upon its own mad mark; so that far from having lost his strength, Ahab, to that one end, did now possess a thousand fold more potency than ever he had sanely brought to bear upon any one reasonable object.
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Chapter 3

At the period of our arrival at the Island, the heaviest storage of the Pequod had been almost completed; comprising her beef, bread, water, fuel, and iron hoops and staves. But, as before hinted, for some time there was a continual fetching and carrying on board of divers odds and ends of things, both large and small.

Chief among those who did this fetching and carrying was Captain Bildads sister, a lean old lady of a most determined and indefatigable spirit, but withal very kindhearted, who seemed resolved that, if SHE could help it, nothing should be found wanting in the Pequod, after once fairly getting to sea. At one time she would come on board with a jar of pickles for the stewards pantry; another time with a bunch of quills for the chief mates desk, where he kept his log; a third time with a roll of flannel for the small of some ones rheumatic back. Never did any woman better deserve her name, which was Charity—Aunt Charity, as everybody called her. And like a sister of charity did this charitable Aunt Charity bustle about hither and thither, ready to turn her hand and heart to anything that promised to yield safety, comfort, and consolation to all on board a ship in which her beloved brother Bildad was concerned, and in which she herself owned a score or two of well-saved dollars.

But it was startling to see this excellent hearted Quakeress coming on board, as she did the last day, with a long oil-ladle in one hand, and a still longer whaling lance in the other. Nor was Bildad himself nor Captain Peleg at all backward. As for Bildad, he carried about with him a long list of the articles needed, and at every fresh arrival, down went his mark opposite that article upon the paper. Every once in a while Peleg came hobbling out of his whalebone den, roaring at the men down the hatchways, roaring up to the riggers at the mast-head, and then concluded by roaring back into his wigwam.
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Chapter 4

In a few minutes there was, so far as the soldier could see, not a living thing left upon the common, and every bush and tree upon it that was not already a blackened skeleton was burning. The hussars had been on the road beyond the curvature of the ground, and he saw nothing of them. He heard the Martians rattle for a time and then become still. The giant saved Woking station and its cluster of houses until the last; then in a moment the Heat-Ray was brought to bear, and the town became a heap of fiery ruins. Then the Thing shut off the Heat-Ray, and turning its back upon the artilleryman, began to waddle away towards the smouldering pine woods that sheltered the second cylinder. As it did so a second glittering Titan built itself up out of the pit.

The second monster followed the first, and at that the artilleryman began to crawl very cautiously across the hot heather ash towards Horsell. He managed to get alive into the ditch by the side of the road, and so escaped to Woking. There his story became ejaculatory. The place was impassable. It seems there were a few people alive there, frantic for the most part and many burned and scalded. He was turned aside by the fire, and hid among some almost scorching heaps of broken wall as one of the Martian giants returned. He saw this one pursue a man, catch him up in one of its steely tentacles, and knock his head against the trunk of a pine tree. At last, after nightfall, the artilleryman made a rush for it and got over the railway embankment.

Since then he had been skulking along towards Maybury, in the hope of getting out of danger Londonward. People were hiding in trenches and cellars, and many of the survivors had made off towards Woking village and Send. He had been consumed with thirst until he found one of the water mains near the railway arch smashed, and the water bubbling out like a spring upon the road.

That was the story I got from him, bit by bit. He grew calmer telling me and trying to make me see the things he had seen. He had eaten no food since midday, he told me early in his narrative, and I found some mutton and bread in the pantry and brought it into the room. We lit no lamp for fear of attracting the Martians, and ever and again our hands would touch upon bread or meat. As he talked, things about us came darkly out of the darkness, and the trampled bushes and broken rose trees outside the window grew distinct. It would seem that a number of men or animals had rushed across the lawn. I began to see his face, blackened and haggard, as no doubt mine was also.
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Chapter 5

When we had finished eating we went softly upstairs to my study, and I looked again out of the open window. In one night the valley had become a valley of ashes. The fires had dwindled now. Where flames had been there were now streamers of smoke; but the countless ruins of shattered and gutted houses and blasted and blackened trees that the night had hidden stood out now gaunt and terrible in the pitiless light of dawn. Yet here and there some object had had the luck to escape--a white railway signal here, the end of a greenhouse there, white and fresh amid the wreckage. Never before in the history of warfare had destruction been so indiscriminate and so universal. And shining with the growing light of the east, three of the metallic giants stood about the pit, their cowls rotating as though they were surveying the desolation they had made.

