Part 6

The temperature of the air on Catalina Island hardly ever rises above 85°, and, thanks to the twenty miles of water which separate it from the mainland, it is never visited by the hot, parching desert winds. Yet, though thus surrounded by a vaporous sea, fog is almost unknown, being shut out by the mountains, and, what is stranger still, the air is said to be drier than on shore. With such conditions and with constant sea-breezes and an immunity from dust as complete as on shipboard, it is no wonder that Catalina is beginning to be looked upon as standing to Southern California in the same relation as Southern California does towards other States. I met several invalids afflicted with rheumatic or lung troubles who had failed to find relief at Los Angeles or Santa Barbara, but found it at once on Catalina Island; and convalescents make more rapid recovery there than elsewhere. He must be fastidious indeed who is not satisfied with the climatic conditions of this island, and notwithstanding its mountainous structure, I am convinced that before the end of another decade it will be covered with hundreds of handsome cottages and several hotels and supply villages. There is room for a considerable number of health and pleasure seekers; for the island is about twenty-three miles long, and from one to seven wide.

A few miles from its northern end, Catalina presents a curious contrast to its usual appearance. Here the mountains terminate abruptly, and the island becomes reduced to a narrow isthmus, about half a mile wide, on one side of which are the turbulent Pacific breakers, on the other the calm sound. Here are the ruins of government barracks, erected during the Civil War and now deserted, but no other signs of human habitation, though a hotel will doubtless be erected before long. The only way of reaching this interesting point is by an occasional excursion on a little tug-boat stationed at Avalon, the only village on the island at present. It consists of the Hotel Metropole (what a name for a hotel in such a position!) and a row of shanties, half wood and half canvas, in which bread and provisions and shells can be obtained. The hotel is built on the site of an old Indian burial ground, which is not a pleasant thought to those who know that invisible ghosts in the shape of typhoid-fever germs have been exhumed from European graveyards which had been undisturbed for several hundred years. For this and other reasons the hotel ought to be removed part way up the hill, just south of Avalon, whence a fine view of the island and the sound can be obtained.

But do not fancy that from the top of this hill, or the higher one to which it leads, you will catch sight of the illimitable Pacific. The higher you climb, the higher do the mountains, that were previously hidden from sight by the lower intervening crests, loom up and shut out the view westward. But these curved ridges, rising one behind the other, like seats in a cyclopean amphitheatre, are in themselves a fascinating sight, especially in spring, when the hill-sides are green with high grass and abundant shrubbery. Looking down from this hill, we can see the large fish swimming about in the crystalline water, several hundred feet below us. To lie here on the grass, in the balmy sunshine, taking in the view and inhaling the ocean breeze, mingled with the floral perfumes that rise around you, is the very luxury of existence, and every deep draught of this air is a day added to one’s life. Thanks to the breeze, no shade is needed, and thus all the healing virtues of the sun’s rays can be utilized.

Should the labor of climbing this steep hill be dreaded, equally romantic spots may be found by following up the cañon or gulch which leads from the hotel into the midst of the hills by a gradual but steady ascent. The road follows a dry brook-bed, which probably once in a while becomes a torrent, though heavy rains are rare here, even during the “rainy season.” An endless variety of shrubs and flowers lines this road, becoming more rarely beautiful in color and shape the higher we rise. Climbing up one of the side gulches, I was frequently obliged to cut my way with my cane through bowers most gracefully built by the poison ivy (or oak), which is so abundant throughout California, afflicting some people, if they only pass near it, with a painful swelling of the face, while to others it is as harmless as is real oak or ivy. From one of these lovely bowers a humming-bird arose and darted up into the air as fast and straight as a rocket, till almost out of sight; then down again like a lump of lead; then circling in a wide curve about me, humming all the time like a spinning-wheel. To an observer who stands perfectly motionless, these birds afford no end of amusement by their wonderful swiftness and curious caprices. Often, when I watered my flowers during the winter, one of them would hover over the stream from the hose, take a foot-bath for a minute, then alight on an orange-tree for a second, and return to the sport again and again. They are very abundant in California, these butterflies among birds, as if to atone for the rarity of real butterflies, which is one of the most curious defects of this State; for one would think that a country so crowded with wild flowers would be the very paradise of butterflies. Another kind of bird very abundant on Catalina Island is the quail, which, even without the advantage of color, vies with the humming-bird in beauty. Being seldom hunted, the quail are much tamer than on the mainland. One couple had a nest in a cactus bush not more than a hundred yards behind the hotel, where they remained undisturbed till a heartless young idiot from Los Angeles killed them with his shotgun. Walking up the cañon, one or two pairs repeatedly ran along leisurely in the middle of the roadbed, not a hundred feet ahead of me. At other times I came within a few yards of them before they saw me, for the ground in many places is covered with a velvety kind of grass, noiseless and delightful to walk upon. Far up the gradually narrowing gulches we come upon patches of lovely maiden-hair and other ferns, guiding us to tiny brooklets of clear cool water. Water is not abundant on the island so far as explored, and last summer only one of the springs near Avalon—that which supplies the village pipes—was alive. But it would be easy to secure all the water desired by damming up one of the gulches.

