A PASSING ISLAND 243 



most of all the islands — fifty-three miles from the 

 nearest mainland,— and we logged about ninety, I think, 

 from Avalon and seventy-five from Catalina Harbor. 

 It lies but twenty-four miles beyond Santa Barbara 

 Rock, and is forty-three miles west of the west end of 

 San Clemente. It lies so far out to sea that it has little 

 or none of the protection afforded by Point Concepcion, 

 hence receives the full force of the wind. I have seen 

 San Nicolas standing out clear and distinct, from the 

 summit of the Sierra Madre back of Pasadena, as a 

 remarkable mirage, and on a clear day it can be seen 

 nearly forty miles, or to be exact, forty miles on the 

 level. The island is about eight miles long, extending 

 east and west, and has an average of three miles in 

 width, although it seems more than that when butting 

 into the wind and flying sand. In the centre is a hill 

 or mountain rising to an altitude of about eight hun- 

 dred and ninety feet, a conspicuous object from many 

 miles away. I have never seen its summit, — there 

 was always a fog cloud ; perhaps the fogs are born here. 



The island is practically surrounded by kelp beds, 

 which are very thick in places and dangerous at the 

 landing. As we went in on a big roller I could see it 

 squirming and folding like snakes everywhere beneath 

 us. To capsize in it would be unfortunate, as swim- 

 ming would be practically impossible. 



We anchored off a long attenuated sandspit that is 

 a feature of the southeast end. Here the cliffs were 

 about one hundred feet high and the sea came whirling 

 around the island meeting another sea coming around 

 the point, making one of the most disagreeable anchor- 

 ages I have ever found. In addition to this the cur- 

 rent ran like a mill-race and changed without seeming 



