The Yosemite

by John Muir

Affectionately dedicated to my friend, Robert Underwood Johnson, faithful lover and defender of our glorious forestsand originator of the Yosemite National Park. 

Acknowledgment

On the early history of Yosemite the writer is indebted to Prof. J. D. Whitney for quotations from his volume entitled "Yosemite Guide-Book, "and to Dr. Bunnell for extracts from his interesting volume entitled"Discovery of the Yosemite. "

Contents

 1. The Approach to the Valley 2. Winter Storms and Spring Floods 3. Snow-Storms 4. Snow Banners 5. The Trees of the Valley 6. The Forest Trees in General 7. The Big Trees 8. The Flowers 9. The Birds 10. The South Dome 11. The Ancient Yosemite Glaciers: How the Valley Was Formed 12. How Best to Spend One's Yosemite Time 13. Early History of the Valley 14. Lamon 15. Galen Clark 16. Hetch Hetchy Valley Appendix A. Legislation About the Yosemite Appendix B. Table of Distances Appendix C. Maximum Rates for Transportation

Chapter 1

The Approach to the Valley

When I set out on the long excursion that finally led to California Iwandered afoot and alone, from Indiana to the Gulf of Mexico, with aplant-press on my back, holding a generally southward course, like thebirds when they are going from summer to winter. From the west coastof Florida I crossed the gulf to Cuba, enjoyed the rich tropical florathere for a few months, intending to go thence to the north end of SouthAmerica, make my way through the woods to the headwaters of the Amazon, and float down that grand river to the ocean. But I was unable to find aship bound for South America--fortunately perhaps, for I had incrediblylittle money for so long a trip and had not yet fully recovered froma fever caught in the Florida swamps. Therefore I decided to visitCalifornia for a year or two to see its wonderful flora and the famousYosemite Valley. All the world was before me and every day was aholiday, so it did not seem important to which one of the world'swildernesses I first should wander. 

Arriving by the Panama steamer, I stopped one day in San Francisco andthen inquired for the nearest way out of town. "But where do you want togo?" asked the man to whom I had applied for this important information. "To any place that is wild, " I said. This reply startled him. He seemedto fear I might be crazy and therefore the sooner I was out of town thebetter, so he directed me to the Oakland ferry. 

So on the first of April, 1868, I set out afoot for Yosemite. It was thebloom-time of the year over the lowlands and coast ranges the landscapesof the Santa Clara Valley were fairly drenched with sunshine, all theair was quivering with the songs of the meadow-larks, and the hills wereso covered with flowers that they seemed to be painted. Slow indeed wasmy progress through these glorious gardens, the first of the Californiaflora I had seen. Cattle and cultivation were making few scars as yet, and I wandered enchanted in long wavering curves, knowing by my pocketmap that Yosemite Valley lay to the east and that I should surely findit. 

The Sierra From The West

Looking eastward from the summit of the Pacheco Pass one shiningmorning, a landscape was displayed that after all my wanderings stillappears as the most beautiful I have ever beheld. At my feet lay theGreat Central Valley of California, level and flowery, like a lake ofpure sunshine, forty or fifty miles wide, five hundred miles long, onerich furred garden of yellow Compositoe. And from the eastern boundaryof this vast golden flower-bed rose the mighty Sierra, miles in height, and so gloriously colored and so radiant, it seemed not clothed withlight, but wholly composed of it, like the wall of some celestial city. Along the top and extending a good way down, was a rich pearl-gray beltof snow; below it a belt of blue and dark purple, marking the extensionof the forests; and stretching along the base of the range a broad beltof rose-purple; all these colors, from the blue sky to the yellowvalley smoothly blending as they do in a rainbow, making a wall of lightineffably fine. Then it seemed to me that the Sierra should be called, not the Nevada or Snowy Range, but the Range of Light. And after tenyears of wandering and wondering in the heart of it, rejoicing in itsglorious floods of light, the white beams of the morning streamingthrough the passes, the noonday radiance on the crystal rocks, theflush of the alpenglow, and the irised spray of countless waterfalls, it still seems above all others the Range of Light. 

In general views no mark of man is visible upon it, nor any thing tosuggest the wonderful depth and grandeur of its sculpture. None of itsmagnificent forest-crowned ridges seems to rise much above the generallevel to publish its wealth. No great valley or river is seen, or groupof well-marked features of any kind standing out as distinct pictures. Even the summit peaks, marshaled in glorious array so high in the sky, seem comparatively regular in form. Nevertheless the whole range fivehundred miles long is furrowed with canyons 2000 to 5000 feet deep, inwhich once flowed majestic glaciers, and in which now flow and sing thebright rejoicing rivers. 

Characteristics Of The Canyons

Though of such stupendous depth, these canyons are not gloom gorges, savage and inaccessible. With rough passages here and there they areflowery pathways conducting to the snowy, icy fountains; mountainstreets full of life and light, graded and sculptured by the ancientglaciers, and presenting throughout all their course a rich variety ofnovel and attractive scenery--the most attractive that has yet beendiscovered in the mountain ranges of the world. In many places, especially in the middle region of the western flank, the main canyonswiden into spacious valleys or parks diversified like landscape gardenswith meadows and groves and thickets of blooming bushes, while the loftywalls, infinitely varied in form are fringed with ferns, floweringplants, shrubs of many species and tall evergreens and oaks that findfootholds on small benches and tables, all enlivened and made gloriouswith rejoicing stream that come chanting in chorus over the cliffs andthrough side canyons in falls of every conceivable form, to join theriver that flow in tranquil, shining beauty down the middle of eachone of them. 

The Incomparable Yosemite

The most famous and accessible of these canyon valleys, and also the onethat presents their most striking and sublime features on the grandestscale, is the Yosemite, situated in the basin of the Merced River at anelevation of 4000 feet above the level of the sea. It is about sevenmiles long, half a mile to a mile wide, and nearly a mile deep in thesolid granite flank of the range. The walls are made up of rocks, mountains in size, partly separated from each other by side canyons, andthey are so sheer in front, and so compactly and harmoniously arrangedon a level floor, that the Valley, comprehensively seen, looks like animmense hall or temple lighted from above. 

But no temple made with hands can compare with Yosemite. Every rock inits walls seems to glow with life. Some lean back in majestic repose;others, absolutely sheer or nearly so for thousands of feet, advancebeyond their companions in thoughtful attitudes, giving welcome tostorms and calms alike, seemingly aware, yet heedless, of everythinggoing on about them. Awful in stern, immovable majesty, how softly theserocks are adorned, and how fine and reassuring the company they keep:their feet among beautiful groves and meadows, their brows in the sky, a thousand flowers leaning confidingly against their feet, bathed infloods of water, floods of light, while the snow and waterfalls, thewinds and avalanches and clouds shine and sing and wreathe about themas the years go by, and myriads of small winged creatures birds, bees, butterflies--give glad animation and help to make all the air intomusic. Down through the middle of the Valley flows the crystal Merced, River of Mercy, peacefully quiet, reflecting lilies and trees and theonlooking rocks; things frail and fleeting and types of endurancemeeting here and blending in countless forms, as if into this onemountain mansion Nature had gathered her choicest treasures, to drawher lovers into close and confiding communion with her. 

The Approach To The Valley

Sauntering up the foothills to Yosemite by any of the old trails orroads in use before the railway was built from the town of Merced up theriver to the boundary of Yosemite Park, richer and wilder become theforests and streams. At an elevation of 6000 feet above the level of thesea the silver firs are 200 feet high, with branches whorled around thecolossal shafts in regular order, and every branch beautifully pinnatelike a fern frond. The Douglas spruce, the yellow and sugar pines andbrown-barked Libocedrus here reach their finest developments of beautyand grandeur. The majestic Sequoia is here, too, the king of conifers, the noblest of all the noble race. These colossal trees are as wonderfulin fineness of beauty and proportion as in stature--an assemblage ofconifers surpassing all that have ever yet been discovered in theforests of the world. Here indeed is the tree-lover's paradise; thewoods, dry and wholesome, letting in the light in shimmering masses ofhalf sunshine, half shade; the night air as well as the day airindescribably spicy and exhilarating; plushy fir-boughs for campers'beds and cascades to sing us to sleep. On the highest ridges, over whichthese old Yosemite ways passed, the silver fir (Abies magnifica) formsthe bulk of the woods, pressing forward in glorious array to the verybrink of the Valley walls on both sides, and beyond the Valley to aheight of from 8000 to 9000 feet above the level of the sea. Thus itappears that Yosemite, presenting such stupendous faces of bare granite, is nevertheless imbedded in magnificent forests, and the main species ofpine, fir, spruce and libocedrus are also found in the Valley itself, but there are no "big trees" (Sequoia gigantea) in the Valley or aboutthe rim of it. The nearest are about ten and twenty miles beyond thelower end of the valley on small tributaries of the Merced and TuolumneRivers. 

The First View: The Bridal Veil

From the margin of these glorious forests the first general view of theValley used to be gained--a revelation in landscape affairs thatenriches one's life forever. Entering the Valley, gazing overwhelmedwith the multitude of grand objects about us, perhaps the first to fixour attention will be the Bridal Veil, a beautiful waterfall on ourright. Its brow, where it first leaps free from the cliff, is about 900feet above us; and as it sways and sings in the wind, clad in gauzy, sun-sifted spray, half falling, half floating, it seems infinitelygentle and fine; but the hymns it sings tell the solemn fateful powerhidden beneath its soft clothing. 

The Bridal Veil shoots free from the upper edge of the cliff by thevelocity the stream has acquired in descending a long slope above thehead of the fall. Looking from the top of the rock-avalanche taluson the west side, about one hundred feet above the foot of the fall, the under surface of the water arch is seen to be finely grooved andstriated; and the sky is seen through the arch between rock and water, making a novel and beautiful effect. 

Under ordinary weather conditions the fall strikes on flat-topped slabs, forming a kind of ledge about two-thirds of the way down from the top, and as the fall sways back and forth with great variety of motionsamong these flat-topped pillars, kissing and plashing notes as well asthunder-like detonations are produced, like those of the Yosemite Fall, though on a smaller scale. 

The rainbows of the Veil, or rather the spray- and foam-bows, aresuperb, because the waters are dashed among angular blocks of graniteat the foot, producing abundance of spray of the best quality for iriseffects, and also for a luxuriant growth of grass and maiden-hair onthe side of the talus, which lower down is planted with oak, laureland willows. 

General Features Of The Valley

On the other side of the Valley, almost immediately opposite the BridalVeil, there is another fine fall, considerably wider than the Veil whenthe snow is melting fast and more than 1000 feet in height, measuredfrom the brow of the cliff where it first springs out into the air tothe head of the rocky talus on which it strikes and is broken up intoragged cascades. It is called the Ribbon Fall or Virgin's Tears. Duringthe spring floods it is a magnificent object, but the suffocating blastsof spray that fill the recess in the wall which it occupies prevent anear approach. In autumn, however when its feeble current falls in ashower, it may then pass for tear with the sentimental onlooker freshfrom a visit to the Bridal Veil. 

Just beyond this glorious flood the El Capitan Rock, regarded by many asthe most sublime feature of the Valley, is seen through the pine groves, standing forward beyond the general line of the wall in most imposinggrandeur, a type of permanence. It is 3300 feet high, a plain, severelysimple, glacier-sculptured face of granite, the end of one of the mostcompact and enduring of the mountain ridges, unrivaled in height andbreadth and flawless strength. 

Across the Valley from here, next to the Bridal Veil, are thepicturesque Cathedral Rocks, nearly 2700 feet high, making a nobledisplay of fine yet massive sculpture. They are closely related to ElCapitan, having been eroded from the same mountain ridge by the greatYosemite Glacier when the Valley was in process of formation. 

Next to the Cathedral Rocks on the south side towers the Sentinel Rockto a height of more than 3000 feet, a telling monument of the glacialperiod. 

Almost immediately opposite the Sentinel are the Three Brothers, animmense mountain mass with three gables fronting the Valley, one aboveanother, the topmost gable nearly 4000 feet high. They were named forthree brothers, sons of old Tenaya, the Yosemite chief, captured hereduring the Indian War, at the time of the discovery of the Valley in1852. 

Sauntering up the Valley through meadow and grove, in the company ofthese majestic rocks, which seem to follow us as we advance, gazing, admiring, looking for new wonders ahead where all about us is sowonderful, the thunder of the Yosemite Fall is heard, and when wearrive in front of the Sentinel Rock it is revealed in all its gloryfrom base to summit, half a mile in height, and seeming to spring outinto the Valley sunshine direct from the sky. But even this fall, perhaps the most wonderful of its kind in the world, cannot at firsthold our attention, for now the wide upper portion of the Valley isdisplayed to view, with the finely modeled North Dome, the Royal Archesand Washington Column on our left; Glacier Point, with its massive, magnificent sculpture on the right; and in the middle, directly infront, looms Tissiack or Half Dome, the most beautiful and most sublimeof all the wonderful Yosemite rocks, rising in serene majesty fromflowery groves and meadows to a height of 4750 feet. 

The Upper Canyons

Here the Valley divides into three branches, the Tenaya, Nevada, andIllilouette Canyons, extending back into the fountains of the HighSierra, with scenery every way worthy the relation they bear toYosemite. 

In the south branch, a mile or two from the main Valley, is theIllilouette Fall, 600 feet high, one of the most beautiful of all theYosemite choir, but to most people inaccessible as yet on account of itsrough, steep, boulder-choked canyon. Its principal fountains of ice andsnow lie in the beautiful and interesting mountains of the Merced group, while its broad open basin between its fountain mountains and canyon isnoted for the beauty of its lakes and forests and magnificent moraines. 

Returning to the Valley, and going up the north branch of Tenaya Canyon, we pass between the North Dome and Half Dome, and in less than an hourcome to Mirror Lake, the Dome Cascade and Tenaya Fall. Beyond the Fall, on the north side of the canyon is the sublime Ed Capitan-like rockcalled Mount Watkins; on the south the vast granite wave of Clouds' Rest, a mile in height; and between them the fine Tenaya Cascade with silveryplumes outspread on smooth glacier-polished folds of granite, making avertical descent in all of about 700 feet. 

