About one hundred miles south of San Francisco lies the beautiful
Monterey Bay. Here hundreds of fishing boats of all styles and sizes
tug at their anchors, awaiting the turn of the tide to sail out and
cast their lines for baracuta, yellowtail, and salmon, which abound in
these waters to gladden the heart of the sturdy fisherman. One may
forego the pleasure of fishing if so inclined, and take a sail in the
glass-bottom boat, viewing through its transparent bottom the wonders
of the mighty deep.
There were fifteen in our party, ranged along each side of the boat.
Curtains were let down from the outside, practically cutting off all
outside light and making the bottom of the sea as light as day. Our
boatman informed us, after we were well under way, that we were
approaching the place called "The Garden of the Sea Gods," one of the
most beautiful submarine views on the coast. He did not exaggerate, as
we were soon to know, for the scene was truly wonderful, and rightly
named. All kinds of sea life began to pass before our eyes, like the
fast changing figures of a kaleidoscope. Here the delicate sea moss
lay like a green carpet, dotted here and there with a touch of purple,
making fantastic figures; a place where the sea fairies might dance
and hold their revels, as the peasant girls of Normandy dance on the
village green.
Close beside this fairy playground great gray rocks rose like
sentinels, as if to warn off trespassers. Clinging to their rugged
sides were starfish of all sizes and colors, varying from white to
red, with all the intervening shades. Sea urchins, those porcupines of
the deep, with long, prickly spines, looking like a lady's pincushion,
were in profusion, and clung tenaciously to every rock. Now our boat
glides over a cañon whose rugged sides extend away down into the
depths, and on either side the verdure grows tier on tier, like a
veritable forest. We wonder what denizens of the deep are lurking
under the shadows and amid the stately aisles, to dart out on the
unsuspecting victim.
On we glide over the beautiful sea anemone, half animal, half
vegetable, with its colors as variegated as a rose garden. Seaweed and
kelp wave to us as we pass, long-stemmed sea grasses moving by the
action of the waves, like a feather boa worn by some sea nymph, twist
and turn like a thing alive; tall, feathery plumes, as white as snow,
or as green as emerald, toss to and fro, and make obeisance to old
Neptune. Sea onions, with stems thirty feet long, and bulbous
air-filled sacks, reach out their long snaky arms, like an octopus,
and woe to the swimmer who becomes entangled in their slimy folds.
[Illustration: THE BREAKING WAVES]
We pass over a school of rock cod--large, lazy fellows--who take life
easy, while small, slim tommy-cod dart in and out among the rocks or
hide under the mosses. Steel heads, as spotted as an adder, glide
close to the glass as if to investigate, then dart away pursued by
some larger fish, who look upon them as their lawful prey.
Over by that rock a hermit crab has taken possession of a sea snail's
shell, and set up housekeeping; with body partly hidden he waves his
long bony tentacles, while his beady eyes stare at us from the doorway
of his home.
Now a sea grotto passes beneath us, marvelously beautiful with its
frostlike tracery. Its arched openings are hung with a tapestry of
pink sea moss, which swings back and forth to the action of the waves,
as if moved by some invisible hand. We get a glimpse, in passing, of
the interior view with its white, pebbly floor, in which the basket
starfish have possession--a fitting reception room for sea nymph or
mermaid. Pillars of stone incrusted with barnacles and periwinkles
rise all around, while long tendrils of sea ferns wave like banners
around their base.
[Illustration: THE GLASS-BOTTOM BOAT]
Our boatman tells us that we are about to pass from "The Garden of the
Sea Gods" into "Hell's Half-Acre." What a change in a moment's time! A
desert of rock tumbled in a heterogeneous mass, all shapes and sizes,
as if thrown by some giant hand into grotesque and fantastic shapes.
No wonder they gave it such a gruesome name.
In such a place one would expect to see the bleaching bones of
sailors, lost at sea, or the broken and dismantled hulk of a galleon,
half buried in the sand. A shadow crosses our vision, and slowly there
comes to our sight a shark, that scavenger of the deep, a fitting spot
for such as he to come upon the stage. Slowly he passes, turning
partly on his side, showing the cruel mouth with rows of serrated
teeth. His eyes look at us as if in anger at being cheated of his
prey, then on he glides like a specter, and with a flirt of his tail
as he waves us adieu, he passes out of sight. We breathe a sigh of
thanksgiving that the boat is between us and this hideous, cruel
monster, and another sigh of regret as our boat touches the wharf, to
think that the trip is so soon ended. Truly, "those who go down into
the sea in ships" have wonders revealed to them such as were never
dreamed of in the mind of man.
[Illustration]