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FOREST AND STREAM. 






NATURAL IES 




The Sea Lions of Catalina Island. 
Our power launch was sweeping across an 
oily swell of the long Pacific roll. All around 
us the waters were oddly coated as with a skin 
of calmness that heaved, but would not ripple. 
Inshore were buff cliffs studded with scrub oak 
and chaparral and laced across by sheep trails. 
In the morning sun the tawny wall showed 
brightly above the floating fringe of kelp. 
Across the sun-painted surface a hoarse rau- 
cous howling came. Karl looked up inquiringly 
and said: “Let’s run in to the rocks and look 
‘em over while we have the skiff along.” 
The morning had been unproductive for 
anglers so far. There chanced to be a new roll 
of film in the camera, too. The dory had been 
towed along to be used for a lunch on shore 
or for battling with a mighty leaping tuna, had 
the fates been so good humored. In it we could 
penetrate the maze of rocks in the sea lions’ 
dens where no launch dare go. 
As we drew in close to shore a jumble of 
multiform boulders appeared, which covered 
perhaps an acre, jutting out from a bend in the 
coast line. These rude surf-carved platforms— 
for most of them present a fairly level surface— 
have been homes for an army of seals as long 
as local traditions record. Less than a century 
ago innumerable multitudes swarmed among 
these Santa Barbara Islands in southern Cali- 
fornia, but the vandals of civilization have al- 
most wiped them out. Sea elephants, too, at 
one time frequented the north coast. of Cata- 
lina. The value of their oil put a price upon 
their uncouth heads and now they are but a 
tale of the old timers. 
The rocks now rising just ahead reached 
fifteen feet above high water mark in some 
cases. Their hard-grained sides shone slippery 
from the eternal pounding of the surf, still they 
offered many a crevice that might snugly house 
a bachelor or a little table where an old bull 
could conduct his domestic affairs a la Brigham 
Young. These older battle-scarred males are 
the first to arrive at the rocks in earliest spring 
and then stake out their claim for a homestead. 
After the coming of the females the harems are 
made up. A continual riot then follows over 
the whole premises, each one trying to hold its 
location and to oust the ardent bachelors which 
are trying to elope with one of its dozen better 
halves. The greater his strength the larger his 
fireside circle, is the motto of the rookery. 
We now changed from the launch to the row- 
boat, directing the launch to pick us up when 
we came out again. Our entry to the bay sent 
off a cloud of gulls and several bashful old peli- 
cans that resort here. The mixed community 
seemed well behaved, but clamorously noisy and 
wretchedly odorous. 
Rowing up alongside an over-tenanted apart- 
ment house we noticed here and there infant 
additions to the tribe, awkwardly sprawling about 
their anxious mothers. Perhaps eighteen inches 
long and twenty-five pounds in weight, their 
coats a caramel color, they stared down at us 
with large plaintive eyes. Their immature faces 
were as appealing as a St. Bernard pup’s. 
Our spaniel Sailor hailed these water dogs 
with aggressive challenge, soon arousing the 
whole settlement. A deafening din broke loose, 
ranging from the weak snarls of the babies to 
the deep-throated guttural “Hounck how-u-unck” 
of the patriarchs. A dozen big fellows then 
slipped off their perches into the water and 
bobbed up at our side with lips drawn back and 
excellent sharp teeth exposed like a steel trap. 
Four or five, standing erect an oar’s length away, 
seemed to be treading water. Their closeness 
drove the dog to a frenzy of canine vitupera- 
tion. Things were becoming a little tart and 
the kodak was focused at once. Our light skiff 
veered about in the swirls as the rocks tore up 
the incoming surf. Close to the protecting rocks 
the cows were huddling their little chaps. Those 
bulls not in the water reared their ungraceful 
heads, bewhiskered and _ sleek, their coats, 
after lying out in the air, bleached to a sandy 
straw color. Their lustrous brown fur glistened 
as soon as they returned to the water. 
Owing to the rocking of the boat and the dis- 
tracting bedlam of some two hundred lusty 
voices, the picture lacked that calm poise con- 
ducive to success. A great giant that must have 
weighed half a ton, measuring ten feet from 
snout to tail flipper, haughtily surveyed the ex- 
plorers. He lay on an isolated pinnacle above 
several “flats’’ of scrambling lesser lights. His 
pose was stunning and I, as all nimrods have 
done for generations’ “drew a bead just’ back 
of the fore shoulder,’ and brought him down— 
with my trusty camera. It became plainly im- 
perative to “turn off the dog.’ My friend folded 