Just beyond the Dome Cascades, on the shoulder of Mount Watkins, thereis an old trail once used by Indians on their was across the range toMono, but in the canyon above this point there is no trail of any sort. Between Mount Watkins and Clouds' Rest the canyon is accessible only tomountaineers, and it is so dangerous that I hesitate to advise even goodclimbers, anxious to test their nerve and skill, to attempt to passthrough it. Beyond the Cascades no great difficulty will be encountered. A succession of charming lily gardens and meadows occurs in filled-uplake basins among the rock-waves in the bottom of the canyon, andeverywhere the surface of the granite has a smooth-wiped appearance, andin many places reflects the sunbeams like glass, a phenomenon due toglacial action, the canyon having been the channel of one of the maintributaries of the ancient Yosemite Glacier. 

About ten miles above the Valley we come to the beautiful Tenaya Lake, and here the canyon terminates. A mile or two above the lake stands thegrand Sierra Cathedral, a building of one stone, sewn from the livingrock, with sides, roof, gable, spire and ornamental pinnacles, fashionedand finished symmetrically like a work of art, and set on a well-gradedplateau about 9000 feet high, as if Nature in making so fine a buildinghad also been careful that it should be finely seen. From everydirection its peculiar form and graceful, majestic beauty of expressionnever fail to charm. Its height from its base to the ridge of the roofis about 2500 feet, and among the pinnacles that adorn the front grandviews may be gained of the upper basins of the Merced and TuolumneRivers. 

Passing the Cathedral we descend into the delightful, spacious TuolumneValley, from which excursions may be made to Mounts Dana, Lyell, Ritter, Conness, and Mono Lake, and to the many curious peaks that rise abovethe meadows on the south, and to the Big Tuolumne Canyon, with itsglorious abundance of rock and falling, gliding, tossing water. For allthese the beautiful meadows near the Soda Springs form a delightfulcenter. 

Natural Features Near The Valley

Returning now to Yosemite and ascending the middle or Nevada branch ofthe Valley, occupied by the main Merced River, we come within a fewmiles to the Vernal and Nevada Falls, 400 and 600 feet high, pouringtheir white, rejoicing waters in the midst of the most novel and sublimerock scenery to be found in all the World. Tracing the river beyond thehead of the Nevada Fall we are lead into the Little Yosemite, a valleylike the great Yosemite in form, sculpture and vegetation. It is aboutthree miles long, with walls 1500 to 2000 feet high, cascades comingover them, and the ever flowing through the meadows and groves of thelevel bottom in tranquil, richly-embowered reaches. 

Beyond this Little Yosemite in the main canyon, there are three otherlittle yosemites, the highest situated a few miles below the base ofMount Lyell, at an elevation of about 7800 feet above the sea. Todescribe these, with all their wealth of Yosemite furniture, and thewilderness of lofty peaks above them, the home of the avalanche andtreasury of the fountain snow, would take us far beyond the bounds of asingle book. Nor can we here consider the formation of these mountainlandscapes--how the crystal rock were brought to light by glaciers madeup of crystal snow, making beauty whose influence is so mysterious onevery one who sees it. 

Of the small glacier lakes so characteristic of these upper regions, there are no fewer than sixty-seven in the basin of the main middlebranch, besides countless smaller pools. In the basin of the Illilouettethere are sixteen, in the Tenaya basin and its branches thirteen, in theYosemite Creek basin fourteen, and in the Pohono or Bridal Veil one, making a grand total of one hundred and eleven lakes whose waters cometo sing at Yosemite. So glorious is the background of the great Valley, so harmonious its relations to its widespreading fountains. 

The same harmony prevails in all the other features of the adjacentlandscapes. Climbing out of the Valley by the subordinate canyons, wefind the ground rising from the brink of the walls: on the south side tothe fountains of the Bridal Veil Creek, the basin of which is noted forthe beauty of its meadows and its superb forests of silver fir; on thenorth side through the basin of the Yosemite Creek to the dividing ridgealong the Tuolumne Canyon and the fountains of the Hoffman Range. 

Down The Yosemite Creek

In general views the Yosemite Creek basin seems to be paved withdomes and smooth, whaleback masses of granite in every stage ofdevelopment--some showing only their crowns; others rising high and freeabove the girdling forests, singly or in groups. Others are developedonly on one side, forming bold outstanding bosses usually well fringedwith shrubs and trees, and presenting the polished surfaces given themby the glacier that brought them into relief. On the upper portion ofthe basin broad moraine beds have been deposited and on these fine, thrifty forests are growing. Lakes and meadows and small spongy bogsmay be found hiding here and there in the woods or back in the fountainrecesses of Mount Hoffman, while a thousand gardens are planted alongthe banks of the streams. 

All the wide, fan-shaped upper portion of the basin is covered with anetwork of small rills that go cheerily on their way to their grand fallin the Valley, now flowing on smooth pavements in sheets thin as glass, now diving under willows and laving their red roots, oozing throughgreen, plushy bogs, plashing over small falls and dancing down slantingcascades, calming again, gliding through patches of smooth glaciermeadows with sod of alpine agrostis mixed with blue and white violetsand daisies, breaking, tossing among rough boulders and fallen trees, resting in calm pools, flowing together until, all united, they go totheir fate with stately, tranquil gestures like a full-grown river. Atthe crossing of the Mono Trail, about two miles above the head of theYosemite Fall, the stream is nearly forty feet wide, and when the snowis melting rapidly in the spring it is about four feet deep, with acurrent of two and a half miles an hour. This is about the volume ofwater that forms the Fall in May and June when there had been much snowthe preceding winter; but it varies greatly from month to month. Thesnow rapidly vanishes from the open portion of the basin, which facessouthward, and only a few of the tributaries reach back to perennialsnow and ice fountains in the shadowy amphitheaters on the precipitousnorthern slopes of Mount Hoffman. The total descent made by the streamfrom its highest sources to its confluence with the Merced in the Valleyis about 6000 feet, while the distance is only about ten miles, anaverage fall of 600 feet per mile. The last mile of its course liesbetween the sides of sunken domes and swelling folds of the granite thatare clustered and pressed together like a mass of bossy cumulus clouds. Through this shining way Yosemite Creek goes to its fate, swaying andswirling with easy, graceful gestures and singing the last of itsmountain songs before it reaches the dizzy edge of Yosemite to fall 2600feet into another world, where climate, vegetation, inhabitants, all aredifferent. Emerging from this last canyon the stream glides, in flatlace-like folds, down a smooth incline into a small pool where it seemsto rest and compose itself before taking the grand plunge. Then calmly, as if leaving a lake, it slips over the polished lip of the pool downanother incline and out over the brow of the precipice in a magnificentcurve thick-sown with rainbow spray. 

The Yosemite Fall

Long ago before I had traced this fine stream to its head back of MountHoffman, I was eager to reach the extreme verge to see how it behaved inflying so far through the air; but after enjoying this view and gettingsafely away I have never advised any one to follow my steps. The lastincline down which the stream journeys so gracefully is so steep andsmooth one must slip cautiously forward on hands and feet alongside therushing water, which so near one's head is very exciting. But to gain aperfect view one must go yet farther, over a curving brow to a slightshelf on the extreme brink. This shelf, formed by the flaking off of afold of granite, is about three inches wide, just wide enough for a saferest for one's heels. To me it seemed nerve-trying to slip to thisnarrow foothold and poise on the edge of such precipice so close to theconfusing whirl of the waters; and after casting longing glances overthe shining brow of the fall and listening to its sublime psalm, Iconcluded not to attempt to go nearer, but, nevertheless, againstreasonable judgment, I did. Noticing some tufts of artemisia in a cleftof rock, I filled my mouth with the leaves, hoping their bitter tastemight help to keep caution keen and prevent giddiness. In spite ofmyself I reached the little ledge, got my heels well set, and workedsidewise twenty or thirty feet to a point close to the out-plungingcurrent. Here the view is perfectly free down into the heart of thebright irised throng of comet-like streamers into which the wholeponderous volume of the fall separates, two or three hundred feet belowthe brow. So glorious a display of pure wildness, acting at close rangewhile cut off from all the world beside, is terribly impressive. A lessnerve-trying view may be obtained from a fissured portion of the edge ofthe cliff about forty yards to the eastward of the fall. Seen from thispoint towards noon, in the spring, the rainbow on its brow seems to bebroken up and mingled with the rushing comets until all the fall isstained with iris colors, leaving no white water visible. This is thebest of the safe views from above, the huge steadfast rocks, the flyingwaters, and the rainbow light forming one of the most glorious picturesconceivable. 

The Yosemite Fall is separated into an upper and a lower fall with aseries of falls and cascades between them, but when viewed in front fromthe bottom of the Valley they all appear as one. 

So grandly does this magnificent fall display itself from the floor ofthe Valley, few visitors take the trouble to climb the walls to gainnearer views, unable to realize how vastly more impressive it is near bythan at a distance of one or two miles. 

A Wonderful Ascent

The views developed in a walk up the zigzags of the trail leading tothe foot of the Upper Fall are about as varied and impressive as thosedisplayed along the favorite Glacier Point Trail. One rises as if onwings. The groves, meadows, fern-flats and reaches of the river gainnew interest, as if never seen before; all the views changing in a moststriking manner as we go higher from point to point. The foregroundalso changes every few rods in the most surprising manner, although theearthquake talus and the level bench on the face of the wall over whichthe trail passes seem monotonous and commonplace as seen from the bottomof the Valley. Up we climb with glad exhilaration, through shaggyfringes of laurel, ceanothus, glossy-leaved manzanita and live-oak, fromshadow to shadow across bars and patches of sunshine, the leafy openingsmaking charming frames for the Valley pictures beheld through gem, andfor the glimpses of the high peaks that appear in the distance. Thehigher we go the farther we seem to be from the summit of the vastgranite wall. Here we pass a projecting buttress hose grooved androunded surface tells a plain story of the time when the Valley, nowfilled with sunshine, was filled with ice, when the grand old YosemiteGlacier, flowing river-like from its distant fountains, swept throughit, crushing, grinding, wearing its way ever deeper, developing andfashioning these sublime rocks. Again we cross a white, battered gully, the pathway of rock avalanches or snow avalanches. Farther on we cometo a gentle stream slipping down the face of the Cliff in lace-likestrips, and dropping from ledge to ledge--too small to be called afall--trickling, dripping, oozing, a pathless wanderer from one ofthe upland meadow lying a little way back of the Valley rim, seekinga way century after century to the depths of the Valley without anyappreciable channel. Every morning after a cool night, evaporation beingchecked, it gathers strength and sings like a bird, but as the dayadvances and the sun strikes its thin currents outspread on the heatedprecipices, most of its waters vanish ere the bottom of the Valley isreached. Many a fine, hanging-garden aloft on breezy inaccessible heightsowes to it its freshness and fullness of beauty; ferneries in shadynooks, filled with Adiantum, Woodwardia, Woodsia, Aspidium, Pellaea, and Cheilanthes, rosetted and tufted and ranged in lines, daintilyoverlapping, thatching the stupendous cliffs with softest beauty, someof the delicate fronds seeming to float on the warm moist air, withoutany connection with rock or stream. Nor is there any lack of coloredplants wherever they can find a place to cling to; lilies and mints, the showy cardinal mimulus, and glowing cushions of the golden bahia, enlivened with butterflies and bees and all the other small, happyhumming creatures that belong to them. 

After the highest point on the lower division of the trail is gained itleads up into the deep recess occupied by the great fall, the noblestdisplay of falling water to be found in the Valley, or perhaps in theworld. When it first comes in sight it seems almost within reach ofone's hand, so great in the spring is its volume and velocity, yet it isstill nearly a third of a mile away and appears to recede as we advance. The sculpture of the walls about it is on a scale of grandeur, accordingnobly with the fall plain and massive, though elaborately finished, likeall the other cliffs about the Valley. 

In the afternoon an immense shadow is cast athwart the plateau in frontof the fall, and over the chaparral bushes that clothe the slopes andbenches of the walls to the eastward, creeping upward until the fall iswholly overcast, the contrast between the shaded and illumined sectionsbeing very striking in these near views. 

Under this shadow, during the cool centuries immediately following thebreaking-up of the Glacial Period, dwelt a small residual glacier, oneof the few that lingered on this sun-beaten side of the Valley after themain trunk glacier had vanished. It sent down a long winding currentthrough the narrow canyon on the west side of the fall, and must haveformed a striking feature of the ancient scenery of the Valley; thelofty fall of ice and fall of water side by side, yet separate anddistinct. 

The coolness of the afternoon shadow and the abundant dewy spray make afine climate for the plateau ferns and grasses, and for the beautifulazalea bushes that grow here in profusion and bloom in September, longafter the warmer thickets down on the floor of the Valley have witheredand gone to seed. Even close to the fall, and behind it at the base ofthe cliff, a few venturesome plants may be found undisturbed by therock-shaking torrent. 

The basin at the foot of the fall into which the current directly pours, when it is not swayed by the wind, is about ten feet deep and fifteen totwenty feet in diameter. That it is not much deeper is surprising, whenthe great height and force of the fall is considered. But the rock wherethe water strikes probably suffers less erosion than it would were thedescent less than half as great, since the current is outspread, andmuch of its force is spent ere it reaches the bottom--being received onthe air as upon an elastic cushion, and borne outward and dissipatedover a surface more than fifty yards wide. 

This surface, easily examined when the water is low, is intensely cleanand fresh looking. It is the raw, quick flesh of the mountain whollyuntouched by the weather. In summer droughts when the snowfall of thepreceding winter has been light, the fall is reduced to a mere shower ofseparate drops without any obscuring spray. Then we may safely go backof it and view the crystal shower from beneath, each drop wavering andpulsing as it makes its way through the air, and flashing off jets ofcolored light of ravishing beauty. But all this is invisible from thebottom of the Valley, like a thousand other interesting things. One mustlabor for beauty as for bread, here as elsewhere. 

