Across the Continent by the Lincoln Highway

by Effie Price Gladding

From Los Angeles we drove through the San Gabriel Valley, dominated by snow covered Mount San Antonio, to Long Beach. The valley is a panorama of new suburban towns, market gardens, and walnut groves. Long Beach is a mixture of Coney Island, Atlantic City, and a solid, substantial inland town. Its public buildings are very fine, its churches being particularly handsome. Its big Hotel Virginia reminds one of the handsome hotels along the boardwalk at Atlantic City, and its long arcade of amusement halls, cheap jewelry shops, and other booths for seaside trinkets is like Coney Island. This stretch of amusement halls and shops lies along the seashore at a lower level than the city proper, and does not impart its character to the rest of the town. It was at Long Beach that I first heard a night-singing bird, somewhat like the nightingale. The little creature sang gaily all night long in the park opposite our hotel. Long Beach and San Pedro are both sailing points for Santa Catalina Island, twenty-five miles away, whose purple-grey heights can be dimly seen across the water. The trip to Catalina is in rather small boats, and is likely to be somewhat trying; but the trials of the two or three hours of voyage are amply awarded by the Island itself.

1. Harbor, Catalina Island. 2. Seals on Rocks at Catalina Island. 3. Catalina Island. 4. Home of Owner of Catalina Island.

Santa Catalina has a curving, sickle-shaped harbor around which cluster the hotels and boarding houses which make the home of the summer guests. This little white village against a background of hilly country, taking on lovely lavender and grey tints at sunset, is not unlike some of the towns on the picturesque coast of Cornwall. Santa Catalina is a paradise for deep-sea fishermen, a lotus eaters' island where one may walk over the hills into the quiet interior or take a boat and dream along the rocks, gazing down for hours at the beauties of the gardens of the sea. I would advise all tourists to take time to visit these swaying groves of kelp and other sea plants in a row boat. One sees them in this way far more intimately and satisfactorily than by a more hurried inspection. In the late afternoon everyone at Catalina gathers at the pier to see the fishermen come in with their spoils. Boat after boat is seen approaching. They round the pier and the big fish are lifted up for all to admire. Then come the weighing and the cleaning of the fish. The seagulls hover near, ready for their share of the spoils, as the entrails of the fish are thrown into the sea. A tame seal swims around from his home on the rocks several miles away in order to have his portion of the feast. At the time of our visit he was in a fit of sulks, as a fisherman had struck him on the head with an oar because he had tried to clamber into a boat in his zeal for his supper. A unique experience at Catalina is an evening ride in a swift motor boat equipped with a powerful searchlight. Faster and faster goes the boat in the darkness, the searchlight swinging from side to side over the wide waters. The flying fish, startled by the sweep of the light upon the water, leap wildly into the air. The air is full of them, and of the sound of their rushing wings. Plump! Here comes one into the boat! and here's another, and another! We shield our faces with our hands, shouting with laughter as the fish fall with a thump into the boat, sometimes on the laps of the passengers. More than one passenger has been struck by a flying fish, and our landlady tells us of a tourist who went out for an evening ride in the motor boat to return with a black eye from the blow of a frightened flying fish. Flying fish is delicious eating, and our catch is divided up among the passengers. We were attracted to this excursion when we first landed at Catalina by a startling advertisement describing the experience as "Thousands of flying fish tangoing through the air."

Catalina Island is a quiet spot, outside its little rim of houses along its curving harbor. The pedestrian may go inland for a number of miles, taking his luncheon with him, and have only the hills and the birds for his company. We had such a walk, and saw a hawk alight and settle himself calmly upon a fencepost, holding in his talons a newly captured snake. The creature was still alive, its body ringed in a rigid hoop in its effort to escape. But the cruel claws held it fast, and its captor was preparing to finish it with his sharp beak. We were told that the dust from Santa Ana Valley, twenty-five miles away, could be seen approaching in a grey cloud across the water on windy days from shoreward. Our landlady deplored such days, when her immaculate house was covered with the dust of the distant mainland. Santa Catalina, a grey green agate in the sunlight, a purple amethyst at twilight, ringed by lovely seas, is well worth a visit.

Returning to Long Beach, we drove on toward San Diego, through the Santa Ana Valley to San Juan Capistrano. As we came through the great valley in which lie Santa Ana, Fullerton, and Anaheim, we passed fruitful groves of lemons and vast fields of beets. We observed an odd optical illusion as we came near Tustin. All the fields before us seemed to be covered with water, and we at first thought that the irrigating streams had been turned on and were flowing through them. But as we reached the fields we found them perfectly dry. Field after field stretched before us apparently swimming in water, and field after field as we came near we found dry and brown under the sun. This occurred more than once in southern California as we were driving along in the sunlight.

At San Juan Capistrano we stopped to see one of the most beautiful Missions in all California. The cloisters of San Juan, the ruins of the very fine old church, the bells in their places above the walls, all are extremely picturesque and beautiful. At San Juan with its quaint little street we found two hotels, both of which had attractions. The Mission Hotel offered us Spanish cooking, attractive to one fond of red pepper and high seasoning. Las Rosas looked like a pleasant country home turned by some enterprising woman into an inn. We chose Las Rosas and had an excellent home dinner there. From San Juan Capistrano we drove on south to Delmar, where we spent the night at the Stratford Inn. This hotel, which sits flower-encircled on its sandy hillside overlooking the blue seas, has every modern appointment and luxury. The settlement does not yet seem to have attracted a large cottage population, but there are some homes of very charming architecture and with beautiful gardens. We walked up the picturesque hills back of the hotel, and came at their summit to the precipitous edge of a great bowl from which we looked down upon a green valley stretching away many miles in extent.

1., 2. and 3. San Juan Capistrano Mission.