It seemed to me that the pit had been enlarged, and ever and again puffs of vivid green vapour streamed up and out of it towards the brightening dawn--streamed up, whirled, broke, and vanished.

Beyond were the pillars of fire about Chobham. They became pillars of bloodshot smoke at the first touch of day.

As the dawn grew brighter we withdrew from the window from which we had watched the Martians, and went very quietly downstairs.

The enormous broad tires of the chariots and the padded feet of the animals brought forth no sound from the moss-covered sea bottom; and so we moved in utter silence, like some huge phantasmagoria, except when the stillness was broken by the guttural growling of a goaded zitidar, or the squealing of fighting thoats. The green Martians converse but little, and then usually in monosyllables, low and like the faint rumbling of distant thunder.

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Several myth and facts about SEO

SEO recommendations are intended to help your site rank higher and more accurately in search engines, like Google. The goal behind having good SEO is to increase your website’s SERP (Search Engine Results Page) ranking.

Ideally, you want your link to be on the first page of results. The best ways to accomplish this are:

• consistently publish useful, original posts ; and
• promote your blog in intelligent ways to people who are looking for information about your topic.

Myth: The more tags and categories I use for a post, the better it is for Google.

Fact: Using a bunch of tags and categories that have little to do with your posts won’t increase your site’s visibility. Actually, Google doesn’t rely on tags or categories — it can tell what your post is about from its content (or it should be able to)

Myth: One effective way to improve my blog’s SERP rank is to purchase or exchange links (sometimes known as “backlinks”) with as many bloggers as possible, so that there’s a lot of traffic going to my blog.

Fact: If you blog about sailboats, the more sailboat-focused sites and articles that organically link to your blog as a fantastic source of sailboat info, the better.

Myth: SEO requires a strategy and possibly an expert.

Fact: SEO is mostly common sense. While large organizations might need to hire a specialist to help them reach some very specific SEO goals, bloggers and small business owners can do everything required for good SEO on their own. Google is very transparent about its process — it has a guide for SEO best practices here.

This is a summary of an article originally published at http://en.blog.wordpress.com/2013/03/22/seo-on-wordpress-com/ by Elizabeth

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Romania and the Last Frontier Day 8 and 9 A Grand Finale

I have decided it it time to finally wrap up this trip to Romania in one extended blog post. All the photographs that follow are from day 8 of the trip as the ninth day was fully taken with travelling back home.

Another very early start saw myself and Rene heading back to the Northern Jackal hide for our last attempt on these enigmatic animals. Overcast conditions prevailed above once more but at least is was a white cloud rather than deep grey which increased the availability of light. The carp carcasses were staked out and once again within a short time a jackal head nervously appeared out of the longer grass and scrub area to the left of the hide. We had three jackals appear that morning which seemed to be a an adult male, a female and a sub-adult. These jackals are quite nervous animals and the large male seemed fairly possessive over the carp breakfast. I guess in total we had the jackals in front of us on and off for seemed to be around 20 - 30 minutes in total allowing plenty of time to get some more photos to add to those taken in the preceding days.

The jackals sloped back off into the scrub. Again the action was over relatively quickly and so we still had plenty of the morning session available. Once we were certain the jackals had completely left the area we called Luca who came and collected us. We had decided we would spend the rest of the morning in a reed clad  hide located closer to the hotel which overlooked a small reed lined pond with a scattering of lilies across its surface. The main target birds for this pond were Kingfisher and Pygmy Cormorant.

We were not sat there very long before we heard the distinctive high pitch call of the Kingfisher and a male bird came speeding in towards the hide and landed on a perch in the water in front of us.
The bird departed and flew across to a post in the middle of the pond where it dived a couple of time before returning in front of us and disappearing once more.

Whilst waiting for it to hopefully reappear there were some other birds in front of us. A Squacco Heron stalking through the reedbeds on the far bank and a pair of Ferruginous Duck. I concentrated my efforts on the ducks having taken so many heron photos in the previous days. The drake was preening and as with virtually all birds this was followed by the obligatory wing flap to shake down the feathers.

