the year there is mist and fog to conceal the reefs and ledges and it has been the scene of many a tragedy of the sea since the old days of Drake and Ferrelo and the quest for the Northwest Passage. If the fog hangs low one may perhaps hear in the offing the sullen note of an Oriental liner as she feels her way into the Straits of Fuca, or if the skies are
clear one may look across the water to the blue shores of Washington, indented by Neah and Clallam bays and prolonged westward into the ocean to the rock upon which stands Cape Flattery light. To the left rise the far-shining peaks of the Olympic mountains and, with a binocular,
glaciers can be seen upon their untrodden summits. When the Straits are flashing with the breeze, the picture of ocean, shore, forest and mountain is one of the most beautiful in the world, rivaling the
