Santa Cruz, California
Santa Cruz, Cal., March 27, 1891.
In area, Santa Cruz county is one of the smallest in California, but in resources, productiveness of soil and natural attractions it might be called the largest in the State. In its equable climate is grown almost everything indigenous to the north temperate zone.
The county is in central California, eighty miles south of San Francisco; it has a coast line of forty miles, and includes, according to the United States Government survey, 280,000 acres. So rich is it that there are not more than five thousand acres of waste land in the entire county. South of this is the Pajaro Valley, the most fertile spot of California, called “the wonder of the Pacific.”
There is not much stock-raising in Santa Cruz county. The mountains, being heavily timbered, are not adapted to grazing. Nor are citrus fruits cultivated to any great extent; but the apples of Santa Cruz county are superior to any grown in the State, the quality of the wine is unsurpassed in the State, and the remarkable richness of the soil renders the cultivation of potatoes, beans, hops, sugar beets, etc., profitable to a degree unknown in less fertile sections. The vegetable products of the county form one of its most extensive industries. E. S. Harrison, a trustworthy authority in California history, calls Santa Cruz “a vegetable wonderland.”
Let me illustrate the natural advantages of this region by a comparison. While riding on the Southern Pacific railway over the Texas plains, a month ago, the travelling auditor of the company, who was on our train, surprised me by stating that the company is glad to lease its lands at four cents an acre annually. Land within a couple of miles of where this is written is leased to Chinamen for farming at fifty dollars an acre annually, and they realize from it a profit per acre of two or three hundred dollars.
The City of Santa Cruz, the principal city and county seat of the county, lies between the Pacific ocean and the northern side of Monterey bay, about eighty miles south of San Francisco. It nestles among the foot-hills of the Santa Cruz mountains, and its outskirts are bathed by the sea. The city proper has a population of six thousand five hundred, and if East Santa Cruz is included, the population is about nine thousand. The city is growing rapidly. New business houses are constantly going up, capital is coming from the East, and everywhere are evidences of a steady, healthy increase.
Santa Cruz has good railroad facilities. Two branches of the Southern Pacific run here direct. They are called the broad gauge and the narrow gauge roads. The broad gauge is an important line running through Santa Clara and Pajaro valleys, passing San José and the larger towns between San Francisco and Monterey. The narrow gauge runs from San Francisco no farther south than Santa Cruz. It is more of a local line and stops at the smaller places—places, however, of such great interest to tourists as Big Trees. The steamers of the Pacific Steamship Company plying between San Pedro (near Los Angeles), and San Francisco stop here, regularly, on their way north and south.
In writing from Hotel del Monte in Monterey, I mentioned some large oaks and pines; there are as big and still bigger trees here, or very near here, at a place appropriately named Big Trees. It is a ten minute ride on the narrow gauge road of the Southern Pacific, or an hour’s drive by carriage from Santa Cruz. You need not go to Yosemite, Calaveras or Mariposa to see giants of the forest; here they are, a grove of 320 acres, some of the trees 300 feet high and 46 feet in circumference. These figures are quoted, but I measured a few specimens myself. One about four feet from the ground was 52 feet in circumference. The interior of another, “General Fremont,” had been burned out. Four persons beside myself stood inside of it, and thirty-five more, we calculated, could have found room in comfort. This measured six feet in diameter about five feet from the ground—inside measurement—the “shell” of the tree being probably a foot thick. There are dozens and scores and groups of trees in this wonderful grove, nearly as large.
The trees are of the famous California Redwood species, the wood hard as flint and very heavy. The largest specimens are named and bear tablets, “Daniel Webster,” “General Grant,” “General Sherman,” “Ingersoll’s Cathedral,” etc. Under the shadow of the last named, the honorable gentleman held forth one day to an admiring audience. “Big Trees” is owned by a wealthy widow of San Francisco, Mrs. Walsh.
Powerful and proud as are these giants of the forest, some of them have been uprooted by nature’s convulsions and lie humbly and horizontally on the ground. I noticed that a few of these were charred. The keeper of the grounds explained that year after year fire had been tried, but the hardy giants would not yield to flame. They are so thick and hard they won’t burn as they lie. “Then why not cut them up,” I suggested. “Oh!” was the answer, “lumber is worth nothing here; it is so plentiful.”
They have done a little “cutting,” however. In exchange for a dime you will get a piece of red wood quite heavy enough for your satchel, or a piece of the bark much too clumsy for your coat pocket. The bark is three or four inches thick.
This is a famous wine country. We visited the tunnels of the “Santa Cruz Mountain Wine Company,” whose vineyards are visible nine miles away on the hills. The tunnels are dug out of the soft, sand-stone rock and are dark and rather cool. That is to say, the air seemed cool when compared with the atmosphere outside, but as a matter of truth, which is often stranger than fiction, the thermometer showed the temperature in the tunnels to be 52 degrees, and it remains at about that figure all the year round. There are three such tunnels, each 380 feet long, 24 feet wide, and 18 feet high. The vineyards of the company include two hundred acres.
In these deep, cool tunnels the company has stored in great vats no less than two hundred thousand gallons of wine. Bottle after bottle was opened for our party and so cheaply was it held that the glasses were freely washed with the wine as the different kinds were tasted—port, sherries, clarets and white wines.
The claret has good body, and if you add a little water to it, as the French treat vin ordinaire, it makes a very good drink for a thirsty soul at the dinner table.
California Angelica has been a popular wine for twenty odd years: the Angelica produced in Santa Cruz is sweet, smooth, oily and delicious.
