The wear and tear on such a projection is
immense. A strong swimmer may play with the breakers away from the
cliff. At exactly the right moment he may dive headlong through the
pearly green Niagara that has not yet fallen quite to his head and may
sport in the comparatively quiet water beyond, while the wild ruin
falls with a sound of thunder on the beach. But let him once be caught
and dashed against the rocks and there is no more life or wholeness of
bones within him.
In the swirl of converging currents between two rocky projections, as
the coarse sand and gravel is surged around a few hundred thousand
times, there is a great tendency to wear through the wall of the
projecting finger. It is often done. Illustration No. 4 shows at low
tide such a projection cut through. Since the picture was taken the
bridge has fallen, the detritus been carted away by the waves, and the
pier stands lonely in the sea.
[Illustration: An Excavated Arch, Santa Cruz, Cal.]
No. 5 shows one bridge exceedingly frail and another more substantial
nearer the famous Cliff Drive. I go to the frail one every year with
anxiety lest I shall find it has been carried away. How I wish I could
show my readers the delicate sculpture and carving further back, nearer
yet to the drive. But note the various strata, the rocks worn to a
point as even the milder waves run over them; note the cracks that tell
of the awful push and stress of the titanic struggle.
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