The Grandeur Of The Yosemite Fall

During the time of the spring floods the best near view of the fall isobtained from Fern Ledge on the east side above the blinding spray at aheight of about 400 feet above the base of the fall. A climb of about1400 feet from the Valley has to be made, and there is no trail, butto any one fond of climbing this will make the ascent all the moredelightful. A narrow part of the ledge extends to the side of the falland back of it, enabling us to approach it as closely as we wish. Whenthe afternoon sunshine is streaming through the throng of comets, everwasting, ever renewed, fineness, firmness and variety of their forms arebeautifully revealed. At the top of the fall they seem to burst forth inirregular spurts from some grand, throbbing mountain heart. Now and thenone mighty throb sends forth a mass of solid water into the free airfar beyond the others which rushes alone to the bottom of the fall withlong streaming tail, like combed silk, while the others, descending inclusters, gradually mingle and lose their identity. But they all rushpast us with amazing velocity and display of power though apparentlydrowsy and deliberate in their movements when observed from a distanceof a mile or two. The heads of these comet-like masses are composed ofnearly solid water, and are dense white in color like pressed snow, fromthe friction they suffer in rushing through the air, the portion wornoff forming the tail between the white lustrous threads and films ofwhich faint, grayish pencilings appear, while the outer, finer sprays ofwater-dust, whirling in sunny eddies, are pearly gray throughout. At thebottom of the fall there is but little distinction of form visible. Itis mostly a hissing, clashing, seething, upwhirling mass of scud andspray, through which the light sifts in gray and purple tones whileat times when the sun strikes at the required angle, the whole wildand apparently lawless, stormy, striving mass is changed to brilliantrainbow hues, manifesting finest harmony. The middle portion of thefall is the most openly beautiful; lower, the various forms into whichthe waters are wrought are more closely and voluminously veiled, whilehigher, towards the head, the current is comparatively simple andundivided. But even at the bottom, in the boiling clouds of spray, there is no confusion, while the rainbow light makes all divine, addingglorious beauty and peace to glorious power. This noble fall has far therichest, as well as the most powerful, voice of all the falls of theValley, its tones varying from the sharp hiss and rustle of the windin the glossy leaves of the live-oak and the soft, sifting, hushingtones of the pines, to the loudest rush and roar of storm winds andthunder among the crags of the summit peaks. The low bass, booming, reverberating tones, heard under favorable circumstances five or sixmiles away are formed by the dashing and exploding of heavy massesmixed with air upon two projecting ledges on the face of the cliff, theone on which we are standing and another about 200 feet above it. Thetorrent of massive comets is continuous at time of high water, whilethe explosive, booming notes are wildly intermittent, because, unlessinfluenced by the wind, most of the heavier masses shoot out from theface of the precipice, and pass the ledges upon which at other timesthey are exploded. Occasionally the whole fall is swayed away from thefront of the cliff, then suddenly dashed flat against it, or vibratedfrom side to side like a pendulum, giving rise to endless variety offorms and sounds. 

The Nevada Fall

The Nevada Fall is 600 feet high and is usually ranked next to theYosemite in general interest among the five main falls of the Valley. Coming through the Little Yosemite in tranquil reaches, the river isfirst broken into rapids on a moraine boulder-bar that crosses the lowerend of the Valley. Thence it pursues its way to the head of the fall ina rough, solid rock channel, dashing on side angles, heaving in heavysurging masses against elbow knobs, and swirling and swashing inpot-holes without a moment's rest. Thus, already chafed and dashed tofoam, overfolded and twisted, it plunges over the brink of the precipiceas if glad to escape into the open air. But before it reaches the bottomit is pulverized yet finer by impinging upon a sloping portion of thecliff about half-way down, thus making it the whitest of all the fallsof the Valley, and altogether one of the most wonderful in the world. 

On the north side, close to its head, a slab of granite projects over thebrink, forming a fine point for a view, over its throng of streamers andwild plunging, into its intensely white bosom, and through the broaddrifts of spray, to the river far below, gathering its spent waters andrushing on again down the canyon in glad exultation into Emerald Pool, where at length it grows calm and gets rest for what still lies beforeit. All the features of the view correspond with the waters in grandeurand wildness. The glacier sculptured walls of the canyon on either hand, with the sublime mass of the Glacier Point Ridge in front, form a hugetriangular pit-like basin, which, filled with the roaring of the fallingriver seems as if it might be the hopper of one of the mills of the godsin which the mountains were being ground. 

The Vernal Fall

The Vernal, about a mile below the Nevada, is 400 feet high, a staid, orderly, graceful, easy-going fall, proper and exact in every movementand gesture, with scarce a hint of the passionate enthusiasm of theYosemite or of the impetuous Nevada, whose chafed and twisted watershurrying over the cliff seem glad to escape into the open air, while itsdeep, booming, thunder-tones reverberate over the listening landscape. Nevertheless it is a favorite with most visitors, doubtless because itis more accessible than any other, more closely approached and betterseen and heard. A good stairway ascends the cliff beside it and thelevel plateau at the head enables one to saunter safely along the edgeof the river as it comes from Emerald Pool and to watch its waters, calmly bending over the brow of the precipice, in a sheet eighty feetwide, changing in color from green to purplish gray and white untildashed on a boulder talus. Thence issuing from beneath its fine broadspray-clouds we see the tremendously adventurous river still unspent, beating its way down the wildest and deepest of all its canyons ingray roaring rapids, dear to the ouzel, and below the confluence ofthe Illilouette, sweeping around the shoulder of the Half Dome on itsapproach to the head of the tranquil levels of the Valley. 

The Illilouette Fall

The Illilouette in general appearance most resembles the Nevada. Thevolume of water is less than half as great, but it is about the sameheight (600 feet) and its waters receive the same kind of preliminarytossing in a rocky, irregular channel. Therefore it is a very white andfine-grained fall. When it is in full springtime bloom it is partlydivided by rocks that roughen the lip of the precipice, but thisdivision amounts only to a kind of fluting and grooving of the column, which has a beautiful effect. It is not nearly so grand a fall as theupper Yosemite, or so symmetrical as the Vernal, or so airily gracefuland simple as the Bridal Veil, nor does it ever display so tremendousan outgush of snowy magnificence as the Nevada; but in the exquisitefineness and richness of texture of its flowing folds it surpassesthem all. 

One of the finest effects of sunlight on falling water I ever saw inYosemite or elsewhere I found on the brow of this beautiful fall. Itwas in the Indian summer, when the leaf colors were ripe and the greatcliffs and domes were transfigured in the hazy golden air. I hadscrambled up its rugged talus-dammed canyon, oftentimes stopping to takebreath and look back to admire the wonderful views to be had there ofthe great Half Dome, and to enjoy the extreme purity of the water, whichin the motionless pools on this stream is almost perfectly invisible;the colored foliage of the maples, dogwoods, Rubus tangles, etc. , andthe late goldenrods and asters. The voice of the fall was now low, andthe grand spring and summer floods had waned to sifting, drifting gauzeand thin-broidered folds of linked and arrowy lace-work. When I reachedthe foot of the fall sunbeams were glinting across its head, leaving allthe rest of it in shadow; and on its illumined brow a group of yellowspangles of singular form and beauty were playing, flashing up anddancing in large flame-shaped masses, wavering at times, then steadying, rising and falling in accord with the shifting forms of the water. Butthe color of the dancing spangles changed not at all. Nothing in cloudsor flowers, on bird-wings or the lips of shells, could rival it infineness. It was the most divinely beautiful mass of rejoicing yellowlight I ever beheld--one of Nature's precious gifts that perchance maycome to us but once in a lifetime. 

The Minor Falls

There are many other comparatively small falls and cascades in theValley. The most notable are the Yosemite Gorge Fall and Cascades, Tenaya Fall and Cascades, Royal Arch Falls, the two Sentinel Cascadesand the falls of Cascade and Tamarack Creeks, a mile or two below thelower end of the Valley. These last are often visited. The others areseldom noticed or mentioned; although in almost any other country theywould be visited and described as wonders. 

The six intermediate falls in the gorge between the head of the Lowerand the base of the Upper Yosemite Falls, separated by a few deep poolsand strips of rapids, and three slender, tributary cascades on the westside form a series more strikingly varied and combined than any otherin the Valley, yet very few of all the Valley visitors ever see them orhear of them. No available standpoint commands a view of them all. Thebest general view is obtained from the mouth of the gorge near the headof the Lower Fall. The two lowest of the series, together with one ofthe three tributary cascades, are visible from this standpoint, but inreaching it the last twenty or thirty feet of the descent is ratherdangerous in time of high water, the shelving rocks being then slipperyon account of spray, but if one should chance to slip when the water islow, only a bump or two and a harmless plash would be the penalty. Nopart of the gorge, however, is safe to any but cautious climbers. 

Though the dark gorge hall of these rejoicing waters is never flushed bythe purple light of morning or evening, it is warmed and cheered by thewhite light of noonday, which, falling into so much foam and and sprayof varying degrees of fineness, makes marvelous displays of rainbowcolors. So filled, indeed, is it with this precious light, at favorabletimes it seems to take the place of common air. Laurel bushes shedfragrance into it from above and live-oaks, those fearless mountaineers, hold fast to angular seams and lean out over it with their fringingsprays and bright mirror leaves. 

One bird, the ouzel, loves this gorge and flies through it merrily, orcheerily, rather, stopping to sing on foam-washed bosses where otherbirds could find no rest for their feet. I have even seen a graysquirrel down in the heart of it beside the wild rejoicing water. 

One of my favorite night walks was along the rim of this wild gorge intimes of high water when the moon was full, to see the lunar bows in thespray. 

For about a mile above Mirror Lake the Tenaya Canyon is level, andrichly planted with fir, Douglas spruce and libocedrus, forming aremarkably fine grove, at the head of which is the Tenaya Fall. Thoughseldom seen or described, this is, I think, the most picturesque of allthe small falls. A considerable distance above it, Tenaya Creek comeshurrying down, white and foamy, over a flat pavement inclined at anangle of about eighteen degrees. In time of high water this sheet ofrapids is nearly seventy feet wide, and is varied in a very striking wayby three parallel furrows that extend in the direction of its flow. These furrows, worn by the action of the stream upon cleavage joints, vary in width, are slightly sinuous, and have large boulders firmlywedged in them here and there in narrow places, giving rise, of course, to a complicated series of wild dashes, doublings, and upleaping archesin the swift torrent. Just before it reaches the head of the fall thecurrent is divided, the left division making a vertical drop of abouteighty feet in a romantic, leafy, flowery, mossy nook, while the otherforms a rugged cascade. 

The Royal Arch Fall in time of high water is a magnificent object, forming a broad ornamental sheet in front of the arches. The twoSentinel Cascades, 3000 feet high, are also grand spectacles when thesnow is melting fast in the spring, but by the middle of summer theyhave diminished to mere streaks scarce noticeable amid their sublimesurroundings. 

The Beauty Of The Rainbows

The Bridal Veil and Vernal Falls are famous for their rainbows; andspecial visits to them are often made when the sun shines into the sprayat the most favorable angle. But amid the spray and foam and fine-groundmist ever rising from the various falls and cataracts there is anaffluence and variety of iris bows scarcely known to visitors who stayonly a day or two. Both day and night, winter and summer, this divinelight may be seen wherever water is falling dancing, singing; tellingthe heart-peace of Nature amid the wildest displays of her power. In thebright spring mornings the black-walled recess at the foot of the LowerYosemite Fall is lavishly fine with irised spray; and not simply doesthis span the dashing foam, but the foam itself, the whole mass of it, beheld at a certain distance, seems to be colored, and drips and waversfrom color to color, mingling with the foliage of the adjacent trees, without suggesting any relationship to the ordinary rainbow. This isperhaps the largest and most reservoir-like fountain of iris colors tobe found in the Valley. 

Lunar rainbows or spray-bows also abound in the glorious affluence ofdashing, rejoicing, hurrahing, enthusiastic spring floods, their colorsas distinct as those of the sun and regularly and obviously banded, though less vivid. Fine specimens may be found any night at the foot ofthe Upper Yosemite Fall, glowing gloriously amid the gloomy shadows andthundering waters, whenever there is plenty of moonlight and spray. Eventhe secondary bow is at times distinctly visible. 

The best point from which to observe them is on Fern Ledge. For sometime after moonrise, at time of high water, the arc has a span of aboutfive hundred feet, and is set upright; one end planted in the boilingspray at the bottom, the other in the edge of the fall, creeping lower, of course, and becoming less upright as the moon rises higher. Thisgrand arc of color, glowing in mild, shapely beauty in so weird and hugea chamber of night shadows, and amid the rush and roar and tumultuousdashing of this thunder-voiced fall, is one of the most impressive andmost cheering of all the blessed mountain evangels. 

Smaller bows may be seen in the gorge on the plateau between the Upperand Lower Falls. Once toward midnight, after spending a few hours withthe wild beauty of the Upper Fall, I sauntered along the edge of thegorge, looking in here and there, wherever the footing felt safe, to seewhat I could learn of the night aspects of the smaller falls that dwellthere. And down in an exceedingly black, pit-like portion of the gorge, at the foot of the highest of the intermediate falls, into which themoonbeams were pouring through a narrow opening, I saw a well-definedspray-bow, beautifully distinct in colors, spanning the pit from sideto side, while pure white foam-waves beneath the beautiful bow wereconstantly springing up out of the dark into the moonlight like dancingghosts. 

An Unexpected Adventure

A wild scene, but not a safe one, is made by the moon as it appearsthrough the edge of the Yosemite Fall when one is behind it. Once, afterenjoying the night-song of the waters and watching the formation of thecolored bow as the moon came round the domes and sent her beams into thewild uproar, I ventured out on the narrow bench that extends back of thefall from Fern Ledge and began to admire the dim-veiled grandeur of theview. I could see the fine gauzy threads of the fall's filmy border byhaving the light in front; and wishing to look at the moon through themeshes of some of the denser portions of the fall, I ventured to creepfarther behind it while it was gently wind-swayed, without takingsufficient thought about the consequences of its swaying back to itsnatural position after the wind-pressure should be removed. The effectwas enchanting: fine, savage music sounding above, beneath, around me;while the moon, apparently in the very midst of the rushing waters, seemed to be struggling to keep her place, on account of theever-varying form and density of the water masses through which she wasseen, now darkly veiled or eclipsed by a rush of thick-headed comets, now flashing out through openings between their tails. I was infairyland between the dark wall and the wild throng of illumined waters, but suffered sudden disenchantment; for, like the witch-scene in AllowayKirk, "in an instant all was dark. " Down came a dash of spent comets, thin and harmless-looking in the distance, but they felt desperatelysolid and stony when they struck my shoulders, like a mixture of chokingspray and gravel and big hailstones. Instinctively dropping on my knees, I gripped an angle of the rock, curled up like a young fern frond withmy face pressed against my breast, and in this attitude submitted asbest I could to my thundering bath. The heavier masses seemed to strikelike cobblestones, and there was a confused noise of many waters aboutmy ears--hissing, gurgling, clashing sounds that were not heard asmusic. The situation was quickly realized. How fast one's thoughts burnin such times of stress! I was weighing chances of escape. Would thecolumn be swayed a few inches away from the wall, or would it come yetcloser? The fall was in flood and not so lightly would its ponderousmass be swayed. My fate seemed to depend on a breath of the "idle wind. "It was moved gently forward, the pounding ceased, and I was once morevisited by glimpses of the moon. But fearing I might be caught at adisadvantage in making too hasty a retreat, I moved only a few feetalong the bench to where a block of ice lay. I wedged myself between theice and the wall and lay face downwards, until the steadiness of thelight gave encouragement to rise and get away. Somewhat nerve-shaken, drenched, and benumbed, I made out to build a fire, warmed myself, ranhome, reached my cabin before daylight, got an hour or two of sleep, and awoke sound and comfortable, better, not worse for my hard midnightbath. 