Another shrill call announced the return of the Kingfisher, a female this time.
At this point Rene and I part ways with him deciding to stay in the hide to see what else may arrive whilst I decided to walk about 20m away to where a pop-up hide had been placed next to a sandy depression in the bank for European Bee-eater. If you look carefully in the photograph below you can just see one of the birds perched in the tree behind.
Just for your interest, this was the camera few from the hide. Always a pleasure to have these colourful birds in the camera viewfinder.
There were no nest holes in the bank and at first it did not look very promising but there were plenty of birds gliding around nearby and it was not long before I had a pair perched up in front of me. Having taken a few portrait photographs of these technicolour birds that look like they have flown through a wet rainbow, I spent a little time trying for a couple of landing photographs. The birds were just beginning a nest excavation in the bank as you can see by the small depression in front of this bird.
The birds were being fairly un-cooperative for the landing photos but this partly resulted from the perch being too long giving them to much choice of where to alight.
The sun was getting high now, the light harsh and the air becoming wobbly with the rapid rising temperature outside the hide, so I decided to bring the morning session to an end and head back to the hotel for a coffee.

Over another tasty lunch we all sat down and discussed our plans for the final afternoon / evening session. Rene, Paul and Kevin decided they would go off site with Luca and Zoltan with a drive of around 40 minutes to an area with Collared Pratincole. I decided I would stay and take out one of the electric buggies and see what I could find to photograph around Ultima Frontiera.

Mid-afternoon accompanied by the whir of an electric motor I headed down to the south end of the site to start my afternoon in a hide for that had been set up for Marsh Harrier.

My transport for the afternoon

The hide was a strange one! A tiny box raised up on long supports overlooking a vast area of reeds with an old tree branch a short distance in front. This was not a hide for the claustrophobic as it was so small I had to leave my bag outside at the foot of the entry ladder. Once settle in it was obvious flight photos were going to be nearly difficult as the slight breeze was not in an ideal direction and there was a fair amount of heat and water vapour haze rising up off the reeds. I had seen a couple of harriers at distance and continued to wait cramped into the box. A male bird suddenly appeared from nowhere and settled on the perch.

This was the first time I had seen a Marsh Harrier that was not in flight and they are such an attractive bird of prey.

The male stayed a short while  but did not really do much beyond the above photo except rearrange a couple of feathers before taking flight once more. I decided under the conditions I was not really going to get much more out of the hide and had a growing need to stretch my legs. Under some better conditions the potential for this hide to provide some amazing harrier photographs would be very good.

What to try next? I remembered there was a hide nearer the hotel set amongst a series of old square fish ponds where the previous day Luca had managed a nice photograph of a Purple Heron and Rene and Paul had seen some Musk Rat. I convinced myself it was worth checking. This hide was not ideal sited as it was set up quite high on the bank and therefore not providing the ideal viewpoint of anything in front of it. It was very quiet except for a family of Mute swans including a very aggressive male. My hopes were raised when an adult purple heron flew in behind some reeds to the left but this was soon flushed by a herd of free ranging cattle. After staying in the hide a while I decided my efforts would be better directed elsewhere and remembered the Penduline Tit nest that was just around the corner that Zoltan had showed me the previous day.

Getting photographs of this tiny masked bird was a trial of patience as it zipped around between nest, low bushes and reeds but eventually I managed to get some photographs I was happy with.
The evening was starting to draw in now so I decided I would go off on one big final circuit and just see what I could find along the way.

The first photo opportunity was with a beautifully coloured Red-backed Shrike which was glowing in the late sun. The bird was quite difficult to photograph as it was one of those that just wanted to stay a little too distant in front of me, as it flipped between low bushes, and as I tried to creep up on it in the electric buggy. Eventually it paused on top of a bush for a moment allowing me to get close and a couple of shots. Such a shame these birds have been lost from the UK.
Moving along one of the southern tracks, a European Roller was perched in a low tree. I expected it to peel away in flight and a blur of blue as I approached but it just sat there in apparent curiosity. I really like these birds, which are about the size of a jackdaw, but they do spend long periods sitting around doing not very much.
After a while the curiosity seemed to get the better of the bird and it flew down to a bush right next to me. By this time I was standing at the back of the buggy which I was trying to use as some cover. Such a pleasure to be so close to one of these birds. It just sat there cocking its head to the sides and inspecting me before another flew by which it joined.

I was heading back to the hotel now as the light was dropping fast. On the final approach a Hoopoe  made me stop briefly and I got a nice full sequence of photographs as it dispatched another mole cricket excavated from the sandy track below. These were to be my last bird photographs of the trip and a fine way to finish.
If you look back up this post at the variety of photographs taken in a single day it shows was an amazing place Ultima Frontiera can be for the wildlife photographer,

The following morning, it was time to wave goodbye to Danube Delta and make the long journey home. We all decided we would try and squeeze in one more brief Golden Jackal session and we would literally have around 30 minutes in the hide. A heavily overcast sky and a jackal that ran in and ripped the staked carp from the ground in one move meant that the few photographs taken ended up in the computer trash bin. However, it was good, even though very briefly, to see a jackal for one last time before we left.