The most serious drawback to the delightful rambles on Catalina Island is that one always has to keep an eye on the possibility of running across a “rattler.” The first evening of my two weeks’ sojourn I was sitting on the hotel piazza, drinking in the salubrious night air, when the conversation of a group of men attracted my attention. Two of them were representatives of an English syndicate who were trying to buy the island, and have since succeeded, I believe, in bagging it for six hundred thousand dollars. The reason why one of these ubiquitous English syndicates (who seem to “want the earth” at present) coveted Catalina Island, is, according to the Los Angeles papers, to be found in the fact that it abounds in silver ore, which, though not rich enough to be worked in this country, where labor is so expensive, might be carried as ballast in vessels returning to England, and profitably reduced to metal there. The agents were interviewing a resident as to the advantages and disadvantages of the island, and one of them, _inter alia_, asked about snakes. “Not a snake on the island,” was the answer. This was such curious and interesting information that I jotted it down in my notebook. Next morning after breakfast I took a walk up one of the hills, and just after passing a little wooden building, I came across a young Englishman in a white flannel suit, who was cautiously prying along the road on both sides. “Lost anything?” I asked. “No,” was the reply; “I am looking for rattlesnakes. Killed one a few days ago right here, and don’t like them quite so near my house.” He was greatly amused when I told him how his countrymen had been “stuffed” at the hotel on the preceding evening. “The island swarms with snakes,” he said. “They have never been interfered with, and have been allowed to multiply for several centuries, until they have become as abundant as ground-squirrels. Only the other day a party moved their tent away from a spot over on that hill because a snake family had established a previous claim on the neighborhood. However, you need not be afraid of walking along the cañon or up the grassy sides of the hills, for they avoid the grass and haunt only the naked rocky hill-sides, exposed to the full glare of the sun, where they can be easily seen.”

I soon found that the simplest way to steer clear of rattlers is to hunt for them. I spent several hours looking for them in the most likely places, because I wanted to study the nature of the beast and get a few rattles, but not one did I see. There is no doubt, however, that they exist in large numbers, and the sooner they are exterminated, the better for the future prospects of the island as an all-the-year-round health resort. However, it must be said that there are few instances of men having been killed by snakes in California, while the dreaded scorpions, centipedes, and tarantulas are hardly more dangerous than hornets. According to Dr. Weir Mitchell, who has made a special study of this subject, a rattlesnake bite in the extremities rarely causes death in this country, and he has known of nine dogs being bitten by as many different snakes, and but two died. He considers them a much-maligned animal, and says they have always seemed to him averse to striking. This agrees with what the late T. S. Van Dyke says in his “Southern California”: “At least a dozen times I have either been about to step directly on one, or have stepped over it, or else have set my foot directly beside it. In no case have I been struck at by them, though I have made them strike very savagely at a stick.” “Hunters take no precautions against them, and children run bare-legged through the bush everywhere without thinking of them.” Still, the nervous might carry in their pocket some permanganate of potash, which Dr. Mitchell considers the most potent external antidote, that has saved many lives.

It might be worth while to introduce on Catalina Island some of the “road-runners” so common on the mainland,—a bird looking somewhat like a large pheasant, which runs along the roads, seldom rises on its wings, and is said to live on snakes, lizards, centipedes, and similar delicacies, and is nevertheless pronounced a good gastronomic morsel by those who have the courage to eat it. It might also be good business policy to import a few of the Arizona cowboys, who, after making the rattlers strike, catch them by the tail and swing them like a whip till the head flies off. But cowboys are objectionable neighbors on other grounds, and it would be better, all things considered, to give the freedom of the village to a dozen pigs, who would soon make rattlers scarce about camp, and who might be allowed to run wild and clean out the whole island.

There would be a precedent for this in the wild goats which were turned loose by Vancouver on this and other Pacific islands, a hundred years ago, and which have now multiplied to thousands. These wild goats form one of the most characteristic attractions of Catalina. They are hunted on horseback, and are often seen in large herds, feeding along the hill-sides. It is not very easy to get near enough for a shot, but still one or two are generally brought back as the result of a morning’s ride; and the next day there is always “venison with jelly” on the hotel bill of fare. If it were a little more juicy and less insipid in taste (the young ones only are eaten), it might deserve that name. Barring an occasional hunt, these wild goats lead an ideal life, which the happiest mortal must envy them,—no wild beasts to prey on them, and plenty of grass-grown hill-sides to climb and browse upon. They are more fortunate than their cousins, the wild goats and half-wild sheep on the neighboring island of San Clemente, which, though almost as large as Catalina, is more barren, and is said to have no water at all except the heavy morning dews which the animals sip in with their breakfast of wild clover. Imagine a goat living on dew-drops and clover leaves! What becomes of _Puck_ and the tomato-can theory?

