d, his
dexterity with kite and rod and wheel, but especially I envy him the
lonesome rides upon a lonesome sea--

Alone, all alone on a wide, wide sea.

The long, heaving swells, the windy lanes, the flight of the sheerwater
and the uplifted flukes of the whale, the white wall of tuna on the
horizon, the leap of the dolphin, the sweet, soft scent that breathes
from off the sea, the beauty and mystery and color and movement of the
deep--these are Lone Angler's alone, and he is as rich as if he had
found the sands of the Pacific to be pearls, the waters nectar, and the
rocks pure gold.

Happily, neither war nor business nor fish-hogs can ruin the wonderful
climate of Catalina Island. Nature does not cater to evil conditions.
The sun and the fog, the great, calm Pacific, the warm Japanese current,
the pleasant winds--these all have their tasks, and they perform them
faithfully, to the happiness of those who linger at Catalina.

Avalon, the beautiful! Somehow even the fire that destroyed half of
Avalon did not greatly mar its beauty. At a distance the bay and the
grove of eucalyptus-trees, the green-and-gold slopes, look as they
always looked. Avalon has a singular charm outside of its sport of
fishing. It is the most delightful and comfortable place I ever visited.
The nights are cool. You sleep under blankets even when over in Los
Angeles people are suffocating with the heat. At dawn the hills are
obscured in fog and sometimes this fog is chilly. But early or late in
the morning it breaks up and rolls away. The sun shines. It is the kind
of sunshine that dazzles the eye, elevates the spirit, and warms the
back. And out there rolls the vast blue Pacific--calm, slowly heaving,
beautiful, and mysterious.

During the summer months Avalon is gay, colorful, happy, and mirthful
with its crowds of tourists and summer visitors. The one broad street
runs along the beach and I venture to say no other street in America can
compare with it for lazy, idle, comfortable, pleasant, and picturesque
effects. It is difficult to determine just where the beach begins and
the street ends, because of the strollers in bathing-suits. Many a time,
after a long fishing-day on the water, as I was walking up the middle of
the street, I have been stunned to a gasp by the startling apparition of
Venus or Hebe or Little Egypt or Annette Kellermann parading
nonchalantly to and fro. It seems reasonable and fair to give notice
that broadbill swor