The journey home was a reverse of the one coming to the Delta with a combination of boat, minibus, two planes and a car before I was putting the keys in the front door 18 hours later. What a superb and memorable trip it had been spent in great company with some truly wonderful and memorable wildlife encounters.

So I would like to express a big thank you to a number of people:

• Rene, Paul and Kevin for their great company. 
• Zoltan and Luca for their tireless efforts.
• Sakertour (website here ) for another brilliantly organised trip
• Skua Nature (website here ) for making the stay at Ultima Frontiera such a pleasure
• The chef at Ultima Frontiera for not serving fish!

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Romania and the Last Frontier Day 7 p m A Quiet Afternoon

After the manic morning session with the jackals and eagles, I was feeling in the need for a relatively relaxed afternoon. Another wave of exhaustion had come over me after a very long week of sleep deprivation. I had actually found this trip to Romania much less exhausting than the previous year and  more relaxed. On the trip last year, the lack of sleep obviously had an impact on my immune system as I contracted septic tonsillitis as soon I returned to the UK, an illness I have not had since childhood. I think the spluttering person sat next to me on the plane home may have been the source.  I think this trip had been more chilled,  partly due to it being a repeat visit to the Danube Delta, but also I have tried to take a much more laid back approach to my photography this year. I have grown weary of the degree of ridiculous competitiveness, and the unpleasant undercurrent of deceit that it floats on,  which sadly seems to have developed in wildlife photography in recent years. So I made a conscious decision at the start of the year, that I would set out to immerse myself even more with the wildlife and be removed from the pressure of pleasing anyone except myself. It is for this reason I have entered no photography competitions this year and concentrated on spending more time in the company of a few species close to home. It has been refreshing.

Over a pasta lunch we discussed the plans for the afternoon. Rene having seen some of my Bearded Tit photos from the previous day fancied trying to improve on those he had taken when we first arrived. I offered to take him out to try and help.

We picked up on of the electric buggies and headed out in mid afternoon but the light was still too harsh for trying for the acrobatic tits among the reed stems so we decided we would visit one of the hides to pass some time. The one we selected was a small reed clad hide set on the corner of an L-shaped pond which had some posts set in the water in front of it which frequently seemed to be used by terns.

I was hoping to get some photos of terns landing or hovering over the posts but it proved to be very quiet and the slight breeze was in the wrong direction. We took photographs of the couple of terns, a Whiskered and a Common, that came in and perched up on the posts for a while.


While we were sat that a long thin snake swam across the surface of the channel in front of us before crawling up out on the far bank. After a bit of Google searching we identified it as a Diced Water Snake. Interestingly at home I struggle to get a mobile signal yet everywhere we went in the Danube Delta I seemed to have full mobile and 3G signal!

After a while the sun seemed to be softening down and we decided it was time to go and look for the Bearded Tits. Once again I seemed to find myself photographing Bearded Tits but was more than happy to try and help Rene get some photos and maybe I would get the shot of a male bird I had visioned in my head since arriving. So off we headed down the western track and tried the three places that had been the most productive the previous day. After a bit of effort we managed locate and get some photographs of the birds. Again it was the juveniles that provided most of the camera action.
Right at the end of the session I finally managed to get the photograph I was hoping for of a male bird on a solitary stem at the edge of the reeds.

Rene wanted to head back to the the hotel which brought an end to a relaxed session. As we arrived back at the ranch, we bumped into Zoli. He asked if we wanted to see a Penduline Tit nest he had found that afternoon. Rene declined but I was curious to see this odd structure and so found myself heading back along the tracks to a spot a short-distance from the hotel.

The nest was low in a willow tree at the side of pool and proved very awkward to get an angle on for a clear shot of it. The nest is a truly remarkable structure that looks a bit like a small rugby ball made of cotton wool with a small entrance funnel at the top. After watching it for a short while it began to shake a little and the bandit masked face of the tiny Penduline tit appeared in the entrance.
My first opportunity to see one of these birds up close and I was surprised how small it was as I had always envisaged them to be larger. The light was all but gone to try and get any photographs of the bird out of the nest but it gave me some ideas for something to possibly try for the following and final day of the trip which I intend to recount in one large blog post.

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