Several times when we made the trawl buoy with its painted flag, half a dozen of these hardy seamen would be around, trying to satisfy their curiosity. While we boated the gear and commenced under-running the trawl they followed in our wake more mystified than ever. Air control is sometimes faulty for I have seen them drive out of the fog, smash into the jumbo and somersault backward into the sea, where they lay stunned for a moment — then dove.
Forbush says they use the wings fully extended under water.
They are pelagic, spending their lives (except in Spring) on the open sea, unaffected by cold and all but the most severe storms. Even in this vast and lonely domain the long hand of destruction touches them. Many are killed by crude oil slicks.
Coasts and islands of North Atlantic. South in Winter to Long Island, N.Y.