There are many beautiful scenes in and about the Sound; many charming islands, clothed in evergreen foliage, from whose interiors issue clear, sparkling brooks of fresh water; while the mainland shores rise abruptly, in places, to several hundreds of feet, bearing their burdens of giant trees. There are perpendicular cut banks on many of the islands and the mainland shores, thirty, forty, or fifty feet high, almost perpendicular, made so by the hungry waves having eaten away their foundations, and the earth having fallen into the brine, leaving exposed bare walls of sand and gravel. On Whidby Island, one of the largest in the Sound, there was, up to a few years ago, a herd of wild cattle, to which no one made claim of ownership, and which were, consequently, considered legitimate game for anyone who cared to hunt them. They were wary and cunning in the extreme. The elk or deer, native and to the manor born, could not be more so. But, alas, these cattle were not to be the prey of true, conscientious sportsmen; for the greed of the market hunter and the skin hunter exceeded the natural cunning of the noble animals, and they have been nearly exterminated; only ten or twelve remain, and they will soon have to yield up their lives to the insatiable greed of those infamous butchers.
[Illustration: DECEPTION PASS, PUGET SOUND.]
One of the most curious and interesting points in the sound is Deception Pass. This is a narrow channel or passage between two islands, only fifty yards wide, and about two hundred yards long. On either side rise abrupt and towering columns of basaltic rock, and during both ebb and flow the tide runs through it, between Padilla and Dugalla Bays, with all the wild fury and bewildering speed of the maelstrom. This pass takes its name from the fact of there being three coves near--on the west coast of Whidby Island--that look so much like Deception that they are often mistaken for it at night or during foggy weather, even by experienced navigators. All the skill and care of the best pilots are required to make the pass in safety, and the bravest of them heave a sigh of relief when once its beetling cliffs and seething abysses are far astern. Gulls hover about this weird place, and eagles soar above it at all hours, as if admiring its pristine beauties, yet in superstitious awe of the dark depths. Mount Erie, two miles away, rising to a height of 1,300 feet, casting its deep shadows across the pass and surrounding waters, completes a picture of rare beauty and grandeur.