Climate And Weather

Owing to the westerly trend of the Valley and its vast depth thereis a great difference between the climates of the north and southsides--greater than between many countries far apart; for the south wallis in shadow during the winter months, while the north is bathed insunshine every clear day. Thus there is mild spring weather on one sideof the Valley while winter rules the other. Far up the north-side cliffsmany a nook may be found closely embraced by sun-beaten rock-bosses inwhich flowers bloom every month of the year. Even butterflies may beseen in these high winter gardens except when snow-storms are fallingand a few days after they have ceased. Near the head of the lowerYosemite Fall in January I found the ant lions lying in wait in theirwarm sand-cups, rock ferns being unrolled, club mosses covered withfresh-growing plants, the flowers of the laurel nearly open, and thehoneysuckle rosetted with bright young leaves; every plant seemed to bethinking about summer. Even on the shadow-side of the Valley the frostis never very sharp. The lowest temperature I ever observed during fourwinters was 7 degrees Fahrenheit. The first twenty-four days of Januaryhad an average temperature at 9 A. M. Of 32 degrees, minimum 22 degrees;at 3 P. M. The average was 40 degrees 30', the minimum 32 degrees. Alongthe top of the walls, 7000 and 8000 feet high, the temperature was, ofcourse, much lower. But the difference in temperature between the northand south sides is due not so much to the winter sunshine as to the heatof the preceding summer, stored up in the rocks, which rapidly melts thesnow in contact with them. For though summer sun-heat is stored in therocks of the south side also, the amount is much less because the raysfall obliquely on the south wall even in summer and almost verticallyon the north. 

The upper branches of the Yosemite streams are buried every winterbeneath a heavy mantle of snow, and set free in the spring inmagnificent floods. Then, all the fountains, full and overflowing, everyliving thing breaks forth into singing, and the glad exulting streamsshining and falling in the warm sunny weather, shake everything intomusic making all the mountain-world a song. 

The great annual spring thaw usually begins in May in the forest region, and in June and July on the high Sierra, varying somewhat both in timeand fullness with the weather and the depth of the snow. Toward the endof summer the streams are at their lowest ebb, few even of the strongestsinging much above a whisper they slip and ripple through gravel andboulder-beds from pool to pool in the hollows of their channels, anddrop in pattering showers like rain, and slip down precipices and fallin sheets of embroidery, fold over fold. But, however low their singing, it is always ineffably fine in tone, in harmony with the restful time ofthe year. 

The first snow of the season that comes to the help of the streamsusually falls in September or October, sometimes even is the latter partof August, in the midst of yellow Indian summer when the goldenrods andgentians of the glacier meadows are is their prime. This Indian-summersnow, however, soon melts, the chilled flowers spread their petals tothe sun, and the gardens as well as the streams are refreshed as if onlya warm shower had fallen. The snow-storms that load the mountains toform the main fountain supply for the year seldom set in before themiddle or end of November. 

Winter Beauty Of The Valley

When the first heavy storms stopped work on the high mountains, I madehaste down to my Yosemite den, not to "hole up" and sleep the whitemonths away; I was out every day, and often all night, sleeping butlittle, studying the so-called wonders and common things ever on show, wading, climbing, sauntering among the blessed storms and calms, rejoicing in almost everything alike that I could see or hear: theglorious brightness of frosty mornings; the sunbeams pouring over thewhite domes and crags into the groves end waterfalls, kindling marvelousiris fires in the hoarfrost and spray; the great forests and mountainsin their deep noon sleep; the good-night alpenglow; the stars; thesolemn gazing moon, drawing the huge domes and headlands one by oneglowing white out of the shadows hushed and breathless like an audiencein awful enthusiasm, while the meadows at their feet sparkle withfrost-stars like the sky; the sublime darkness of storm-nights, when allthe lights are out; the clouds in whose depths the frail snow-flowersgrow; the behavior and many voices of the different kinds of storms, trees, birds, waterfalls, and snow-avalanches in the ever-changingweather. 

Every clear, frosty morning loud sounds are heard booming andreverberating from side to side of the Valley at intervals of a fewminutes, beginning soon after sunrise and continuing an hour or two likea thunder-storm. In my first winter in the Valley I could not make outthe source of this noise. I thought of falling boulders, rock-blasting, etc. Not till I saw what looked like hoarfrost dropping from the side ofthe Fall was the problem explained. The strange thunder is made by thefall of sections of ice formed of spray that is frozen on the face ofthe cliff along the sides of the Upper Yosemite Fan--a sort of crystalplaster, a foot or two thick, racked off by the sunbeams, awakening allthe Valley like cock-crowing, announcing the finest weather, shoutingaloud Nature's infinite industry and love of hard work in creatingbeauty. 

Exploring An Ice Cone

This frozen spray gives rise to one of the most interesting winterfeatures of the Valley--a cone of ice at the foot of the fall, four orfive hundred feet high. From the Fern Ledge standpoint its crater-likethroat is seen, down which the fall plunges with deep, gaspingexplosions of compressed air, and, after being well churned in the wormyinterior, the water bursts forth through arched openings at its base, apparently scourged and weary and glad to escape, while belching spray, spouted up out of the throat past the descending current, is waftedaway in irised drifts to the adjacent rocks and groves. It is builtduring the night and early hours of the morning; only in spells ofexceptionally cold and cloudy weather is the work continued through theday. The greater part of the spray material falls in crystalline showersdirect to its place, something like a small local snow-storm; but aconsiderable portion is first frozen on the face of the cliff along thesides of the fall and stays there until expanded and cracked off inirregular masses, some of them tons in weight, to be built into thewalls of the cone; while in windy, frosty weather, when the fall isswayed from side to side, the cone is well drenched and the loose icemasses and spray-dust are all firmly welded and frozen together. Thusthe finest of the downy wafts and curls of spray-dust, which in mildnights fall about as silently as dew, are held back until sunrise tomake a store of heavy ice to reinforce the waterfall's thunder-tones. 

While the cone is in process of formation, growing higher and wider inthe frosty weather, it looks like a beautiful smooth, pure-white hill;but when it is wasting and breaking up in the spring its surface isstrewn with leaves, pine branches, stones, sand, etc. , that have beenbrought over the fall, making it look like a heap of avalanche detritus. 

Anxious to learn what I could about the structure of this curious hillI often approached it in calm weather and tried to climb it, carryingan ax to cut steps. Once I nearly succeeded in gaining the summit. Atthe base I was met by a current of spray and wind that made seeing andbreathing difficult. I pushed on backward however, and soon gained theslope of the hill, where by creeping close to the surface most of thechoking blast passed over me and I managed to crawl up with but littledifficulty. Thus I made my way nearly to the summit, halting at timesto peer up through the wild whirls of spray at the veiled grandeur ofthe fall, or to listen to the thunder beneath me; the whole hill wassounding as if it were a huge, bellowing drum. I hoped that by waitinguntil the fall was blown aslant I should be able to climb to the lip ofthe crater and get a view of the interior; but a suffocating blast, halfair, half water, followed by the fall of an enormous mass of frozenspray from a spot high up on the wall, quickly discouraged me. The wholecone was jarred by the blow and some fragments of the mass sped past medangerously near; so I beat a hasty retreat, chilled and drenched, andlay down on a sunny rock to dry. 

Once during a wind-storm when I saw that the fall was frequently blownwestward, leaving the cone dry, I ran up to Fern Ledge hoping to gain aclear view of the interior. I set out at noon. All the way up the stormnotes were so loud about me that the voice of the fall was almostdrowned by them. Notwithstanding the rocks and bushes everywhere weredrenched by the wind-driven spray, I approached the brink of theprecipice overlooking the mouth of the ice cone, but I was almostsuffocated by the drenching, gusty spray, and was compelled to seekshelter. I searched for some hiding-place in the wall from whence Imight run out at some opportune moment when the fall with its whirlingspray and torn shreds of comet tails and trailing, tattered skirts wasborne westward, as I had seen it carried several times before, leavingthe cliffs on the east side and the ice hill bare in the sunlight. I hadnot long to wait, for, as if ordered so for my special accommodation, the mighty downrush of comets with their whirling drapery swung westwardand remained aslant for nearly half an hour. The cone was admirablylighted and deserted by the water, which fell most of the time on therocky western slopes mostly outside of the cone. The mouth into whichthe fall pours was, as near as I could guess, about one hundred feet indiameter north and south and about two hundred feet east and west, whichis about the shape and size of the fall at its best in its normalcondition at this season. 

The crater-like opening was not a true oval, but more like a huge coarsemouth. I could see down the throat about one hundred feet or perhapsfarther. 

The fall precipice overhangs from a height of 400 feet above the base;therefore the water strikes some distance from the base off the cliff, allowing space for the accumulation of a considerable mass of icebetween the fall and the wall. 

Chapter 2

Winter Storms and Spring Floods

The Bridal Veil and the Upper Yosemite Falls, on account of their heightand exposure, are greatly influenced by winds. The common summer windsthat come up the river canyon from the plains are seldom very strong;but the north winds do some very wild work, worrying the falls and theforests, and hanging snow-banners on the comet-peaks. One wild wintermorning I was awakened by storm-wind that was playing with the falls asif they were mere wisps of mist and making the great pines bow and singwith glorious enthusiasm. The Valley had been visited a short timebefore by a series of fine snow-storms, and the floor and the cliffs andall the region round about were lavishly adorned with its best winterjewelry, the air was full of fine snow-dust, and pine branches, tasselsand empty cones were flying in an almost continuous flock. 

Soon after sunrise, when I was seeking a place safe from flyingbranches, I saw the Lower Yosemite Fall thrashed and pulverized from topto bottom into one glorious mass of rainbow dust; while a thousand feetabove it the main Upper Fall was suspended on the face of the cliff inthe form of an inverted bow, all silvery white and fringed with shortwavering strips. Then, suddenly assailed by a tremendous blast, thewhole mass of the fall was blown into thread and ribbons, and drivenback over the brow of the cliff whence it came, as if denied admissionto the Valley. This kind of storm-work was continued about ten orfifteen minutes; then another change in the play of the huge exultingswirls and billows and upheaving domes of the gale allowed the baffledfall to gather and arrange its tattered waters, and sink down again inits place. As the day advanced, the gale gave no sign of dying, excepting brief lulls, the Valley was filled with its weariless roar, and the cloudless sky grew garish-white from myriads of minute, sparkling snow-spicules. In the afternoon, while I watched the UpperFall from the shelter of a big pine tree, it was suddenly arrested inits descent at a point about half-way down, and was neither blown upwardnor driven aside, but simply held stationary in mid-air, as ifgravitation below that point in the path of its descent had ceased toact. The ponderous flood, weighing hundreds of tons, was sustained, hovering, hesitating, like a bunch of thistledown, while I counted onehundred and ninety. All this time the ordinary amount of water wascoming over the cliff and accumulating in the air, swedging and wideningand forming an irregular cone about seven hundred feet high, tapering tothe top of the wall, the whole standing still, jesting on the invisiblearm of the North Wind. At length, as if commanded to go on again, scoresof arrowy comets shot forth from the bottom of the suspended mass as ifescaping from separate outlets. 

The brow of El Capitan was decked with long snow-streamers like hair, Clouds' Rest was fairly enveloped in drifting gossamer elms, and the HalfDome loomed up in the garish light like a majestic, living creature cladin the same gauzy, wind-woven drapery, while upward currents meeting attimes overhead made it smoke like a volcano. 

An Extraordinary Storm And Flood

Glorious as are these rocks and waters arrayed in storm robes, orchanting rejoicing in every-day dress, they are still more glorious whenrare weather conditions meet to make them sing with floods. Only onceduring all the years I have lived in the Valley have I seen it in fullflood bloom. In 1871 the early winter weather was delightful; the daysall sunshine, the nights all starry and calm, calling forth fine cropsof frost-crystals on the pines and withered ferns and grasses for themorning sunbeams to sift through. In the afternoon of December 16, whenI was sauntering on the meadows, I noticed a massive crimson cloudgrowing in solitary grandeur above the Cathedral Rocks, its formscarcely less striking than its color. It had a picturesque, bulgingbase like an old sequoia, a smooth, tapering stem, and a bossy, down-curling crown like a mushroom; all its parts were colored alike, making one mass of translucent crimson. Wondering what the meaning ofthat strange, lonely red cloud might be, I was up betimes next morninglooking at the weather, but all seemed tranquil as yet. Towards noongray clouds with a lose, curly grain like bird's-eye maple began togrow, and late at night rain fell, which soon changed to snow. Nextmorning the snow on the meadows was about ten inches deep, and it wasstill falling in a fine, cordial storm. During the night of the 18thheavy rain fell on the snow, but as the temperature was 34 degrees, thesnow-line was only a few hundred feet above the bottom of the Valley, andone had only to climb a little higher than the tops of the pines to getout of the rain-storm into the snow-storm. The streams, instead of beingincreased in volume by the storm, were diminished, because the snowsponged up part of their waters and choked the smaller tributaries. Butabout midnight the temperature suddenly rose to 42 degrees, carryingthe snow-line far beyond the Valley walls, and next morning Yosemitewas rejoicing in a glorious flood. The comparatively warm rain fallingon the snow was at first absorbed and held back, and so also was thatportion of the snow that the rain melted, and all that was melted by thewarm wind, until the whole mass of snow was saturated and became sludgy, and at length slipped and rushed simultaneously from a thousand slopesin wildest extravagance, heaping and swelling flood over flood, andplunging into the Valley in stupendous avalanches. 

