The method of fishing here is distinctly interesting.  A large number are required to work the net, but they make enormous hauls.  The procedure is as follows:  One large boat is anchored near the shore and made fast to trees, and a huge net is taken out and spread in a circle, the ends being kept in the stationary boat.  Two men, naked, stand a few feet from the boat in the water, keeping the sides of the net down and preventing the escape of fish as the circle is gradually narrowed by the men in the boat slowly pulling it in.  The last bit requires their united efforts, for it is full of fish, some of considerable size.  At the conclusion of the “haul” one of the men chose two of the largest fish and threw them into my canoe as a present; as thanks I lent my tobacco-tin, which they gratefully emptied.

Montenegrins carry tobacco in a tin and roll their own cigarettes; no other form of smoking is known amongst them, except the tchibouque by some of the older men, a relic of Turkish times.  The tobacco is excellent, being often equal to the best Turkish, and ridiculously cheap.

We owe these worthy fisherfolk thanks for having given us one of the finest moonlight effects that it has ever been our lot to witness.  We were returning home late one evening in our canoes, and as we rounded a corner of the island we came suddenly on their encampment.  The men in their ragged but artistic costumes were sitting round numerous camp-fires cooking their evening meal on the bank, which sloped gently upwards, an old ruined fortress or “kula” forming a background.

As we gazed the moon came slowly over the brow of the intervening hill, illuminating the scene with its soft and silvery radiance, blending fantastically with the ruddy flames of the fires.  Cooking-pots steamed and bubbled, and one group of men broke into an old Montenegrin fighting song, the water of the vast lake sparkled and danced in the distance, and we felt that only we and this rough group of fishermen were alive in the world.

It was an idyllic life that we led during our stay at Vranjina, though every comfort known to civilisation was lacking.  We lived as did the hardy fishermen of the island, and a hard life it proved to be.  The heat, however, was something tremendous, quite precluding any exertion from ten in the morning till the late afternoon.  We had even in the early morning to use the greatest care to keep our necks and arms covered from the scorching rays of the sun, for bad blisters and burns were the sure reward of carelessness.  The concussion of rapid shooting combined with the heat often brought on headaches so violent that to fire another cartridge was exquisite torture.  One thing we did not suffer from, and that was loneliness.

The news of our visit spread to all the neighbouring villages, and we had a constant stream of visitors.  Our swim, which we took after our early morning shoot in a delightfully cool spot, where a spring bubbled into the lake, was invariably witnessed by a group of fishermen, and very much amused they were too over our hair-brushes, soap, and other toilet articles.