22 MONTEREY COUNTY WEEKLY october 3-9, 2024 www.montereycountynow.com ranch, had tendered us its hospitalities, but his buccaro, Charley, was gone—all the dishes dirty on the table, and no provisions to be found, no candles, no wood cut. We spent the day looking up the objects we had come to see. Averill went into town, four miles, and got supplies, we washed up the dishes, got our dinner and supper, and made ourselves comfortable. Professor Whitney was as much interested as I had been, both in the geology and in the abundant life in the sea. I wish I could describe the coast there, the rocks jutting into the sea, teeming with life to an extent you, who have only seen other coasts, cannot appreciate. Shellfish of innumerable forms, from the great and brilliant abalone to the smallest limpet—every rock matted with them, stuck into crevices, clinging to stones—millions of them. Crustaceans (crabs, etc.) of strange forms and brilliant colors, scampered into every nook at our approach. Zoöphytes of brilliant hue, whole rocks covered closely with sea anemones so closely that the rock could not be seen—each with its hundred arms extended to catch the passing prey. Some forms of these “sea flowers,” as they are called because of their shape, were as large as a dinner plate, or from 6 to 12 inches in diameter! Every pool of water left in the rugged rocks by the receding tide was the most populous aquarium to be imagined. More species could be collected in one mile of that coast than in a hundred miles of the Atlantic coast. Birds scream in the air—gulls, pelicans, birds large and birds small, in flocks like clouds. Seals and sea lions bask on the rocky islands close to the shore; their voices can be heard night and day. Buzzards strive for offal on the beach, crows and ravens “caw” from the trees, while hawks, eagles, owls, vultures, etc., abound. These last are enormous birds, like a condor, and nearly as large. We have seen some that would probably weigh 50 or 60 pounds, and I have frequently picked up their quills over two feet long—one 30 inches—and I have seen them 32 inches long. They are called condors by the Americans. A whale was stranded on the beach, and tracks of grizzlies were thick about it. The air was cool, and at times fog rolled in from the Pacific, as it often does there. We found beds and blankets, and after breakfast the next day rode to Point Lobos, then over some high hills back of Carmelo Mission, but the fog obscured the fine views I wanted Professor Whitney to see. We descended into the valley, and called at Judge Haight’s, where we had visited before. Professor Whitney soon returned to Pescadero, but the young ladies pressed us so cordially to stay to tea that Averill and I did, and had a most pleasant visit. It is a very intelligent and pleasant family indeed. Our tea, and a walk we took with the ladies, detained us so that we had to ride home after dark. This would be a light matter at home, but not so here, where for three or four miles the trail led through a woods or dense chaparral as high as our heads or higher, where grizzlies sometimes dispute the right of way, and across a dark gulch with almost perpendicular sides, where none of you would trust yourselves to ride by broad daylight. Saturday morning we had intended to start back, but were detained on our way, in Monterey, until noon, so we only reached Salinas, 20 miles from Pescadero. An excitement in the dull monotony of the little town was occasioned by the arrival of an English brig, of only 180 tons, six months out from London. She had not seen land during all that time. She was in a terrible condition, and had put in in distress. Provisions and water very scant and bad all the way, now exhausted, men sick of the scurvy, captain dead of the same disease, second mate and boatswain lost in a storm, sailors decidedly used up—their story was a pitiful one. As I said, we stopped last night at Salinas. This morning we were up early, and were off, crossing the plain, then over the mountain trail again, and by 10 o’clock were at camp, where we found all well. We had our blankets washed during our absence. We are resting quietly this lovely afternoon after our long ride. See mcweekly.com/letters1861 or scan the QR code below for the whole package of historical writings, including earlier letters by Brewer as well as an essay by Robert Louis Stevenson. Midway Point at what is now Pebble Beach, circa 1870. James Perry, executive director of the Monterey County Historical Society, says the cypress tree atop the point was struck and killed by lightning in 1924, and one or more trees were subsequently planted to replace it. A whale was stranded on the beach, and tracks of grizzlies were thick about it.
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