Awakened by the roar, I looked out and at once recognized theextraordinary character of the storm. The rain was still pouring intorrent abundance and the wind at gale speed was doing all it could withthe flood-making rain. 

The section of the north wall visible from my cabin was fairly streakedwith new falls--wild roaring singers that seemed strangely out of place. Eager to get into the midst of the show, I snatched a piece of bread forbreakfast and ran out. The mountain waters, suddenly liberated, seemedto be holding a grand jubilee. The two Sentinel Cascades rivaled thegreat falls at ordinary stages, and across the Valley by the ThreeBrothers I caught glimpses of more falls than I could readily count;while the whole Valley throbbed and trembled, and was filled with anawful, massive, solemn, sea-like roar. After gazing a while enchantedwith the network of new falls that were adorning and transfiguring everyrock in sight, I tried to reach the upper meadows, where the Valley iswidest, that I might be able to see the walls on both sides, and thusgain general views. But the river was over its banks and the meadowswere flooded, forming an almost continuous lake dotted with blue sludgyislands, while innumerable streams roared like lions across my path andwere sweeping forward rocks and logs with tremendous energy over groundwhere tiny gilias had been growing but a short time before. Climbinginto the talus slopes, where these savage torrents were broken amongearthquake boulders, I managed to cross them, and force my way up theValley to Hutchings' Bridge, where I crossed the river and waded to themiddle of the upper meadow. Here most of the new falls were in sight, probably the most glorious assemblage of waterfalls ever displayed fromany one standpoint. On that portion of the south wall between Hutchings'and the Sentinel there were ten falls plunging and booming from a heightof nearly three thousand feet, the smallest of which might have beenheard miles away. In the neighborhood of Glacier Point there were six;between the Three Brothers and Yosemite Fall, nine; between Yosemite andRoyal Arch Falls, ten; from Washington Column to Mount Watkins, ten; onthe slopes of Half Dome and Clouds' Rest, facing Mirror Lake and TenayaCanyon, eight; on the shoulder of Half Dome, facing the Valley, three;fifty-six new falls occupying the upper end of the Valley, besides acountless host of silvery threads gleaming everywhere. In all the Valleythere must have been upwards of a hundred. As if celebrating somegreat event, falls and cascades in Yosemite costume were coming downeverywhere from fountain basins, far and near; and, though newcomers, they behaved and sang as if they had lived here always. 

All summer-visitors will remember the comet forms of the Yosemite Falland the laces of the Bridal Veil and Nevada. In the falls of thiswinter jubilee the lace forms predominated, but there was no lack ofthunder-toned comets. The lower portion of one of the Sentinel Cascadeswas composed of two main white torrents with the space between themfilled in with chained and beaded gauze of intricate pattern, throughthe singing threads of which the purplish-gray rock could be dimly seen. The series above Glacier Point was still more complicated in structure, displaying every form that one could imagine water might be dashed andcombed and woven into. Those on the north wall between Washington Columnand the Royal Arch Fall were so nearly related they formed an almostcontinuous sheet, and these again were but slightly separated from thoseabout Indian Canyon. The group about the Three Brothers and El Capitan, owing to the topography and cleavage of the cliffs back of them, wasmore broken and irregular. The Tissiack Cascades were comparativelysmall, yet sufficient to give that noblest of mountain rocks a gloriousvoice. In the midst of all this extravagant rejoicing the great YosemiteFall was scarce heard until about three o'clock in the afternoon. Then Iwas startled by a sudden thundering crash as if a rock avalanche hadcome to the help of the roaring waters. This was the flood-wave ofYosemite Creek, which had just arrived delayed by the distance it had totravel, and by the choking snows of its widespread fountains. Now, withvolume tenfold increased beyond its springtime fullness, it took itsplace as leader of the glorious choir. 

And the winds, too, were singing in wild accord, playing on every treeand rock, surging against the huge brows and domes and outstandingbattlements, deflected hither and thither and broken into a thousandcascading, roaring currents in the canyons, and low bass, drummingswirls in the hollows. And these again, reacting on the clouds, erodedimmense cavernous spaces in their gray depths and swept forward theresulting detritus in ragged trains like the moraines of glaciers. Thesecloud movements in turn published the work of the winds, giving thema visible body, and enabling us to trace them. As if endowed withindependent motion, a detached cloud would rise hastily to the very topof the wall as if on some important errand, examining the faces of thecliffs, and then perhaps as suddenly descend to sweep imposingly alongthe meadows, trailing its draggled fringes through the pines, fondlingthe waving spires with infinite gentleness, or, gliding behind a groveor a single tree, bringing it into striking relief, as it bowed andwaved in solemn rhythm. Sometimes, as the busy clouds drooped andcondensed or dissolved to misty gauze, half of the Valley would besuddenly veiled, leaving here and there some lofty headland cut off fromall visible connection with the walls, looming alone, dim, spectral, asif belonging to the sky--visitors, like the new falls, come to take partin the glorious festival. Thus for two days and nights in measurelessextravagance the storm went on, and mostly without spectators, at leastof a terrestrial kind. I saw nobody out--bird, bear, squirrel, or man. Tourists had vanished months before, and the hotel people and laborerswere out of sight, careful about getting cold, and satisfied with viewsfrom windows. The bears, I suppose, were in their canyon-boulder dens, the squirrels in their knot-hole nests, the grouse in close fir groves, and the small singers in the Indian Canyon chaparral, trying to keepwarm and dry. Strange to say, I did not see even the water-ouzels, though they must have greatly enjoyed the storm. 

This was the most sublime waterfall flood I ever saw--clouds, winds, rocks, waters, throbbing together as one. And then to contemplate whatwas going on simultaneously with all this in other mountain temples; theBig Tuolumne Canyon--how the white waters and the winds were singingthere! And in Hetch Hetchy Valley and the great King's River yosemite, and in all the other Sierra canyons and valleys from Shasta to thesouthernmost fountains of the Kern, thousands of rejoicing floodwaterfalls chanting together in jubilee dress. 

Chapter 3

Snow-Storms

As has been already stated, the first of the great snow-storms thatreplenish the Yosemite fountains seldom sets in before the end ofNovember. Then, warned by the sky, wide-awake mountaineers, togetherwith the deer and most of the birds, make haste to the lowlands orfoothills; and burrowing marmots, mountain beavers, wood-rats, and othersmall mountain people, go into winter quarters, some of them not againto see the light of day until the general awakening and resurrection ofthe spring in June or July. The fertile clouds, drooping and condensingin brooding silence, seem to be thoughtfully examining the forests andstreams with reference to the work that lies before them. At length, alltheir plans perfected, tufted flakes and single starry crystals come insight, solemnly swirling and glinting to their blessed appointed places;and soon the busy throng fills the sky and makes darkness like night. The first heavy fall is usually from about two to four feet in depththen with intervals of days or weeks of bright weather storm succeedsstorm, heaping snow on snow, until thirty to fifty feet has fallen. Buton account of its settling and compacting, and waste from melting andevaporation, the average depth actually found at any time seldom exceedsten feet in the forest regions, or fifteen feet along the slopes of thesummit peaks. After snow-storms come avalanches, varying greatly inform, size, behavior and in the songs they sing; some on the smoothslopes of the mountains are short and broad; others long and river-likein the side canyons of yosemites and in the main canyons, flowing inregular channels and booming like waterfalls, while countless smallerones fall everywhere from laden trees and rocks and lofty canyon walls. Most delightful it is to stand in the middle of Yosemite on still clearmornings after snow-storms and watch the throng of avalanches as theycome down, rejoicing, to their places, whispering, thrilling like birds, or booming and roaring like thunder. The noble yellow pines stand hushedand motionless as if under a spell until the morning sunshine begins tosift through their laden spires; then the dense masses on the ends ofthe leafy branches begin to shift and fall, those from the upperbranches striking the lower ones in succession, enveloping each tree ina hollow conical avalanche of fairy fineness; while the relievedbranches spring up and wave with startling effect in the generalstillness, as if each tree was moving of its own volition. Hundreds ofbroad cloud-shaped masses may also be seen, leaping over the brows ofthe cliffs from great heights, descending at first with regularavalanche speed until, worn into dust by friction, they float in frontof the precipices like irised clouds. Those which descend from the browof El Capitan are particularly fine; but most of the great Yosemiteavalanches flow in regular channels like cascades and waterfalls. Whenthe snow first gives way on the upper slopes of their basins, a dullrushing, rumbling sound is heard which rapidly increases and seems todraw nearer with appalling intensity of tone. Presently the white floodcomes bounding into sight over bosses and sheer places, leaping frombench to bench, spreading and narrowing and throwing off clouds ofwhirling dust like the spray of foaming cataracts. Compared withwaterfalls and cascades, avalanches are short-lived, few of them lastingmore than a minute or two, and the sharp, clashing sounds so common infalling water are mostly wanting; but in their low massy thundertonesand purple-tinged whiteness, and in their dress, gait, gestures andgeneral behavior, they are much alike. 

Avalanches

Besides these common after-storm avalanches that are to be found notonly in the Yosemite but in all the deep, sheer-walled canyon of theRange there are two other important kinds, which may be called annualand century avalanches, which still further enrich the scenery. The onlyplace about the Valley where one may be sure to see the annual kind ison the north slope of Clouds' Rest. They are composed of heavy, compactedsnow, which has been subjected to frequent alternations of freezing andthawing. They are developed on canyon and mountain-sides at an elevationof from nine to ten thousand feet, where the slopes are inclined at anangle too low to shed off the dry winter snow, and which accumulatesuntil the spring thaws sap their foundations and make them slippery;then away in grand style go the ponderous icy masses without any finesnow-dust. Those of Clouds' Rest descend like thunderbolts for more thana mile. 

The great century avalanches and the kind that mow wide swaths throughthe upper forests occur on mountain-sides about ten or twelve thousandfeet high, where under ordinary weather conditions the snow accumulatedfrom winter to winter lies at rest for many years, allowing trees, fiftyto a hundred feet high, to grow undisturbed on the slopes beneath them. On their way down through the woods they seldom fail to make a perfectlyclean sweep, stripping off the soil as well as the trees, clearing pathstwo or three hundred yards wide from the timber line to the glaciermeadows or lakes, and piling their uprooted trees, head downward, inrows along the sides of the gaps like lateral moraines. Scars and brokenbranches of the trees standing on the sides of the gaps record the depthof the overwhelming flood; and when we come to count the annualwood-rings on the uprooted trees we learn that some of these immenseavalanches occur only once in a century or even at still widerintervals. 

A Ride On An Avalanche

Few Yosemite visitors ever see snow avalanches and fewer still know theexhilaration of riding on them. In all my mountaineering I have enjoyedonly one avalanche ride, and the start was so sudden and the end cameso soon I had but little time to think of the danger that attends thissort of travel, though at such times one thinks fast. One fine Yosemitemorning after a heavy snowfall, being eager to see as many avalanchesas possible and wide views of the forest and summit peaks in their newwhite robes before the sunshine had time to change them, I set out earlyto climb by a side canyon to the top of a commanding ridge a little overthree thousand feet above the Valley. On account of the looseness ofthe snow that blocked the canyon I knew the climb would require a longtime, some three or four hours as I estimated; but it proved far moredifficult than I had anticipated. Most of the way I sank waist deep, almost out of sight in some places. After spending the whole day towithin half an hour or so of sundown, I was still several hundred feetbelow the summit. Then my hopes were reduced to getting up in time tosee the sunset. But I was not to get summit views of any sort that day, for deep trampling near the canyon head, where the snow was strained, started an avalanche, and I was swished down to the foot of the canyonas if by enchantment. The wallowing ascent had taken nearly all day, thedescent only about a minute. When the avalanche started I threw myselfon my back and spread my arms to try to keep from sinking. Fortunately, though the grade of the canyon is very steep, it is not interrupted byprecipices large enough to cause outbounding or free plunging. On nopart of the rush was I buried. I was only moderately imbedded on thesurface or at times a little below it, and covered with a veil ofback-streaming dust particles; and as the whole mass beneath and aboutme joined in the flight there was no friction, though I was tossed hereand there and lurched from side to side. When the avalanche swedged andcame to rest I found myself on top of the crumpled pile without bruiseor scar. This was a fine experience. Hawthorne says somewhere that steamhas spiritualized travel; though unspiritual smells, smoke, etc. , stillattend steam travel. This flight in what might be called a milky way ofsnow-stars was the most spiritual and exhilarating of all the modes ofmotion I have ever experienced. Elijah's flight in a chariot of firecould hardly have been more gloriously exciting. 

The Streams In Other Seasons

In the spring, after all the avalanches are down and the snow is meltingfast, then all the Yosemite streams, from their fountains to theirfalls, sing their grandest songs. Countless rills make haste to therivers, running and singing soon after sunrise, louder and louder withincreasing volume until sundown; then they gradually fail through thefrosty hours of the night. In this way the volume of the upper branchesof the river is nearly doubled during the day, rising and falling asregularly as the tides of the sea. Then the Merced overflows its banks, flooding the meadows, sometimes almost from wall to wall in some places, beginning to rise towards sundown just when the streams on the fountainsare beginning to diminish, the difference in time of the daily rise andfall being caused by the distance the upper flood streams have to travelbefore reaching the Valley. In the warmest weather they seem fairly toshout for joy and clash their upleaping waters together like clappingof hands; racing down the canyons with white manes flying in gloriousexuberance of strength, compelling huge, sleeping boulders to wake upand join in their dance and song, to swell their exulting chorus. 

In early summer, after the flood season, the Yosemite streams are intheir prime, running crystal clear, deep and full but not overflowingtheir banks--about as deep through the night as the day, the differencein volume so marked in spring being now too slight to be noticed. Nearlyall the weather is cloudless and everything is at its brightest--lake, river, garden and forest with all their life. Most of the plants are infull flower. The blessed ouzels have built their mossy huts and are nowsinging their best songs with the streams. 

