The Woods and the Pacific
The Bay of Monterey has been compared by no less a person than General Sherman to a bent fishing-hook; and the comparison, if less important than the march through Georgia, still shows the eye of a soldier for topography. Santa Cruz sits exposed at the shank; the mouth of the Salinas river is at the middle of the bend; and Monterey itself is cosily ensconced beside the barb. Thus the ancient capital of California faces across the bay, while the Pacific Ocean, though hidden by low hills and forest, bombards her left flank and rear with never-dying surf. In front of the town, the long line of sea-beach trends north and north-west, and then westward to enclose the bay. The waves which lap so quietly about the jetties of Monterey grow louder and larger in the distance; you can see the breakers leaping high and white by day; at night, the outline of the shore is traced in transparent silver by the moonlight and the flying foam; and from all round, even in quiet weather, the distant, thrilling roar of the Pacific hangs over the coast and the adjacent country like smoke above a battle.
These long beaches are enticing to the idle man. It would be hard to find a walk more solitary and at the same time more exciting to the mind. Crowds of ducks and sea-gulls hover over the sea. Sandpipers trot in and out by troops after the retiring waves, trilling together in a chorus of infinitesimal song. Strange sea-tangles, new to the European eye, the bones of whales, or sometimes a whole whale’s carcase, white with carrion-gulls and poisoning the wind, lie scattered here and there along the sands. The waves come in slowly, vast and green, curve their translucent necks, and burst with a surprising uproar, that runs, waxing and waning, up and down the long key-board of the beach. The foam of these great ruins mounts in an instant to the ridge of the sand glacis, swiftly fleets back again, and is met and buried by the next breaker. The interest is perpetually fresh. On no other coast that I know shall you enjoy, in calm, sunny weather, such a spectacle of Ocean’s greatness, such beauty of changing colour, or such degrees of thunder in the sound. The very air is more than usually salt by this Homeric deep.
Inshore, a tract of sand-hills borders on the beach. Here and there a lagoon, more or less brackish, attracts the birds and hunters. A rough, undergrowth partially conceals the sand. The crouching, hardy live-oaks flourish singly or in thickets — the kind of wood for murderers to crawl among — and here and there the skirts of the forest extend downward from the hills with a floor of turf and long aisles of pine-trees hung with Spaniard’s Beard. Through this quaint desert the railway cars drew near to Monterey from the junction at Salinas City — though that and so many other things are now for ever altered — and it was from here that you had the first view of the old township lying in the sands, its white windmills bickering in the chill, perpetual wind, and the first fogs of the evening drawing drearily around it from the sea.
The one common note of all this country is the haunting presence of the ocean. A great faint sound of breakers follows you high up into the inland canons; the roar of water dwells in the clean, empty rooms of Monterey as in a shell upon the chimney; go where you will, you have but to pause and listen to hear the voice of the Pacific. You pass out of the town to the south-west, and mount the hill among pine-woods. Glade, thicket, and grove surround you. You follow winding sandy tracks that lead nowhither. You see a deer; a multitude of quail arises. But the sound of the sea still follows you as you advance, like that of wind among the trees, only harsher and stranger to the ear; and when at length you gain the summit, out breaks on every hand and with freshened vigour that same unending, distant, whispering rumble of the ocean; for now you are on the top of Monterey peninsula, and the noise no longer only mounts to you from behind along the beach towards Santa Cruz, but from your right also, round by Chinatown and Pinos lighthouse, and from down before you to the mouth of the Carmello river. The whole woodland is begirt with thundering surges. The silence that immediately surrounds you where you stand is not so much broken as it is haunted by this distant, circling rumour. It sets your senses upon edge; you strain your attention; you are clearly and unusually conscious of small sounds near at hand; you walk listening like an Indian hunter; and that voice of the Pacific is a sort of disquieting company to you in your walk.
Notes:
The Bay of Monterey has been compared by no less a person than General Sherman to a bent fishing-hook: 身份高如谢尔曼将军者曾将蒙特雷海湾喻为一只弯弯的鱼钩
and the comparison, if less important than the march through Georgia, still shows the eye of a soldier for topography: 即便这个比喻没有穿越左至亚洲的行军重要，从中仍可看出一个军人对地形的眼力
Santa Cruz: 圣克鲁斯，加州中西部的一个海滨城市
the Salinas river: 萨利纳斯河，加州境内
bombards her left flank and rear with never-dying surf: 太平洋以永恒的波涛，轰击着她的左翼和后部
It would be hard to find a walk more solitary and at the same time more exciting to the mind: 很难找到使人内心感到更寂寞同时又更激动的散步了
Sandpipers trot in and out by troops after the retiring waves, trilling together in a chorus of infinitesimal song: 一阵阵波涛来而复去，只见一群群矶鹞快步移动，进进出出，鸣声幽幽，构成了合唱
new to the European eye: 在欧洲人看来觉得很新奇
such degrees of thunder: 雷声如此巨大
The very air is more than usually salt by this Homeric deep: 在这犹如荷马诗篇中描绘的浩瀚大海边，空气的含盐度也比通常要高
The crouching, hardy live-oaks flourish singly or in thickets: 耐寒的活橡树蹲伏着身子，有的孤零零的，有的长成一片灌木林，十分繁茂
Spaniard’s Beard: 一种黄色的盘藤蔓生植物
the haunting presence of the ocean: 大海无时无刻不在人们心头萦绕
go where you will=wherever you go
gain the summit: 到达山顶
on every hand: 在四面八方
the Carmello river: 河名
The silence that immediately surrounds you where you stand is not so much broken as it is haunted by this distant, circling rumour: 你所矗立之处被沉寂包围，与其说它常常为遥远的、循环往复的喃喃细语声所打破，不如说那喃喃细语余音绕梁，久久不散
It sets your senses upon edge: 它使你的各种感官变得敏锐起来
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