Caves of Santa Cruz Island

Caves of Santa Cruz Island

BY ROB C OWENS.

'BOUT thirty miles off the coast of Santa Barbara, a group of barren and unpromising peaks rise from the bosom of the ocean, like sentinels before the pretty mainland harbor. Grim and desolate as they appear from the distance, they are rich in hospitality and entertainment for all who visit them.

These islands are as yet little known; and for that reason, among others, are a charming resort. On their hills thousands of sheep are raised for the wool. They are cared for by small colonies of Basques employed by the owners of the islands, who (aided by the lack of transportation) have thus far restricted excessive visitation and have held in

[photo] C M. Davis Eng Co" CUEVA VALDEZ.

check that relentless enemy of nature — civilization. No hotels mar the pretty harbors. No company has yet advertised their beauties. But in modest retirement from the active world, washed by an almost boatless sea, they offer that peaceful enjoyment not found where people throng.

Santa Cruz, the largest of the group, and the most accessible (eight hours' sail from Santa Barbara), has ideal spots for camping. In its harbors are canons which equal those of the mainland, while the hunt- ing and fishing are unsurpassed. Among its many points of interest I would name first the sea caves along its coast.

We must start from our camp betimes to avoid the rough sea which rises later. Before 5 a. m. the air is redolent of boiling coffee, and we are dashing about in hasty preparation. By 5:30 we are off— two boat-loads of merry young people. The sun is just rising over the bay.

[photo] •C. M. Davis Eng. Co. PAINTED CAVE CAVES OF SANTA CRUZ ISLAND.

[photo] CM Davis Eng. Co. CUEVA VALDEZ.

The horizon is blended of crimson and gold. The sea is perfectly calm, and only the screaming of the birds interrupts the gay chatter of the party. Half-past six : and we are nearing the dangerous point. The sea is becoming rough, and the young lady, in the bow of the boat bravely pretends she is not at all uncomfortable. The rocks seem but a few boat-lengths away. The oarsmen strain every muscle.

[photo] C. M. Davis Eng Co. THE ARCH.

The girls are bailing out water; but as they throw out one gallon, ten are dashed in by the waves. The young lady in the bow is now crying; the oarsmen rowing for dear life.

All over! the danger is passed, and each declares he was not fright- ened, and had been in seas twice as high. The conversation resumes its former gayety.

After rowing into many smaller caves we arrive at about 8 o'clock at the famous Painted Cave, so named because of the beautiful coloring with which nature has decorated its walls and the series of arches that spring over the watery floor.

The first arch is lofty enough for a merchant vessel to enter. After the fifth is passed, the chambers gradually get smaller, till on looking back, the great entrance seems but a mere knothole. It is now time to light the torches, as the deepening darkness is oppressive and not without danger, and the din of the sea lions increases our fears. But as the torches blaze forth, we forget our nervousness, and gaze in wonder at the beautifully colored walls and majestic arches. Cautiously we enter another chamber. We are prying into a labyrinth, where a few false strokes of the oars will send us whence we shall hardly return. We know that the frightened seals may stampede and capsize the boats, yet the knowledge seems to enhance our enjoyment. Two of the oars - men in each boat have reversed their position and are ready to pull back at the signal. The hoarse "bark" of the seals, like peals of thunder, echoes through the long corridor; and splashing is heard on all sides, as the great animals tumble from the walls of the cave into the water. Consternation again comes upon us; and as a drove of seals rushes frantically past, the signal is given to pull back. With a few strong strokes the boats shoot out from the chamber of terror, and we wind our way back to the blue sky and the sunshine, stopping occasionally to watch the many fishes that dart through the clear water; and to gather sponges, or bright colored mosses from the niches and crevices.

A parting gaze at the magnificent dome, and we start homeward, stop- ping at every nook and inlet and visiting other caves. Reaching a shaded harbor about noon, we beach the boats and walk up a small caiion to a large oak, where, by a musical brook, we investigate the contents of the lunch box. And at last back to camp; where by the fire, while the clams are roasting, we relate the day's experience to a group of eager listeners.

Claremout, Cal.