In tranquil, mellow autumn, when the year's work is about done andthe fruits are ripe, birds and seeds out of their nests, and all thelandscape is glowing like a benevolent countenance, then the streamsare at their lowest ebb, with scarce a memory left of their wild springfloods. The small tributaries that do not reach back to the lastingsnow fountains of the summit peaks shrink to whispering, tinklingcurrents. After the snow is gone from the basins, excepting occasionalthundershowers, they are now fed only by small springs whose watersare mostly evaporated in passing over miles of warm pavements, and infeeling their way slowly from pool to pool through the midst of bouldersand sand. Even the main rivers are so low they may easily be forded, andtheir grand falls and cascades, now gentle and approachable, have wanedto sheets of embroidery. 

Chapter 4

Snow Banners

But it is on the mountain tops, when they are laden with loose, dry snowand swept by a gale from the north, that the most magnificent stormscenery is displayed. The peaks along the axis of the Range are thendecorated with resplendent banners, some of them more than a mile long, shining, streaming, waving with solemn exuberant enthusiasm as ifcelebrating some surpassingly glorious event. 

The snow of which these banners are made falls on the high Sierra inmost extravagant abundance, sometimes to a depth of fifteen or twentyfeet, coming from the fertile clouds not in large angled flakes such asone oftentimes sees in Yosemite, seldom even in complete crystals, formany of the starry blossoms fall before they are ripe, while most ofthose that attain perfect development as six-petaled flowers are moreor less broken by glinting and chafing against one another on theway down to their work. This dry frosty snow is prepared for the grandbanner-waving celebrations by the action of the wind. Instead of atonce finding rest like that which falls into the tranquil depths ofthe forest, it is shoved and rolled and beaten against boulders andout-jutting rocks, swirled in pits and hollows like sand in riverpot-holes, and ground into sparkling dust. And when storm winds findthis snow-dust in a loose condition on the slopes above the timber-linethey toss it back into the sky and sweep it onward from peak to peakin the form of smooth regular banners, or in cloudy drifts, accordingto the velocity and direction of the wind, and the conformation of theslopes over which it is driven. While thus flying through the air asmall portion escapes from the mountains to the sky as vapor; but farthe greater part is at length locked fast in bossy overcurling cornicesalong the ridges, or in stratified sheets in the glacier cirques, someof it to replenish the small residual glaciers and remain silent andrigid for centuries before it is finally melted and sent singing downhome to the sea. 

But, though snow-dust and storm-winds abound on the mountains, regularshapely banners are, for causes we shall presently see, seldom produced. During the five winters that I spent in Yosemite I made many excursionsto high points above the walls in all kinds of weather to see what wasgoing on outside; from all my lofty outlooks I saw only one banner-stormthat seemed in every way perfect. This was in the winter of 1873, whenthe snow-laden peaks were swept by a powerful norther. I was awakenedearly in the morning by a wild storm-wind and of course I had to makehaste to the middle of the Valley to enjoy it. Rugged torrents andavalanches from the main wind-flood overhead were roaring down the sidecanyons and over the cliffs, arousing the rocks and the trees and thestreams alike into glorious hurrahing enthusiasm, shaking the wholeValley into one huge song. Yet inconceivable as it must seem even tothose who love all Nature's wildness, the storm was telling its storyon the mountains in still grander characters. 

A Wonderful Winter Scene

I had long been anxious to study some points in the structure of theice-hill at the foot of the Upper Yosemite Fall, but, as I have alreadyexplained, blinding spray had hitherto prevented me from gettingsufficiently near it. This morning the entire body of the Fall wasoftentimes torn into gauzy strips and blown horizontally along the faceof the cliff, leaving the ice-hill dry; and while making my way to thetop of Fern Ledge to seize so favorable an opportunity to look down itsthroat, the peaks of the Merced group came in sight over the shoulder ofthe South Dome, each waving a white glowing banner against the dark bluesky, as regular in form and firm and fine in texture as if it were madeof silk. So rare and splendid a picture, of course, smothered everythingelse and I at once began to scramble and wallow up the snow-chokedIndian Canyon to a ridge about 8000 feet high, commanding a generalview of the main summits along the axis of the Range, feeling assured Ishould find them bannered still more gloriously; nor was I in the leastdisappointed. I reached the top of the ridge in four or five hours, andthrough an opening in the woods the most imposing wind-storm effect Iever beheld came full in sight; unnumbered mountains rising sharplyinto the cloudless sky, their bases solid white their sides plashed withsnow, like ocean rocks with foam, and on every summit a magnificentsilvery banner, from two thousand to six thousand feet in length, slender at the point of attachment, and widening gradually until abouta thousand or fifteen hundred feet in breadth, and as shapely and assubstantial looking in texture as the banners of the finest silk, allstreaming and waving free and clear in the sun-glow with nothing to blurthe sublime picture they made. 

Fancy yourself standing beside me on this Yosemite Ridge. There is astrange garish glitter in the air and the gale drives wildly overhead, but you feel nothing of its violence, for you are looking out through asheltered opening in the woods, as through a window. In the immediateforeground there is a forest of silver fir their foliage warmyellow-green, and the snow beneath them strewn with their plumes, plucked off by the storm; and beyond broad, ridgy, canyon-furrowed, dome-dotted middle ground, darkened here and there with belts of pines, you behold the lofty snow laden mountains in glorious array, wavingtheir banners with jubilant enthusiasm as if shouting aloud for joy. They are twenty miles away, but you would not wish them nearer, forevery feature is distinct and the whole wonderful show is seen in itsright proportions, like a painting on the sky. 

And now after this general view, mark how sharply the ribs andbuttresses and summits of the mountains are defined, excepting theportions veiled by the banners; how gracefully and nobly the bannersare waving in accord with the throbbing of the wind flood; how trimlyeach is attached to the very summit of its peak like a streamer at amast-head; how bright and glowing white they are, and how finely theirfading fringes are penciled on the sky! See how solid white and opaquethey are at the point of attachment and how filmy and translucent towardthe end, so that the parts of the peaks past which they are streaminglook dim as if seen through a veil of ground glass. And see how some ofthe longest of the banners on the highest peaks are streaming perfectlyfree from peak to peak across intervening notches or passes, whileothers overlap and partly hide one another. 

As to their formation, we find that the main causes of the wondrousbeauty and perfection of those we are looking at are the favorabledirection and force of the wind, the abundance of snow-dust, and theform of the north sides of the peaks. In general, the north sides areconcave in both their horizontal and vertical sections, having beensculptured into this shape by the residual glaciers that lingered inthe protecting northern shadows, while the sun-beaten south sides, having never been subjected to this kind of glaciation, are convex orirregular. It is essential, therefore, not only that the wind shouldmove with great velocity and steadiness to supply a sufficiently copiousand continuous stream of snow-dust, but that it should come from thenorth. No perfect banner is ever hung on the Sierra peaks by the southwind. Had the gale today blown from the south, leaving the otherconditions unchanged, only swirling, interfering, cloudy drifts wouldhave been produced; for the snow, instead of being spouted straight upand over the tops of the peaks in condensed currents to be drawn out asstreamers, would have been driven over the convex southern slopes frompeak to peak like white pearly fog. 

It appears, therefore, that shadows in great part determine not only theforms of lofty ice mountains, but also those of the snow banners thatthe wild winds hang upon them. 

Earthquake Storms

The avalanche taluses, leaning against the walls at intervals of a mileor two, are among the most striking and interesting of the secondaryfeatures of the Valley. They are from about three to five hundred feethigh, made up of huge, angular, well-preserved, unshifting boulders, andinstead of being slowly weathered from the cliffs like ordinary taluses, they were all formed suddenly and simultaneously by a great earthquakethat occurred at least three centuries ago. And though thus hurled intoexistence in a few seconds or minutes, they are the least changeable ofall the Sierra soil-beds. Excepting those which were launched directlyinto the channels of swift rivers, scarcely one of their wedged andinterlacing boulders has moved since the day of their creation; andthough mostly made up of huge blocks of granite, many of them from tento fifty feet cube, weighing thousands of tons with only a few smallchips, trees and shrubs make out to live and thrive on them and evendelicate herbaceous plants--draperia, collomia, zauschneria, etc. , soothing and coloring their wild rugged slopes with gardens and groves. 

I was long in doubt on some points concerning the origin of thosetaluses. Plainly enough they were derived from the cliffs above them, because they are of the size of scars on the wall, the rough angularsurface of which contrasts with the rounded, glaciated, unfracturedparts. It was plain, too, that instead of being made up of materialslowly and gradually weathered from the cliffs like ordinary taluses, almost every one of them had been formed suddenly in a single avalanche, and had not been increased in size during the last three or fourcenturies, for trees three or four hundred years old are growing onthem, some standing at the top close to the wall without a bruise orbroken branch, showing that scarcely a single boulder had ever fallenamong them. Furthermore, all these taluses throughout the Range seemedby the trees and lichens growing on them to be of the same age. Allthe phenomena thus pointed straight to a grand ancient earthquake. Butfor years I left the question open, and went on from canyon to canyon, observing again and again; measuring the heights of taluses throughoutthe Range on both flanks, and the variations in the angles of theirsurface slopes; studying the way their boulders had been assorted andrelated and brought to rest, and their correspondence in size with thecleavage joints of the cliffs from whence they were derived, cautiousabout making up my mind. But at last all doubt as to their formationvanished. 

At half-past two o'clock of a moonlit morning in March, I was awakenedby a tremendous earthquake, and though I had never before enjoyed astorm of this sort, the strange thrilling motion could not be mistaken, and I ran out of my cabin, both glad and frightened, shouting, "A nobleearthquake! A noble earthquake!" feeling sure I was going to learnsomething. The shocks were so violent and varied, and succeeded oneanother so closely, that I had to balance myself carefully in walking asif on the deck of a ship among waves, and it seemed impossible that thehigh cliffs of the Valley could escape being shattered. In particular, I feared that the sheer-fronted Sentinel Rock, towering above my cabin, would be shaken down, and I took shelter back of a large yellow pine, hoping that it might protect me from at least the smaller outboundingboulders. For a minute or two the shocks became more and moreviolent--flashing horizontal thrusts mixed with a few twists andbattering, explosive, upheaving jolts, --as if Nature were wrecking herYosemite temple, and getting ready to build a still better one. 

I was now convinced before a single boulder had fallen that earthquakeswere the talus-makers and positive proof soon came. It was a calmmoonlight night, and no sound was heard for the first minute or so, savelow, muffled, underground, bubbling rumblings, and the whispering andrustling of the agitated trees, as if Nature were holding her breath. Then, suddenly, out of the strange silence and strange motion there camea tremendous roar. The Eagle Rock on the south wall, about a half a mileup the Valley, gave way and I saw it falling in thousands of the greatboulders I had so long been studying, pouring to the Valley floorin a free curve luminous from friction, making a terribly sublimespectacle--an arc of glowing, passionate fire, fifteen hundred feetspan, as true in form and as serene in beauty as a rainbow in the midstof the stupendous, roaring rock-storm. The sound was so tremendouslydeep and broad and earnest, the whole earth like a living creatureseemed to have at last found a voice and to be calling to her sisterplanets. In trying to tell something of the size of this awful sound itseems to me that if all the thunder of all the storms I had ever heardwere condensed into one roar it would not equal this rock-roar at thebirth of a mountain talus. Think, then, of the roar that arose to heavenat the simultaneous birth of all the thousands of ancient canyon-talusesthroughout the length and breadth of the Range!

The first severe shocks were soon over, and eager to examine thenew-born talus I ran up the Valley in the moonlight and climbed upon itbefore the huge blocks, after their fiery flight, had come to completerest. They were slowly settling into their places, chafing, gratingagainst one another, groaning, and whispering; but no motion was visibleexcept in a stream of small fragments pattering down the face of thecliff. A cloud of dust particles, lighted by the moon, floated outacross the whole breadth of the Valley, forming a ceiling that lasteduntil after sunrise, and the air was filled with the odor of crushedDouglas spruces from a grove that had been mowed down and mashed likeweeds. 

After the ground began to calm I ran across the meadow to the river tosee in what direction it was flowing and was glad to find that _down_the Valley was still down. Its waters were muddy from portions of itsbanks having given way, but it was flowing around its curves and overits ripples and shallows with ordinary tones and gestures. The mud wouldsoon be cleared away and the raw slips on the banks would be the onlyvisible record of the shaking it suffered. 

The Upper Yosemite Fall, glowing white in the moonlight, seemed to knownothing of the earthquake, manifesting no change in form or voice, asfar as I could see or hear. 

After a second startling shock, about half-past three o'clock, theground continued to tremble gently, and smooth, hollow rumbling sounds, not always distinguishable from the rounded, bumping, explosive tones ofthe falls, came from deep in the mountains in a northern direction. 

The few Indians fled from their huts to the middle of the Valley, fearing that angry spirits were trying to kill them; and, as I afterwardlearned, most of the Yosemite tribe, who were spending the winter attheir village on Bull Creek forty miles away, were so terrified thatthey ran into the river and washed themselves, --getting themselves cleanenough to say their prayers, I suppose, or to die. I asked Dick, one ofthe Indians with whom I was acquainted, "What made the ground shake andjump so much?" He only shook his head and said, "No good. No good, " andlooked appealingly to me to give him hope that his life was to bespared. 

In the morning I found the few white settlers assembled in front ofthe old Hutchings Hotel comparing notes and meditating flight to thelowlands, seemingly as sorely frightened as the Indians. Shortly aftersunrise a low, blunt, muffled rumbling, like distant thunder, wasfollowed by another series of shocks, which, though not nearly so severeas the first, made the cliffs and domes tremble like jelly, and the bigpines and oaks thrill and swish and wave their branches with startlingeffect. Then the talkers were suddenly hushed, and the solemnity ontheir faces was sublime. One in particular of these winter neighbors, asomewhat speculative thinker with whom I had often conversed, was a firmbeliever in the cataclysmic origin of the Valley; and I now jokinglyremarked that his wild tumble-down-and-engulfment hypothesis might soonbe proved, since these underground rumblings and shakings might be theforerunners of another Yosemite-making cataclysm, which would perhapsdouble the depth of the Valley by swallowing the floor, leaving the endsof the roads and trails dangling three or four thousand feet in the air. Just then came the third series of shocks, and it was fine to see howawfully silent and solemn he became. His belief in the existence of amysterious abyss, into which the suspended floor of the Valley and allthe domes and battlements of the walls might at any moment go roaringdown, mightily troubled him. To diminish his fears and laugh him intosomething like reasonable faith, I said, "Come, cheer up; smile a littleand clap your hands, now that kind Mother Earth is trotting us on herknee to amuse us and make us good. " But the well-meant joke seemedirreverent and utterly failed, as if only prayerful terror could rightlybelong to the wild beauty-making business. Even after all the heaviershocks were over I could do nothing to reassure him, on the contrary, he handed me the keys of his little store to keep, saying that with acompanion of like mind he was going to the lowlands to stay until thefate of poor, trembling Yosemite was settled. In vain I rallied them ontheir fears, calling attention to the strength of the granite walls ofour Valley home, the very best and solidest masonry in the world, andless likely to collapse and sink than the sedimentary lowlands to whichthey were looking for safety; and saying that in any case they sometimewould have to die, and so grand a burial was not to be slighted. Butthey were too seriously panic-stricken to get comfort from anything Icould say. 