To those who find goat-hunting on horseback too arduous and risky a sport, Catalina offers a variety of entertainments in its bathing facilities and the rare opportunities for botanic, mineralogic, and archæologic research, besides fishing, watching the pelicans and flying-fish, and visiting the seal rocks. Bathing in the placid bay lacks the excitement given by plunges into foaming breakers, and it must be admitted that small pebbles do not make as agreeable a beach as sand. Yet those who can swim will enjoy a bath here as much as anywhere. There is a drawback in the thought that only sixty miles to the south, at San Diego, a young man, while in bathing a few years ago, suddenly disappeared, being doubtless carried off by a shark. However, no shark has ever been known to eat more than one man at a time, so that if several go in together, each one has a fair chance of escape. Small sharks are occasionally seen in the bay of Avalon, but no accident has ever happened. Bathers are occasionally stung by a kind of animal called a stingaree, which causes a wound that must be cauterized, and is said to be almost as dangerous as a rattlesnake bite. But then we cannot expect to have everything arranged to suit us.

The charms of Catalina’s flowers to lovers of beauty and botany I have already referred to, but I must not forget to mention that the thrill of delight on coming across the first Mariposa lily will mark an epoch in their experience. Amateur mineralogists may go prospecting for silver ore. In some places they will find patches of coal-black soil, besides igneous rocks in abundance, and other evidences of former volcanic agency. But the greatest treat awaits the archæologist, who may dig in the site of the graveyards, or the former village, part way up the main cañon, for Indian relics. The objects most frequently found are the pestles and mortars of various sizes, in which the squaws ground their grain and acorns, and strings of shells. These shells were used by the Indians as money, and Catalina Island was the place where most of them were found. The Yankee, who has succeeded the Indian at Avalon, still makes money out of these shells. There are a number of varieties strewn along the beach; but the largest and most beautiful is the abalone shell, the inner surface of which is often equal to the finest mother-of-pearl, while the outer surface can be made equally attractive by persistent polishing. The professional abalone-hunters, who have their stores at Avalon and ship large quantities to the East, to be made into buttons, jealous of competition, will tell you unblushingly in spring that these animals are only caught in the winter; but after a low tide you may see them rowing in with a whole boat-load of them. It is interesting to watch these men at work. One of them plies the oars, and the other has a long pole to stick under the unsuspecting abalone, which he twists off the rock and hauls in; whereupon the search for another begins. The Californians seem to consider the abalone possibly useful as well as ornamental; for there is a tradition (probably manufactured by an ingenious Catalinian) that a Chinaman, one day while bathing, put his foot under one of these shells, and was held till miserably drowned by the returning tide. If this story becomes known at Sacramento, a law will probably be passed forbidding abalone-fishing. Besides serving as a trap for Mongolians, the abalone has also a gastronomic use; for it makes the finest soup I have ever eaten,—superior to the best terrapin.

Of the fish which abound here the best flavored are the large sardines, of which a whole boat-load is easily caught with one haul of the net. There are literally miles and millions of them along the coast, and it would doubtless be a profitable industry to can them, although the oil would have to be imported, for California olive oil is too much in demand and too expensive to be used for such a purpose. But there is a serious objection to these sardines,—they spoil the fishing; for the large fish have their sardinian breakfast so handy that they refuse to bite unless tempted by a special delicacy, such as a piece of lobster. In April even this ruse often fails; for then the water is filled with spawn, and when a fish has spawn to eat, he turns up his nose even at lobster. To one solely intent on catching the fish, it must be most provoking to see hundreds of them, of all sizes, swimming about his tempting crawfish bait without paying any more attention to it than if it were a pebble.

