in hand or mounted upon a sturdy pony, essays the upper country, as here great, level tracts are found, broad cañons, fertile valleys abounding in water, and a wealth of verdure not suspected by those who view the island from the lowland. It was my good fortune on a recent visit to accompany the survey which made a week's trip over the various ranges, during which many new and interesting features of island life were observed. The outfit consisted of six or seven mules and horses, the former laden with articles dear to the camper's heart, the latter bearing the members of the expedition, the important figure of which proved to be Mexican Joecook, hunter, story-teller, guide and general-utility man. The new trail leads directly back from Avalon, winding away up the hills, giving the climber a vision of new wonders at every step. The trail, a triumph of engineering skill, winds about the

slopes of the hills, bringing the ocean and the deep cañons alternately into view, and, finally, when near the summit, the full splendor of the view appears. From the saddle one can drop a stone that will fall and roll away to be lost in the deep cañon. The one that bears the little hamlet of Avalon is a deep chasm at our feet; a gigantic basin into which scores of minor cañons empty like green rivers. Below us, to the south, spread away like a checker-board, is Avalon; the blue waters of the bay dotted with white specks, which might be gulls, but are the yachting fleet. Away across the stretch of blue lies the mainland, the familiar peaks of the Sierra Madre standing out in bold relief against the sky.

The upper portion of the island is a revelation. Instead of the sharp points of mountain peaks, here is a broad plateau extending over to the west shore and wide valleys, sug

gestive of agricultural possibilities. From a lofty point on the west, I sat in the saddle and tossed a pebble over that must have fallen into the ocean, 1,500 feet below. The afternoon breeze was blowing in the mist, which shattered against the wall of rock, drifted up the cañon illumined by the sun, like masses of molten silver. From far below, came the roar of the sea as it broke upon the rocks, the weird cry of the sealion, and occasionally, out from the flying fog, dashed a white-winged gull that seemed to separate itself from the cloud-mass and become an animate being, to eye me in wonderment and soar away. The entire west coast faces the sea, with forbidding walls of rock rising from 500 to 1,500 feet, breasting the sea with a bold front, hurling the masses of foam high in air, and in the occasional winter storms forming a grand and impressive spectacle. Where the various cañons reach the sea, are little inlets, with abrupt, sandy beaches against which the waves beat, and approach able only on calm days. The object of the survey was to lay out what will be one of the most remarkable stageroads in the country, reaching from Avalon to the Isthmus. The Wilmington Transportation Company, operating the line of steamers between Catalina Island and the mainland, owned one of the earliest stage-routes in California, running from San Pedro through Los Angeles and San Bernardino across the desert into Arizona.

This line, from San Pedro to San Bernardino, was one of the best equipped and most noted lines in California; and this company now proposes to revive the ancient glories of staging in California at Catalina, and afford the visitor from the outer world an opportunity to ride along the crest of Santa Catalina mountains and enjoy the wonders that go to make up its charms, and the tourist a six-inhand ride over the crests of the island mountains. The route led our train over level tracts for miles, admirably

adapted for the purpose, over miniature mountain ranges, through rich valleys and along the edge of precipitous cliffs. The horses seemed to catch the inspiration, and the pack and Mexican Joe were left far behind. In the center of the island, the ocean was not to be seen. We might have been a thousand miles from it, so far as any evidence of its presence was concerned. The soft balmy air was redolent with the odor of flowers. The notes of the valley quail made music everywhere, telling of woodland life; yet a rush of the horses up a gentle rise would bring the blue expanse of the Pacific into view. A ride of six or seven miles through these various scenes and we plunge down into Middleranch Cañon, the grand cañon of Catalina, extending literally from one. side of the island to another, east and west. The entrance down which the coach-road is to extend was now a narrow trail bordered on each side by luxuriant vegetation. The little stream was hidden by a thick growth of willows and cottonwood, while a variety of flowering shrubs added their attractions. Masses of wild rose blocked the way; the trees were hung with festoons of clematis, and here brilliant masses of red against deep black green leaves told of the wild currant, one of the most interesting "trees" found on the island. wealth of verdure which catches the eye as we ride along is a revelation.

The

An hour's ride down the cañon brings us to the Middle-Ranch house, which is to be the terminus of the stage in this direction. Here the lodge is to be fitted up and become a half-way house for sportsmen and tourists. It will be a mountain inn, after the Mexican fashion, Mexican viands and comforts being dispensed. Here one can revel in the insidious tamale made from the island quail and pheasant. Carne con chile will tempt the appetite, not to speak of chile colerado and chile a la Mexican Joe. In short, this attractive spot by the side of the mountain stream will become a

owners of the island propose stocking its valleys and plains with deer, antelope, pheasant, wild turkey and other game. Our first camp was to be in Cottonwood Cañon, well down to the ocean. The trail has been overgrown, and some of the party go ahead and cut the crossing limbs, and we slowly descend into one of the most attractive cañons of the island, deepwooded, and bearing a stream abounding in miniature falls. Down into the bed of the stream we plunge, splashing through the crystal water beneath the fallen trunks of great trees, pushing through the willows whose undulating roots tint the stream-bed

horse and rider, skirting huge rocks where delicate ferns are fanned by the west wind, and finally come out upon Cottonwood grove our camp for the night. The cañon here has abrupt lofty walls by the foot of which the stream rushes. The grove is of cottonwood trees, and beneath their sheltering limbs the wild grass has grown and turned to hay. The horses and mules are tethered, beds of blankets made on the grass, and by the roaring camp-fire Mexican Joe initiates some of the party into the mysteries of roast mutton a la Catalina. The juicy slabs of meat are placed upon a huge skewer six feet long,

which Joe deftly turns over the coals, while with the other hand he gently stirs the ingredients of the famous. Carne con chile.

The stars were out and elbowing

La Paloma Fall, Cottonwood Cañon.

each other in the sky by the time this feast was served, and as we discussed its merits, other and uninvited guests came. A roar of many wings, and a flock of quail rushed down into the tops of the Cottonwoods and selected their roosts above our heads. Others

came, until the grove seemed fairly alive with them, and their notes and calls filled the air with melody. Then stretched on blankets around the fire we thought of the old days in the Cottonwood, when Cabrillo was beating off and on in the channel; listened to the tales of Mexican Joe, of his adventures on sea and land, his

famous struggle with a Catalina wild bull, in which the animal charged him down the mountain side, receiving a bullet that stopped the maddened creature at his very feet; and

many more such stories. The day following, the cañon was followed to the sea, its wealth of water investigated, and twenty-five inches found, as good as a gold mine, for this was to be taken over the hills to the famous isthmus. From Cottonwood and MiddleRanch, other cañons were visited, found rich in vegetation and water, and nearly all open by trails that suggested delightful trips in almost any direction.

From Middle-Ranch the road following the proposed stage-route led up a wellwooded cañon, where the wild goat lurked; finally, bringing us to the foot of the highest peak on the island-" Black Jack"whose peak rises nearly 3,000 feet above the Pacific. The ascent of the peak, though difficult, can made on horseback and well repays the climb, as the view is one of the finest in Southern California. Catalina is at our feet with its maze of mountains, its innumerable cañons, its bays and inlets. The intense blue of the water is striking. San Clemente away to the west stands out in bold relief against it. The coast of the mainland can be traced far down towards San Diego, while the peaks of the Sierra Madre, though forty or fifty miles away, appear near at hand. From Black Jack the road winds for five miles or more through a most interesting country, showing here and there evidences of ancient occupation, finally coming out at the isthmus a narrow neck of land that connects the