During the third severe shock the trees were so violently shaken thatthe birds flew out with frightened cries. In particular, I noticed tworobins flying in terror from a leafless oak, the branches of whichswished and quivered as if struck by a heavy battering-ram. Exceedinglyinteresting were the flashing and quivering of the elastic needles ofthe pines in the sunlight and the waving up and down of the brancheswhile the trunks stood rigid. There was no swaying, waving or swirlingas in wind-storms, but quick, quivering jerks, and at times the heavytasseled branches moved as if they had all been pressed down against thetrunk and suddenly let go, to spring up and vibrate until they came torest again. Only the owls seemed to be undisturbed. Before the rumblingechoes had died away a hollow-voiced owl began to hoot in philosophicaltranquillity from near the edge of the new talus as if nothingextraordinary had occurred, although, perhaps, he was curious to knowwhat all the noise was about. His "hoot-too-hoot-too-whoo" might havemeant, "what's a' the steer, kimmer?"

It was long before the Valley found perfect rest. The rocks trembledmore or less every day for over two months, and I kept a bucket of wateron my table to learn what I could of the movements. The blunt thunderin the depths of the mountains was usually followed by sudden jarring, horizontal thrusts from the northward, often succeeded by twisting, upjolting movements. More than a month after the first great shock, whenI was standing on a fallen tree up the Valley near Lamon's winter cabin, I heard a distinct bubbling thunder from the direction of Tenaya CanyonCarlo, a large intelligent St. Bernard dog standing beside me seemedgreatly astonished, and looked intently in that direction with mouthopen and uttered a low _Wouf!_ as if saying, "What's that?" Hemust have known that it was not thunder, though like it. The air wasperfectly still, not the faintest breath of wind perceptible, and afine, mellow, sunny hush pervaded everything, in the midst of which camethat subterranean thunder. Then, while we gazed and listened, came thecorresponding shocks, distinct as if some mighty hand had shaken theground. After the sharp horizontal jars died away, they were followedby a gentle rocking and undulating of the ground so distinct that Carlolooked at the log on which he was standing to see who was shaking it. Itwas the season of flooded meadows and the pools about me, calm as sheetsof glass, were suddenly thrown into low ruffling waves. 

Judging by its effects, this Yosemite, or Inyo earthquake, as it issometimes called, was gentle as compared with the one that gave riseto the grand talus system of the Range and did so much for the canyonscenery. Nature, usually so deliberate in her operations, then created, as we have seen, a new set of features, simply by giving the mountainsa shake--changing not only the high peaks and cliffs, but the streams. As soon as these rock avalanches fell the streams began to sing newsongs; for in many places thousands of boulders were hurled into theirchannels, roughening and half-damming them, compelling the waters tosurge and roar in rapids where before they glided smoothly. Some ofthe streams were completely dammed; driftwood, leaves, etc. , graduallyfilling the interstices between the boulders, thus giving rise to lakesand level reaches; and these again, after being gradually filled in, were changed to meadows, through which the streams are now silentlymeandering; while at the same time some of the taluses took the placesof old meadows and groves. Thus rough places were made smooth, andsmooth places rough. But, on the whole, by what at first sight seemedpure confounded confusion and ruin, the landscapes were enriched; forgradually every talus was covered with groves and gardens, and made afinely proportioned and ornamental base for the cliffs. In this work ofbeauty, every boulder is prepared and measured and put in its place morethoughtfully than are the stones of temples. If for a moment you areinclined to regard these taluses as mere draggled, chaotic dumps, climbto the top of one of them, and run down without any haggling, putteringhesitation, boldly jumping from boulder to boulder with even speed. Youwill then find your feet playing a tune, and quickly discover the musicand poetry of these magnificent rock piles--a fine lesson; and allNature's wildness tells the same story--the shocks and outbursts ofearthquakes, volcanoes, geysers, roaring, thundering waves and floods, the silent uprush of sap in plants, storms of every sort--each and allare the orderly beauty-making love-beats of Nature's heart. 

Chapter 5

The Trees of the Valley

The most influential of the Valley trees is the yellow pine (Pinusponderosa). It attains its noblest dimensions on beds of water-washed, coarsely-stratified moraine material, between the talus slopes andmeadows, dry on the surface, well-watered below and where not tooclosely assembled in groves the branches reach nearly to the ground, forming grand spires 200 to 220 feet in height. The largest that I havemeasured is standing alone almost opposite the Sentinel Rock, or alittle to the westward of it. It is a little over eight feet in diameterand about 220 feet high. Climbing these grand trees, especially whenthey are waving and singing in worship in wind-storms, is a gloriousexperience. Ascending from the lowest branch to the topmost is likestepping up stairs through a blaze of white light, every needlethrilling and shining as if with religious ecstasy. 

Unfortunately there are but few sugar pines in the Valley, though inthe King's yosemite they are in glorious abundance. The incense cedar(Libocedrus decurrens) with cinnamon-colored bark and yellow-greenfoliage is one of the most interesting of the Yosemite trees. Some ofthem are 150 feet high, from six to ten feet in diameter, and they arenever out of sight as you saunter among the yellow pines. Their brightbrown shafts and towers of flat, frondlike branches make a strikingfeature of the landscapes throughout all the seasons. In midwinter, whenmost of the other trees are asleep, this cedar puts forth its flowersin millions, --the pistillate pale green and inconspicuous, but thestaminate bright yellow, tingeing all the branches and making the treesas they stand in the snow look like gigantic goldenrods. The branches, outspread in flat plumes and, beautifully fronded, sweep gracefullydownward and outward, except those near the top, which aspire; thelowest, especially in youth and middle age, droop to the ground, overlapping one another, shedding off rain and snow like shingles, andmaking fine tents for birds and campers. This tree frequently lives morethan a thousand years and is well worthy its place beside the greatpines and the Douglas spruce. 

The two largest specimens I know of the Douglas spruce, about eight feetin diameter, are growing at the foot of the Liberty Cap near the NevadaFall, and on the terminal moraine of the small residual glacier thatlingered in the shady Illilouette Canyon. 

After the conifers, the most important of the Yosemite trees are theoaks, two species; the California live-oak (Quercus agrifolia), withblack trunks, reaching a thickness of from four to nearly seven feet, wide spreading branches and bright deeply-scalloped leaves. It occupiesthe greater part of the broad sandy flats of the upper end of theValley, and is the species that yields the acorns so highly prized bythe Indians and woodpeckers. 

The other species is the mountain live-oak, or goldcup oak (Quercuschrysolepis), a sturdy mountaineer of a tree, growing mostly on theearthquake taluses and benches of the sunny north wall of the Valley. In tough, unwedgeable, knotty strength, it is the oak of oaks, amagnificent tree. 

The largest and most picturesque specimen in the Valley is near the footof the Tenaya Fall, a romantic spot seldom seen on account of the roughtrouble of getting to it. It is planted on three huge boulders and yetmanages to draw sufficient moisture and food from this craggy soil tomaintain itself in good health. It is twenty feet in circumference, measured above a large branch between three and four feet in diameterthat has been broken off. The main knotty trunk seems to be made up ofcraggy granite boulders like those on which it stands, being about thesame color as the mossy, lichened boulders and about as rough. Twomoss-lined caves near the ground open back into the trunk, one on thenorth side, the other on the west, forming picturesque, romantic seats. The largest of the main branches is eighteen feet and nine inches incircumference, and some of the long pendulous branchlets droop over thestream at the foot of the fall where it is gray with spray. The leavesare glossy yellow-green, ever in motion from the wind from the fall. Itis a fine place to dream in, with falls, cascades, cool rocks lined withhypnum three inches thick; shaded with maple, dogwood, alder, willow;grand clumps of lady-ferns where no hand may touch them; light filteringthrough translucent leaves; oaks fifty feet high; lilies eight feet highin a filled lake basin near by, and the finest libocedrus groves andtallest ferns and goldenrods. 

In the main river canyon below the Vernal Fall and on the shady southside of the Valley there are a few groves of the silver fir (Abiesconcolor), and superb forests of the magnificent species round the rimof the Valley. 

On the tops of the domes is found the sturdy, storm-enduring red cedar(Juniperus occidentalis). It never makes anything like a forest here, but stands out separate and independent in the wind, clinging by slightjoints to the rock, with scarce a handful of soil in sight of it, seeming to depend chiefly on snow and air for nourishment, and yet ithas maintained tough health on this diet for two thousand years or more. The largest hereabouts are from five to six feet in diameter and fiftyfeet in height. 

The principal river-side trees are poplar, alder, willow, broad-leavedmaple, and Nuttall's flowering dogwood. The poplar (Populustrichocarpa), often called balm-of-Gilead from the gum on its buds, isa tall tree, towering above its companions and gracefully emboweringthe banks of the river. Its abundant foliage turns bright yellow in thefall, and the Indian-summer sunshine sifts through it in delightfultones over the slow-gliding waters when they are at their lowest ebb. 

Some of the involucres of the flowering dogwood measure six to eightinches in diameter, and the whole tree when in flower looks as ifcovered with snow. In the spring when the streams are in flood it is thewhitest of trees. In Indian summer the leaves become bright crimson, making a still grander show than the flowers. 

The broad-leaved maple and mountain maple are found mostly in the coolcanyons at the head of the Valley, spreading their branches in beautifularches over the foaming streams. 

Scattered here and there are a few other trees, mostly small--themountain mahogany, cherry, chestnut-oak, and laurel. The Californianutmeg (Torreya californica), a handsome evergreen belonging to theyew family, forms small groves near the cascades a mile or two belowthe foot of the Valley. 

Chapter 6

The Forest Trees in General

For the use of the ever-increasing number of Yosemite visitors who makeextensive excursions into the mountains beyond the Valley, a sketch ofthe forest trees in general will probably be found useful. The differentspecies are arranged in zones and sections, which brings the forest asa whole within the comprehension of every observer. These species arealways found as controlled by the climates of different elevations, by soil and by the comparative strength of each species in taking andholding possession of the ground; and so appreciable are these relationsthe traveler need never be at a loss in determining within a fewhundred feet his elevation above sea level by the trees alone; for, notwithstanding some of the species range upward for several thousandfeet and all pass one another more or less, yet even those speciespossessing the greatest vertical range are available in measuringthe elevation; inasmuch as they take on new forms corresponding withvariations in altitude. Entering the lower fringe of the forest composedof Douglas oaks and Sabine pines, the trees grow so far apart that notone-twentieth of the surface of the ground is in shade at noon. Afteradvancing fifteen or twenty miles towards Yosemite and making an ascentof from two to three thousand feet you reach the lower margin of themain pine belt, composed of great sugar pine, yellow pine, incense cedarand sequoia. Next you come to the magnificent silver-fir belt and lastlyto the upper pine belt, which sweep up to the feet of the summit peaksin a dwarfed fringe, to a height of from ten to twelve thousand feet. That this general order of distribution depends on climate as affectedby height above the sea, is seen at once, but there are other harmoniesthat become manifest only after observation and study. One of the mostinteresting of these is the arrangement of the forest in long curvingbands, braided together into lace-like patterns in some places andout-spread in charming variety. The key to these striking arrangementsis the system of ancient glaciers; where they flowed the trees followed, tracing their courses along the sides of canyons, over ridges, and highplateaus. The cedar of Lebanon, said Sir Joseph Hooker, occurs upon oneof the moraines of an ancient glacier. All the forests of the Sierra aregrowing upon moraines, but moraines vanish like the glaciers that makethem. Every storm that falls upon them wastes them, carrying away theirdecaying, disintegrating material into new formations, until they are nolonger recognizable without tracing their transitional forms down theRange from those still in process of formation in some places throughthose that are more and more ancient and more obscured by vegetation andall kinds of post-glacial weathering. It appears, therefore, that theSierra forests indicate the extent and positions of ancient moraines aswell as they do belts of climate. 

One will have no difficulty in knowing the Nut Pine (Pinus Sabiniana), for it is the first conifer met in ascending the Range from the west, springing up here and there among Douglas oaks and thickets of ceanothusand manzanita; its extreme upper limit being about 4000 feet above thesea, its lower about from 500 to 800 feet. It is remarkable for itsloose, airy, wide-branching habit and thin gray foliage. Full-grownspecimens are from forty to fifty feet in height and from two to threefeet in diameter. The trunk usually divides into three or four mainbranches about fifteen or twenty feet from the ground that, afterbearing away from one another, shoot straight up and form separatesummits. Their slender, grayish needles are from eight to twelve incheslong, and inclined to droop, contrasting with the rigid, dark-coloredtrunk and branches. No other tree of my acquaintance so substantial inits body has foliage so thin and pervious to the light. The cones arefrom five to eight inches long and about as large in thickness; richchocolate-brown in color and protected by strong, down-curving nookswhich terminate the scales. Nevertheless the little Douglas Squirrel canopen them. Indians climb the trees like bears and beat off the cones orrecklessly cut off the more fruitful branches with hatchets, while thesquaws gather and roast them until the scales open sufficiently toallow the hard-shell seeds to be beaten out. The curious little Pinusattenuata is found at an elevation of from 1500 to 3000 feet, growing inclose groves and belts. It is exceedingly slender and graceful, althoughtrees that chance to stand alone send out very long, curved branches, making a striking contrast to the ordinary grove form. The foliage is ofthe same peculiar gray-green color as that of the nut pine, and is wornabout as loosely, so that the body of the tree is scarcely obscuredby it. At the age of seven or eight years it begins to bear cones inwhorls on the main axis, and as they never fall off, the trunk is soonpicturesquely dotted with them. Branches also soon become fruitful. Theaverage size of the tree is about thirty or forty feet in height andtwelve to fourteen inches in diameter. The cones are about four incheslong and covered with a sort of varnish and gum, rendering themimpervious to moisture. 

