Qualifying in the Three-Six Club 215 



and in winter, if the rain is heavy, San Cle- 

 mente is covered with a coat of green, a striking 

 contrast to the deep blue of the Kuro Shiwo that 

 washes its shores. But its main surface is given 

 over to cactus of several varieties, and as one 

 proceeds to the east end, the ordinary despicable 

 cactus gives way to the choya, a low ground- 

 loving plant, a terror to horses, men, and all 

 animal life. 



San Clemente is fascinating from its desola- 

 tion, a picture of barrenness and aridity, yet 

 fringing all its shores, touching its most formid- 

 able points, is a nereocystean forest, not of the 

 imagination, but of reality and of great beauty. 

 The water is a deep sapphire hue as seen through 

 the interstices of this great vine whose leaves 

 float and wave in the current. The ocean caves, 

 with which the coast abounds, are resplendent 

 with color, filled with life and animation, the 

 brilliant hue of the golden Garibaldi, the deli- 

 cate mauve of the sheepshead or whitefish, the 

 jet-black of the echinus in some crevice, or the 

 flash of giant starfishes as they crawl slowly 

 along. Here the grotesque sculpin mimics the 

 rock or moss, the queer midshipman flashes his 

 silver buttons, and the yellow and green crayfish 

 waves his serrated antennae. 



The coast is bored and tunnelled by the sea 

 into countless caves, some of which are seventy 

 feet deep and twenty feet high. The floor of 



