CHAPTER XIII

QUALIFYING IN THE THREE-SIX CLUB

The reader may be interested to know that the persons described in this chapter are not imaginary. The "Baron" is Mr. Gifford Pinchot, Chief of the Bureau of Forestry. Besides the author, other members of the party were Assistant Secretary of the Interior Woodruff, United States Senator Flint, and Dr. Houghton of Boston.

IN

the Tuna Club of Avalon, California, the visitor sees among other cups and trophies, from the old rod of Charles Hallock to the belt of Ananias, a hammered-silver cup nearly three feet high, presented to the club by T. McD. Potter of Los Angeles. On its side is a clover leaf and insignia showing that it is a trophy of the Three-Six Club, an adjunct of the Tuna Club, to encourage fair play in fishing and the establishment of the highest possible standard of sport along the general lines of the Tuna Club.

The latter advocates a nine-thread line and a nine-ounce rod for fishes up to one hundred

pounds, designed by Arthur Jerome Eddy. But its newest offspring, with Mr. Potter as President, bases its existence on the use of a sixounce rod, a six-thread line, and a six-foot, or longer, rod; hence the "3-6" on the cup. To qualify in this club one must take an eighteenpound yellowtail, and fishes up to nearly fifty pounds have been caught with this tackle. At the end of the season the angler who has taken the largest fish will have his name inscribed on the trophy-an insignificant incident to the layman, but of interest to the many anglers all over the world, from the Sea Anglers' Society of London to the Asbury Park Club, the Tarpon Club of Aransas, Texas, the Tuna Club of Santa Catalina, or the Striped Bass Club of San Francisco, the members of which are all interested in establishing true sportsmanlike methods, which means, the lightest tackle for the largest fish.

The Three-Six Club is but a year old, but it has aroused much enthusiasm, and one might think by the efforts of anglers to obtain the open sesame that some strange attraction, similar to that possessed by the Royal Yacht Club, lured men to spend large sums and endure discomfort merely to see their names enrolled on the records of the mystic "3-6."

Fishing with this tackle requires skill and absolute coolness. Some of the most successful

exponents have been ladies, as Mrs. Bartlett, wife of Dean Bartlett of the Manila Pro-Cathedral, who has taken fishes at Catalina up to thirty or forty pounds, playing them with grace and cleverness on this whip of a rod and thread-like tackle.

The island of San Clemente can be reached easily from San Diego, about eighty miles to the west, but it is only eighteen miles from Avalon, the outfitting point at Santa Catalina Island, and fifty miles from San Pedro, the port of Los Angeles. It is necessary to go in large launches with sleeping accommodations, as the region is treacherous, and landing not allowed without permission from the lessee of the island, Mr. Howland, who has stocked the barren lava flow with sheep, this having been the use to which it has been put for the last thirty or more years.

How long the waters about San Clemente have been fished is not known. Perhaps for ages, as it was discovered by Cabrillo, and again by Viscaino, in 1645, who named it after Saint Clement, the saint, as it chanced, of that particular day of happy discovery. Both of these adventurous lieutenants of Cortez found the island inhabited. That it has supported a large and vigorous population for years is well shown by the shells, skeletons, mortars, pestles, and other objects that are scattered about, hither and yon, and the tons of stone implements that have been

carried away to the various museums of the world during the past two decades.

From the standpoint of a layman San Clemente would appear to have been at one time a crater; its west sides are still standing. At what is known as the east end the crater walls are filled with caves and blow-holes of extraordinary size and nature, while to the west great clots and gushes of lava can be seen, which have poured out into the sea, forming various points and inlets. The eastern side of the supposititious crater has sunk into the sea, doubtless a mile or more offshore, and the best fishing at the island is in this ancient stricken crater, whose walls rise to a height of one or two thousand feet, rent with strange and fearsome cañons, rifts, and gorges that have more the appearance of the artificial properties of some spectacular extravaganza than the results of the varied throes of nature.

The island is twenty miles long and from a few hundred yards to three miles wide. It begins in a hollow blow-hole or craterette at the northwest and gradually rises for twenty miles or more to its highest elevation near the east end, then drops to the point where, reaching out into the sea, is an enormous mass, a veritable Giant's Causeway, a mountain of columns.

In the deep cañons and protected spots, where water finds place, verdure and low trees grow,

and in winter, if the rain is heavy, San Clemente is covered with a coat of green, a striking contrast to the deep blue of the Kuro Shiwo that washes its shores. But its main surface is given over to cactus of several varieties, and as one proceeds to the east end, the ordinary despicable cactus gives way to the choya, a low groundloving plant, a terror to horses, men, and all animal life.

San Clemente is fascinating from its desolation, a picture of barrenness and aridity, yet fringing all its shores, touching its most formidable points, is a nereocystean forest, not of the imagination, but of reality and of great beauty. The water is a deep sapphire hue as seen through the interstices of this great vine whose leaves float and wave in the current. The ocean caves, with which the coast abounds, are resplendent with color, filled with life and animation, the brilliant hue of the golden Garibaldi, the delicate mauve of the sheepshead or whitefish, the jet-black of the echinus in some crevice, or the flash of giant starfishes as they crawl slowly along. Here the grotesque sculpin mimics the rock or moss, the queer midshipman flashes his silver buttons, and the yellow and green crayfish waves his serrated antennæ.

The coast is bored and tunnelled by the sea into countless caves, some of which are seventy feet deep and twenty feet high. The floor of