But the lover of nature can here enjoy scenes which make him oblivious of the ignoble excitement of catching fish. Catalina Island has one of the most enchanting salt-water aquariums in the world. Row out into the ocean a few hundred yards, and you will get a glimpse of a submarine garden more wonderful than anything to be seen on shore. The water is calm and as clear as crystal, showing objects fifty or seventy feet below as distinctly as if you could touch them. Kelp, anemones, and seaweeds, green, purple, and yellowish, and of various forms, wave about slowly in the current. Abalone shells cling to the rocks, and jelly-fish float along, expanding and contracting rhythmically. The waving seaweeds are covered everywhere with a bluish mass looking like jelly. It is the spawn, the favorite food of the hundreds of fish in sight, whose life, swimming calmly to and fro, seems to be a perpetual picnic, like that of the goats on the green hill-sides. But they have their enemies everywhere,—in the water, in the air, and on shore. When the spawn is gone and the sardines have migrated, the fisherman and the tourist cast their hooks and pull in dozens in a morning; although once or twice an hour they are surprised by a twenty or thirty pound monster who swallows the hook and simply walks away with it, heedless of the tiny line which seeks to hold him. The chief excitement of ocean fishing lies in this, that one never knows what kind of fish one is going to land next. More than twenty varieties are caught here, including rock-cod, sheepshead, whitefish, barracuda, mackerel, etc. The most fascinating of all is a bright red fish which haunts the rocks; as beautiful as the Chinese goldfishes kept in glass globes, but very much larger. It is almost too beautiful to kill, but it has an ugly mouth, and is good to eat, so up it comes _en route_ to the frying-pan.

The fisherman is the least formidable enemy of these fish. The pelican and the seal are wholesale butchers in comparison. The large pelicans, with their huge, ugly bills, with which they can scoop up a dozen sardines or smelts at one fell swoop, are very abundant at Catalina Island, but at the present rate of extermination by tourists they will soon be scarce. Their wing-bones make good and novel pipe-stems, and their skin, with the soft white and gray feathers, is ornamental; and that settles their fate. They are very stupid birds, and slow, and not a bit afraid of human beings, which makes them easy victims. Tourists kill them from the beach or on boats, and after skinning them, throw the carcass overboard, where it is immediately pounced upon and disputed by a dozen greedy gulls. The seals occasionally visit Avalon Bay on their fishing excursions, ingeniously swimming a dozen abreast in a semicircle, and driving the fish before them till they are cornered. Sometimes the terrified fish, in their eager flight, jump on the beach, where they may be picked up alive. No one should fail to pay a visit to the seal rocks and see these creatures “at home.” The rocks are at the southern extremity of the island, about six miles from Avalon, and can be reached by row-boat, or by the steam-tug which almost daily takes down a party. A row-boat is preferable, because the seals allow it to approach nearer than a puffing tug. On the way down observe the splendid precipitous rocks, to the sides of which some wild goats may occasionally be seen clinging like flies. The boat passes projecting rocks and rugged promontories, on which a few pelicans and seals are basking; and between them are several large curved beaches of smooth pebbles, three or four feet high, and fifty feet wide, to which every winter’s storms add a foot or two. As we approach the southern end of the island, the swell of the outer Pacific becomes perceptible, and at the same time the seal rocks rise up before us. The hundreds of sea-lions lying on them appear to be fast asleep; but suddenly a sentinel raises up his head, watches us a moment, and then utters a cry of alarm. Immediately the whole army are awake, and gradually assume an erect position, barking hoarsely as we approach them. Among them are some formidable monsters, large and heavy as oxen, and were they not known to be perfectly harmless, it would seem a most hazardous undertaking to row right up to them. With every stroke of the oars they become more excited and noisy, and finally, when we are within forty or fifty feet of the rock, they plunge headlong and pell-mell into the water. For a moment they are invisible, and then they are seen collecting in a body in a sort of pool between the rocks, sticking up their snake-like necks and heads, and barking louder than ever, the younger ones bleating just like sheep. But gradually, as we move away a little, and throw out our fishing-lines, they become convinced that our intentions are honorable, and then, with many a groan and snap at their neighbors, they climb back clumsily to the summit of the rocks, the biggest ones securing the best places. Seal rocks are always good fishing-ground; but why is it that the fish do not learn to avoid places where they hear the loud barking of their voracious enemies? In this respect their instincts appear to fail them.

VII.

SANTA BARBARA AND THE YOSEMITE.

A DAM UNDER A RIVER-BED—BEANS AND CULTURE—AN ÆSTHETIC TOWN—BEAUTIFUL GARDENS—SPANISHTOWN AND CHINATOWN—THE MOJAVE DESERT—ON THE WAY TO THE YOSEMITE—A FINE STAGE RIDE—FLORAL WONDERS—THE SIERRA SNOW-PLANT AND MARIPOSA LILIES—RESEMBLANCE TO OREGON SCENERY—DISCOVERY OF THE VALLEY—THE YOSEMITE AND BRIDAL VEIL FALLS—RAINBOW SPRAY—EL CAPITAN AND MIRROR LAKE—ORIGIN OF THE VALLEY—YOSEMITE AS A LAKE—GLACIER POINT AND OTHER EXCURSIONS—THE BIG TREES IN THE MARIPOSA GROVE.