Two hours put us abreast the Point Gorda Seal Rocks and where we stopped to examine the immense herd. As we approached the rocks they took fright and piled pell mell into the sea roaring and barking furiously until everyone had disappeared.

This rookery is very large. We counted over thirty large bulls and as many more cows, besides hundreds of young sea-lions. We were told by the inhabitants, who live a few miles beyond, that they had seen as many as five hundred sea-lions at one time basking in the sun at this rookery.

Just beyond the Seal Rocks stands the immense solitary Point Gorda Rock. Alone it stands in it hugeness, except for its thousands of feathered inhabitants, whose noise is even heard above the roar of the surf. I saw no other place while on this trip where the birds of every size and kind congregated as they did here. On our approach they set up an unearthly screaming, some with a scream or cry so thrill that it hurt the ear. Mingled with this sharp cry, was a honk, a chatter, a squall, a scream, and a bedlam of many other notes until it was almost uncanny.

There were Gulls, Cormorants, Tufted Puffins or Sea Parrot, and numerous other birds that I failed to recognize at the time, but later knew them as the “Shearwater”, these birds will follow a school of fish in enormous numbers. At times they will cover an area of ten to fifteen acres, until the sea is almost a solid black mass.

At this point we encountered a very thrilling experience and for a few minutes it gave us great concern for our safety. This great Gorda Rock has the appearance at some remote age of having been split apart; for another rock or part of its original self lies shoreward from it at a distance of probably eighty feet, causing a channel or narrow passage of very angry water to fill the gap. By running this passage it saved a long rough pull around the Point and this is what we concluded to do, the sea being modestly calm and we much fatigued from our long pull.

For the first fifty yards or so all was well, the sea calm with an ordinary swell heaving in and out through the passage and no under-current as far as we knew was apparent. So we boldly rowed into the passage between shear walls of at least one hundred and fifty feet high and as many feet through. But we soon found we had our hands full. But to attempt to retreat was out of the question and to turn a boat around in that maelstrom of whirlpools and cross currents was madness and to take time to change positions in order to row back without turning the boat around was useless for it now required every moment of our time and our heads to hold the boat from being sucked into a cave or cavern which literally line the base of either rock. So, all we did for many minutes was to battle with strength and strategy to hold our boat as near the middle of the passage as possible.

When the water showed any signs of quietness, we instantly began to pull with all our strength, but would barely get under headway before we were caught again in a boiling whirlpool of foam taxing our utmost strength to keep our boat head on.

Something like forty minutes had elapsed before we succeeded in safely running the passage and when we had at last pulled into quiet water, wet to the skin and nearly a foot of water in the boat, it seemed to me that it was the first long breath I had taken since we first put into the channel.

A peculiar feature of this exciting half hour, was, that the other two boats followed us without mishap. The passage during their run through it was as a millpond, except for the usual ocean swell. We made four trips by this point during our coast cruising, but never again attempted the passage.


Big Sur…NEXT