A brand of Sauterne so pleased my palate that I ordered twenty gallons to be shipped to New York. But I’ll let you into the secret of this seemingly extravagant order; the price is only one dollar per gallon—and not Jones, but I, paid the freight. In ordering this wine I was guided first, by my own taste—it has delicious flavor; secondly, I felt assured that it was absolutely pure. The grapes are here, on the spot, ship loads of them, in the season, and there’s no incentive for adulteration.
The well-kept roads and fine drives about Santa Cruz are not its least attractive feature. One of them you can take from the shore, driving over a bridge of the San Lorenzo river, passing Phelan Park and the twin lakes, on the borders of which are the summer home and settlement of the Christian Church. You keep the mountains in view all the way, and a turn here or there shows you the city, the bay, or the ocean.
The three-mile cliff drive takes you immediately above the rock-bound shore of the Pacific, where you see giant crags upon which the everlasting waves have had their effect. Some of the rocks stand off from the shore twenty and fifty feet, and through these the powerful waves have worked great holes, through which the waters rush with a tumultuous roar, dashing their spray far above. These “natural bridges” would be considered a rare sight if they were the only feature of this scene, and would attract people from a distance, but where there is so much to admire and astonish, they are only one among the many marvels that here make an embarrassment of pictorial riches.
The city has two banks, good public schools and water-works; it is sewered to the ocean, it has horse-cars, fine public buildings, and two flourishing newspapers, the Sentinal and the Surf. Good society is not lacking, and beautiful homes abound. Duncan McPherson has a fine Gothic villa; the residence of Mayor Bowman commands beautiful views of the bay and the town; the home of William Kerr, two miles out of the city, is a handsome structure in the Queen Anne style, having two wide entrances and bay windows, affording extensive views of the valley and bay. Colonel A. J. Hinds, a pioneer of Santa Cruz, has built himself a charming home, and Mrs. P. B. Fagen’s house on Mission street, one of the principal residential streets, attracts the attention of all passers-by. Other pretty homes are those of D. K. Abeel, R. Bernheim, Mr. Glover and Mrs. E. J. Green.
Mr. J. Philip Smith, a New York capitalist, who has travelled far and wide and who passes much of his time in Europe and New York, came here with his family four years ago, bought a two-acre site upon which a fine house stood and this he enlarged and reconstructed, laying out the grounds in a tasteful way, making it one of the handsomest residences in Santa Cruz. It has a high and enviable position near the Sea Beach Hotel.
It reminds you at once upon entering it of a Parisian interior and on closer examination you are not surprised to learn that many of the things of beauty which adorn the rooms had a French origin. The Smiths are great travellers and in their journeyings about the world have “picked up” any number of art works and curios which now find an appropriate resting place.
One of the finest views here, one of the most beautiful of its kind in the State probably, is to be had from Logan Heights, the estate of Judge J. H. Logan. Judge Logan is president of the Santa Cruz bank and one of the most esteemed citizens of this section. The house, not imposing architecturally, stands on a mesa or plateau of about twenty acres, in which beautiful roses and other choice flowers bloom the year round. From this elevated position a series of bird’s-eye views are spread out before you, the extent, beauty and variety of which are not easily described.
At this point you are two hundred feet above the Pacific ocean. Immediately below, in the foreground, is the whole city of Santa Cruz, with its high school, its gardens, reservoirs, depots, hotels, and its church spires. To your left, eastward, are the villages Soquel and Aptos, famous lumber centres. A few miles further off in the same direction, glistens Monterey bay, backed by the Santa Cruz mountains.
Southward, beyond the city at your feet, winds the bay of Monterey. Look twenty miles further south, and, in this clear atmosphere, you see the sleepy old town of Monterey with the mountains as a background for the picture.
To your right, westward, is the ocean again—altogether, forming a number of diversified and beautiful pictures.
There are a number of good hotels at Santa Cruz—the Pacific Ocean House, the Wilkins House and Ocean Villa. The last named looks cozy and comfortable as it stands in its own pretty garden, with a commanding view. The leading house is that owned by D. K. Abeel, the Sea Beach House, which he has recently enlarged and reconstructed, putting in all the modern improvements, and putting in as landlord John T. Sullivan, who, after securing a long lease, furnished it in good style. It was designed by G. W. Page, a prominent architect of San José, and presents a most pleasing appearance, viewed either from the heights or from the shore, above which it stands nearly one hundred feet, and to which its grounds, beautifully terraced and ornamented with flowers, gracefully slope. “Modern improvements,” of course—every room in the Sea Beach Hotel has running water, but the improvements include hot water also.
The parlor is on the main floor, in the corner round tower of the building, and, with its many windows, is uncommonly pleasing. Through or from these windows you get the best features of the scenery hereabouts, from the tasteful flower gardens of the hotel grounds to Loma Prieta and the mountains in the distance, or to Monterey, beyond the bay in the foreground.
The lessee, Mr. Sullivan, is not unknown to New York. He was a tried friend of Horace Greeley’s and a trusted officer under Hon. Thomas L. James in the New York Post-office, in which place he rose after faithful service of fifteen years to be superintendent of the newspaper department. Mr. Sullivan has been in Santa Cruz only five or six years. I saw a modest little two-story building in which he started here, “keeping boarders,” and he now finds himself in the leading hotel of the town, owning his own furniture, a fine stable, and with the prospect of making his fortune. With success Mr. Sullivan has made many staunch friends, among them the mayor of the town, judges, bank presidents and other leading citizens.
The steamship landing is nearer the Sea Beach Hotel than it is to any other house; the broad guage station is at the door, so to speak, and the narrow guage station is two minutes walk around the corner. The house is open all the year. Santa Cruz is attractive in winter, but in summer it must be delightful.