THE 
CATALINA ISLAND. 
ROCKS AT 
the crazy animal in a tarpaulin and stowed him 
under a seat. In a few moments the air cleared 
somewhat and the husky bellowing died down. 
The lions now deserted the rocks, taking to 
the element that gave them such freedom of 
motion. The neighborhood bristled with dog- 
like faces that peered at us in dismay or glared 
defiance, according to sex. Through the clear 
blue depths lithe bodies could plainly be seen 
gliding about beneath our keel, a whitish belly 
showing palely now and again. 
It chanced that the enraged Sailor had wrig- 
gled his way out of the enveloping canvas. 
Without warning he leaped out on the back 
seat, dancing about with his vocal apparatus in 
unrestrained action. Instantly the uncanny 
horde crowded in around him. We hastily de- 
cided to retreat, for several sea lions seemed 
strongly minded to thrust a flipper over the gun- 
wale and join the party. Putting steam into the 
stroke we soon joined our waiting launch. As 
we headed up the coast we were glad to feel 
its thick planking again. A half dozen big fel- 
lows followed in the boat’s wake, rolling over 
like porpoises. Once or twice they shot out of 
the water in a clean curve for five or six feet. 
These hounds of the sea coursed after us for 
half a mile, and as our boatman remarked, ‘‘blood 
in their eyes.” 
These seals of Santa Catalina Island are the 
most interesting and flourishing colony in our 
country to-day, excepting those in Alaska and 
the much-advertised regiment at the Cliff House, 
San Francisco. They make a prime exhibit for 
the local boatman. The four mile excursion 
from Avalon to Seal Rocks is popular with tran- 
sient tourists. However, these launch men dare 
not risk their boats among the rocks, but are 
contented with coasting by the outlying families. 
Large glass bottom vessels for observing the 
marvelous marine gardens have a schedule with 
the rookery as a port of call. The seals are not 

confined to the “village,” for at almost any 
point the fishing parties find them lolling about 
the great seaweed beds. 
A marine harlequin of extreme rarity is the 
fantastic leopard seal. During eight months’ 
steady cruising but two were seen by the writer. 
Upon a ground color of iron gray large irregular 
blotches of sooty white are splashed. The ef- 
At the remote islet of San 
Nicholas scientists occasionally get a specimen. 
An Avalon ordinance protects all seals from 
slaughter, the penalty being a fine of fifty dollars 
for each one killed. The islanders hold these 
neighbors so precious that the murderer would 
stand a goodly show of being lynched in the. 
bargain. On the other hand the satisfying of 
two hundred healthy appetites is a heavy drain 
upon the fish supply, and the nets of the profes- 
sional fishermen suffer a heavy toll from their 
raids. Upon these grounds some have unstc- 
cessfully advocated their removal or depletion. 
Every afternoon in spring a well known band 
of six or eight will gambol among the anchored 
boats in Avalon Bay. Led bya grizzled leviathan, 
dubbed “Old Ben,” they come within ten feet 
of the cobble beach. They play to a large gal- 
lery with a self-conscious and knowing air, being 
abnormally tame from over feeding. The origi- 
nal lure that brought them in—the refuse from 
the evening fish cleaning of Vincenté, the Vene- 
tion market—has been supplemented by the 
audience. Daily offerings of albacore are thrown 
in, for this fish is unfit for the table. The tussle 
for these thirty-pound dainties whips the water 
to a froth. The lucky seal tears apart the oily 
mackerel by slinging it from him with a light- 
ning twist of the neck, retaining all he can in 
his mouth. Repeating this until only the verte- 
bre remains, he dashes in for a second helping. 
It is amusing to sit in a shallow skiff in the 
midst of this turmoil. It would have been ab- 
sirdly easy to have lanced a seal and to have 
enjoyed the sport of a long tow out to sea. At 
times a white setter would swim boldly in and 
chase the agile seals, but they never harmed 
him, The absence of their pups perhaps ac- 
counted for their good nature. Quite cleverly 
leading the eager fellow after him, keeping just 
beyond his nose, a lion would drop down and 
reappear at the setter’s tail to the evident dis- 
gust of the land dog. Thousands of people have 
laughed at this unequal game of tag. 
The most fascinating time to follow the ways 
of the sea lion is at night when the flying fish 
are in Avalon Harbor. The seals feed greedily 
on these nimble chaps whenever fortunate enough 
to catch them. After twilight the bay is very 
thickly dotted with buoyed craft, principally row- 
boats. The seals drive in the schools of fly- 
ing fish by team work and_ concerted rushes. 
Pressing them closely they force these strange 
aeronauts to seek safety in flight. Like a covey 
of quail they skim off in every direction. 
fect is quite bizarre. 



They 
may alight in open water, or as frequently hap- 
pens, they collide at full speed with a boat. Fall- 
ing stunned, they float on the surface. 
By some mysterious sense a seal can approxi- 
mately guess where a “flyer” will re-enter the 

