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.
There are two ways of reaching Santa Barbara from Los Angeles (or San
Francisco),—either on a coast steamer or by the new railway branch
from Saugus, about twenty-five miles north of Los Angeles, which
was completed two or three years ago. For scenic reasons the latter
route is preferable, as it takes us in succession over the lovely San
Fernando Valley, through a mountain cañon, and lastly, for almost
thirty miles, along the edge of the ocean, thus exhibiting Nature
in her three principal phases. Near San Fernando, which is a pretty
and inviting place, may be seen one of the greatest curiosities in
the State, showing what strange methods are sometimes resorted to in
Southern California to secure water for irrigation. It is a granite
dam, fifty feet deep, which brings to the surface the water of a
subterranean river. Only three feet of the dam are above ground, the
rest being sunk down to the bed-rock, so as to force up into the
surface-pipes a stream of water fifteen feet deep and forty feet
wide. Another curiosity of San Fernando is a small boy who, while the
train stops, walks up and down with a basket on his arm, shouting
incessantly, “Nice sweet oranges, five for a nickel, _eight_ for a
dime!”
Soon after leaving San Fernando the train plunges into a cañon,
where we get a near view of the foothills and mountains which had so
often aroused our curiosity and a desire to make their acquaintance.
They are of the most diverse forms and colors, now rugged, gray, and
forbidding, and again femininely rounded, green, and handsome. At
Newhall and beyond we greet the sight of beautiful oak groves on the
foothills,—real, natural, unirrigated shade trees, with cows resting
under them. The ocean is reached at Santa Buenaventura, which is
getting to be a seaport doing a considerable export business in grain,
oil, pork, flaxseed, honey, and, above all, beans. The region between
this town and Santa Barbara, is remarkably favorable to the growth of
beans, 113,700 sacks having been raised in 1887, as compared to only
35,000 sacks of corn, the next highest item; and we are not a bit
surprised, therefore, to read in the guide-book that “Santa Barbara
prides herself on being more æsthetic and cultured than her somewhat
plebeian sisters, San Diego and Los Angeles.” Hereafter it will be
impossible to doubt the Boston-baked-beans theory.
There is unquestionably an air of refinement and good taste about Santa
Barbara which impresses one as favorably as the scenic and climatic
attractions. It is a substantially built, most picturesquely situated
town of four or five thousand inhabitants, traversed by a long,
wide business street in which are many elegant stores which at once
indicate it to be a great resort of tourists; and what predisposes one
especially in favor of this place is the clean and noiseless asphalt
paving of the streets, which promises rest and refreshing sleep to the
victims of nervousness and insomnia,—a pavement which if introduced by
legal enactment in every town and city in the country, would reduce
the income of physicians twenty-five per cent. But as there are few
but physicians who know this fact, we of course hear very little about
it. The Arlington is one of the most comfortable and best managed
hotels in California, and from its cupola a good view of the town and
surroundings may be obtained. To the west is the Pacific, bounded by
the semicircular harbor, which is invaded by a long pier,—the coolest
place in town. Then, in a wider semicircle, comes the town, half buried
amidst the Peruvian pepper and other fine shade trees, extending up to
the foothills, behind which rise the green and gray snowless mountains.
Santa Barbara is not a commercial place, there being no large ships
in the harbor, and its trade only local. More than any other place in
Southern California it gives the impression of being merely a town of
quiet homes and a pleasure and health resort for tourists and invalids.
Though Indian remains must be scarce by this time, there are here, for
the benefit of this class of visitors, a large number of curiosity
stores, whose goods are probably manufactured in San Francisco, like
the “Indian relics” and curios sold in Alaska. The old Mission,
however, is genuine, and attracts many visitors. A pleasant resort is
the free library, well stocked, and the reading-room, which is always
cool, but has the objectionable feature of commanding so fine a view
that it requires a special effort to prevent the eyes from constantly
wandering away from the pages of the books.
The gardens of Santa Barbara are probably the finest and most varied in
the State, and nowhere else did I find myself so frequently obliged to
stand still and peep over fences at some new species or varieties of
flowers or flowering shrubs and trees. Persia itself can hardly excel
Santa Barbara in roses, three hundred varieties of which are found
here. “At one of our annual rose fairs we have seen one hundred and
fifty-six varieties of roses, all cut from one garden that morning,”
says the Rev. A. W. Jackson; in “Barbariana”; and the wonderful
cosmopolitanism of California soil and climate is indicated by the
assertion that “trees native to Peru, Chili, Australia, China, Japan,
New Zealand, North Africa, South Africa, Southern and Central Europe,
Southern and Western Asia, and our own Southern and Northeastern
States, are found growing in it side by side.”
There are years when the thermometer does not rise above 85° or sink
below 35°, and for this climate Santa Barbara is partly indebted to
the four mountainous islands (similar to Catalina) which lie twenty
miles or more to the westward and shut out the cold trade winds. Fogs,
however, are abundant in spring, and there is an occasional scorching
day or two, or a dust-storm; but these blemishes, as Mr. Jackson
cheerfully remarks, amount to no more than “the freckles on the face
of a young lady, who is beautiful and delightful notwithstanding.”
Like every other town of over two thousand in this part of the
State, Santa Barbara has its Spanishtown and Chinatown, but with this
difference, that there is said to be a remnant here of the better class
of Spaniards who formerly owned the State and lived in large adobe
houses, while in other towns little now remains but a handful of the
poorer classes, aptly characterized as “Greasers.” Though poor, they
are not always honest, according to report; and I have myself seen
young girls enticing a neighbor’s chickens with a handful of wheat
into their house, whence they never issued again; and sometimes they
catch them with fish-hooks. The men make a precarious living by taking
care of cattle and horses or doing some agricultural work. They speak
a very corrupt Spanish, and live in a most primitive way in one-room
shanties raised a foot or two above the ground. The children run about
barefooted all the year round, and the women are ignorant of the uses
of flannel, their dress consisting simply of a calico wrapper: hence it
is not surprising that, as a prominent physician informed me, a large
proportion of them succumb to the sudden changes of temperature, and
die of consumption,—the very disease against which this climate, with
proper precautions, is so potent.
It is a significant fact that although an American occasionally marries
one of these Mexican women, it hardly ever happens that an American
woman marries a Mexican. Thus disease, emigration to Mexico, and
intermarriage are gradually decimating the Mexicans, and in two or
three decades few will be left in Southern California. It is a sign
of the times that at Santa Barbara the Chinese are gradually invading
Spanishtown. Say what they will, the Californians at harvest-time are
glad of all the Chinamen they can get; nor are there many who refuse
to patronize the Chinese vegetable man, who is a feature of every
place. Every morning he comes round with a wagon-load of assorted
vegetables which he sells at such an absurdly low price that even
farmers find it more economical to buy than to raise their vegetables.
Five or ten cents will supply a family of three or four with choice
vegetables for two meals; and the man always throws in a bunch of
celery or some other thing which in the East would cost as much as is
here paid for the whole. But John can afford it. All he asks of life is
his daily ration of rice, a portion of a room to sleep in, and a brisk
sea-breeze to fly his musical kite, which he watches and listens to by
the hour with an expression of genuine enjoyment.