No observer can fail to notice the admirable adaptation of this curiouspine to the fire-swept regions where alone it is found. After a runningfire has scorched and killed it the cones open and the ground beneath itis then sown broadcast with all the seeds ripened during its whole life. Then up spring a crowd of bright, hopeful seedlings, giving beauty forashes in lavish abundance. 

The Sugar Pine, King Of Pine Trees

Of all the world's eighty or ninety species of pine trees, the SugarPine (Pinus Lambertiana) is king, surpassing all others, not merely insize but in lordly beauty and majesty. In the Yosemite region it growsat an elevation of from 3000 to 7000 feet above the sea and attainsmost perfect development at a height of about 5000 feet. The largestspecimens are commonly about 220 feet high and from six to eight feetin diameter four feet from the ground, though some grand old patriarchmay be met here and there that has enjoyed six or eight centuries ofstorms and attained a thickness of ten or even twelve feet, still sweetand fresh in every fiber. The trunk is a remarkably smooth, round, delicately-tapered shaft, straight and regular as if turned in a lathe, mostly without limbs, purplish brown in color and usually enlivened withtufts of a yellow lichen. Toward the head of this magnificent columnlong branches sweep gracefully outward and downward, sometimes forminga palm-like crown, but far more impressive than any palm crown I everbeheld. The needles are about three inches long in fascicles of five, and arranged in rather close tassels at the ends of slender branchletsthat clothe the long outsweeping limbs. How well they sing in the wind, and how strikingly harmonious an effect is made by the long cylindricalcones, depending loosely from the ends of the long branches! The conesare about fifteen to eighteen inches long, and three in diameter;green, shaded with dark purple on their sunward sides. They are ripe inSeptember and October of the second year from the flower. Then the flat, thin scales open and the seeds take wing, but the empty cones becomestill more beautiful and effective as decorations, for their diameter isnearly doubled by the spreading of the scales, and their color changesto yellowish brown while they remain, swinging on the tree all thefollowing winter and summer, and continue effectively beautiful even onthe ground many years after they fall. The wood is deliciously fragrant, fine in grain and texture and creamy yellow, as if formed of condensedsunbeams. The sugar from which the common name is derived is, I think, the best of sweets. It exudes from the heart-wood where wounds have beenmade by forest fires or the ax, and forms irregular, crisp, candy-likekernels of considerable size, something like clusters of resin beads. When fresh it is white, but because most of the wounds on which it isfound have been made by fire the sap is stained and the hardened sugarbecomes brown. Indians are fond of it, but on account of its laxativeproperties only small quantities may be eaten. No tree lover will everforget his first meeting with the sugar pine. In most pine trees thereis the sameness of expression which to most people is apt to becomemonotonous, for the typical spiral form of conifers, however beautiful, affords little scope for appreciable individual character. The sugarpine is as free from conventionalities as the most picturesque oaks. Notwo are alike, and though they toss out their immense arms in what mightseem extravagant gestures they never lose their expression of serenemajesty. They are the priests of pines and seem ever to be addressingthe surrounding forest. The yellow pine is found growing with them onwarm hillsides, and the silver fir on cool northern slopes but, nobleas these are, the sugar pine is easily king, and spreads his arms abovethem in blessing while they rock and wave in sign of recognition. Themain branches are sometimes forty feet long, yet persistently simple, seldom dividing at all, excepting near the end; but anything like abare cable appearance is prevented by the small, tasseled branchletsthat extend all around them; and when these superb limbs sweep outsymmetrically on all sides, a crown sixty or seventy feet wide isformed, which, gracefully poised on the summit of the noble shaft, isa glorious object. Commonly, however, there is a preponderance oflimbs toward the east, away from the direction of the prevailing winds. 

Although so unconventional when full-grown, the sugar pine is aremarkably proper tree in youth--a strict follower of coniferousfashions--slim, erect, with leafy branches kept exactly in place, eachtapering in outline and terminating in a spiry point. The successiveforms between the cautious neatness of youth and the bold freedom ofmaturity offer a delightful study. At the age of fifty or sixty years, the shy, fashionable form begins to be broken up. Specialized branchespush out and bend with the great cones, giving individual character, that becomes more marked from year to year. Its most constant companionis the yellow pine. The Douglas spruce, libocedrus, sequoia, and thesilver fir are also more or less associated with it; but on manydeep-soiled mountain-sides, at an elevation of about 5000 feet above thesea, it forms the bulk of the forest, filling every swell and hollow anddown-plunging ravine. The majestic crowns, approaching each other inbold curves, make a glorious canopy through which the tempered sunbeamspour, silvering the needles, and gilding the massive boles and theflowery, park-like ground into a scene of enchantment. On the most sunnyslopes the white-flowered, fragrant chamaebatia is spread like a carpet, brightened during early summer with the crimson sarcodes, the wild rose, and innumerable violets and gilias. Not even in the shadiest nooks willyou find any rank, untidy weeds or unwholesome darkness. In the northsides of ridges the boles are more slender, and the ground is mostlyoccupied by an underbrush of hazel, ceanothus, and flowering dogwood, but not so densely as to prevent the traveler from sauntering where hewill; while the crowning branches are never impenetrable to the rays ofthe sun, and never so interblended as to lose their individuality. 

The Yellow Or Silver Pine

The Silver Pine (Pinus ponderosa), or Yellow Pine, as it is commonlycalled, ranks second among the pines of the Sierra as a lumber tree, andalmost rivals the sugar pine in stature and nobleness of port. Becauseof its superior powers of enduring variations of climate and soil, ithas a more extensive range than any other conifer growing on the Sierra. On the western slope it is first met at an elevation of about 2000 feet, and extends nearly to the upper limit of the timber-line. Thence, crossing the range by the lowest passes, it descends to the easternbase, and pushes out for a considerable distance into the hot, volcanicplains, growing bravely upon well-watered moraines, gravelly lakebasins, climbing old volcanoes and dropping ripe cones among ashes andcinders. 

The average size of full-grown trees on the western slope where it isassociated with the sugar pine, is a little less than 200 feet in heightand from five to six feet in diameter, though specimens considerablylarger may easily be found. Where there is plenty of free sunshine andother conditions are favorable, it presents a striking contrast in formto the sugar pine, being a symmetrical spire, formed of a straight roundtrunk, clad with innumerable branches that are divided over and overagain. Unlike the Yosemite form about one-half of the trunk is commonlybranchless, but where it grows at all close three-fourths or more isnaked, presenting then a more slender and elegant shaft than any othertree in the woods. The bark is mostly arranged in massive plates, someof them measuring four or five feet in length by eighteen inches inwidth, with a thickness of three or four inches, forming a quitemarked and distinguishing feature. The needles are of a fine, warm, yellow-green color, six to eight inches long, firm and elastic, andcrowded in handsome, radiant tassels on the upturning ends of thebranches. The cones are about three or four inches long, and two anda half wide, growing in close, sessile clusters among the leaves. 

The species attains its noblest form in filled-up lake basins, especially in those of the older yosemites, and as we have seen, soprominent a part does it form of their groves that it may well be calledthe Yosemite Pine. 

The Jeffrey variety attains its finest development in the northernportion of the Range, in the wide basins of the McCloud and Pitt Rivers, where it forms magnificent forests scarcely invaded by any other tree. It differs from the ordinary form in size, being only about half as tall, in its redder and more closely-furrowed bark grayish-green foliage, lessdivided branches, and much larger cones; but intermediate forms come inwhich make a clear separation impossible, although some botanists regardit as a distinct species. It is this variety of ponderosa that climbsstorm-swept ridges alone, and wanders out among the volcanoes of theGreat Basin. Whether exposed to extremes of heat or cold, it is dwarfedlike many other trees, and becomes all knots and angles, wholly unlikethe majestic forms we have been sketching. Old specimens, bearing conesabout as big as pineapples, may sometimes be found clinging to riftedrocks at an elevation of 7000 or 8000 feet, whose highest branchesscarce reach above one's shoulders. 

I have often feasted on the beauty of these noble trees when they weretowering in all their winter grandeur, laden with snow--one mass ofbloom; in summer, too, when the brown, staminate clusters hang thickamong the shimmering needles, and the big purple burrs are ripening inthe mellow light; but it is during cloudless wind-storms that thesecolossal pines are most impressively beautiful. Then they bow likewillows, their leaves streaming forward all in one direction, and, whenthe sun shines upon them at the required angle, entire groves glow as ifevery leaf were burnished silver. The fall of tropic light on the crownof a palm is a truly glorious spectacle, the fervid sun-flood breakingupon the glossy leaves in long lance-rays, like mountain water amongboulders at the foot of an enthusiastic cataract. But to me there issomething more impressive in the fall of light upon these noble, silverpine pillars: it is beaten to the finest dust and shed off in myriadsof minute sparkles that seem to radiate from the very heart of the treeas if like rain, falling upon fertile soil, it had been absorbed toreappear in flowers of light. This species also gives forth the finestwind music. After listening to it in all kinds of winds, night andday, season after season, I think I could approximate to my positionon the mountain by this pine music alone. If you would catch the toneof separate needles climb a tree in breezy weather. Every needle iscarefully tempered and gives forth no uncertain sound each standing outwith no interference excepting during head gales; then you may detectthe click of one needle upon another, readily distinguishable from thefree wind-like hum. 

When a sugar pine and one of this species equal in size are observedtogether, the latter is seen to be more simple in manners, more livelyand graceful, and its beauty is of a kind more easily appreciated; onthe other hand it is less dignified and original in demeanor. The yellowpine seems ever eager to shoot aloft, higher and higher. Even while itis drowsing in autumn sun-gold you may still detect a skywardaspiration, but the sugar pine seems too unconsciously noble and toocomplete in every way to leave room for even a heavenward care. 

The Douglas Spruce

The Douglas Spruce (Pseudotsuga Douglasii) is one of the largest andlongest-lived of the giants that flourish throughout the main pine belt, often attaining a height of nearly 200 feet, and a diameter of six orseven feet. Where the growth is not too close, the stout, spreadingbranches, covering more than half of the trunk, are hung withinnumerable slender, drooping sprays, handsomely feathered with theshort leaves which radiate at right angles all around them. Thisvigorous tree is ever beautiful, welcoming the mountain winds and thesnow as well as the mellow summer light; and it maintains its youthfulfreshness undiminished from century to century through a thousandstorms. It makes its finest appearance during the months of June andJuly, when the brown buds at the ends of the sprays swell and open, revealing the young leaves, which at first are bright yellow, making thetree appear as if covered with gay blossoms; while the pendulous bractedcones, three or four inches long, with their shell-like scales, are aconstant adornment. 

The young trees usually are assembled in family groups, each saplingexquisitely symmetrical. The primary branches are whorled regularlyaround the axis, generally in fives, while each is draped with long, feathery sprays that descend in lines as free and as finely drawn asthose of falling water. 

In Oregon and Washington it forms immense forests, growing tall andmast-like to a height of 300 feet, and is greatly prized as a lumbertree. Here it is scattered among other trees, or forms small groves, seldom ascending higher than 5500 feet, and never making what would becalled a forest. It is not particular in its choice of soil: wet or dry, smooth or rocky, it makes out to live well on them all. Two of thelargest specimens, as we have seen, are in Yosemite; one of these, morethan eight feet in diameter, is growing on a moraine; the other, nearlyas large, on angular blocks of granite. No other tree in the Sierraseems so much at home on earthquake taluses and many of these hugeboulder-slopes are almost exclusively occupied by it. 

The Incense Cedar

Incense Cedar (Libocedrus decurrens), already noticed among the Yosemitetrees, is quite generally distributed throughout the pine belt withoutexclusively occupying any considerable area, or even making extensivegroves. On the warmer mountain slopes it ascends to about 5000 feet, andreaches the climate most congenial to it at a height of about 4000 feet, growing vigorously at this elevation in all kinds of soil and, inparticular, it is capable of enduring more moisture about its rootsthan any of its companions excepting only the sequoia. 

Casting your eye over the general forest from some ridge-top youcan identify it by the color alone of its spiry summits, a warmyellow-green. In its youth up to the age of seventy or eighty years, none of its companions forms so strictly tapered a cone from top tobottom. As it becomes older it oftentimes grows strikingly irregularand picturesque. Large branches push out at right angles to the trunk, forming stubborn elbows and shoot up parallel with the axis. Veryold trees are usually dead at the top. The flat fragrant plumes areexceedingly beautiful: no waving fern-frond is finer in form andtexture. In its prime the whole tree is thatched with them, but if youwould see the libocedrus in all its glory you must go to the woods inmidwinter when it is laden with myriads of yellow flowers about thesize of wheat grains, forming a noble illustration of Nature's immortalvirility and vigor. The mature cones, about three-fourths of an inchlong, born on the ends of the plumy branchlets, serve to enrich stillmore the surpassing beauty of this winter-blooming tree-goldenrod. 

The Silver Firs

We come now to the most regularly planted and most clearly definedof the main forest belts, composed almost exclusively of two SilverFirs--Abies concolor and Abies magnifica--extending with but littleinterruption 450 miles at an elevation of from 5000 to 9000 feet abovethe sea. In its youth A. Concolor is a charmingly symmetrical treewith its flat plumy branches arranged in regular whorls around thewhitish-gray axis which terminates in a stout, hopeful shoot, pointingstraight to the zenith, like an admonishing finger. The leaves arearranged in two horizontal rows along branchlets that commonly are lessthan eight years old, forming handsome plumes, pinnated like the frondsof ferns. The cones are grayish-green when ripe, cylindrical, from threeto four inches long, and one and a half to two inches wide, and standupright on the upper horizontal branches. Full-grown trees in favorablesituations are usually about 200 feet high and five or six feet indiameter. As old age creeps on, the rough bark becomes rougher andgrayer, the branches lose their exact regularity of form, many that aresnow-bent are broken off and the axis often becomes double or otherwiseirregular from accidents to the terminal bud or shoot. Nevertheless, throughout all the vicissitudes of its three or four centuries of life, come what may, the noble grandeur of this species, however obscured, isnever lost. 

The magnificent Silver Fir, or California Red Fir (Abies magnifica)is the most symmetrical of all the Sierra giants, far surpassing itscompanion species in this respect and easily distinguished from it bythe purplish-red bark, which is also more closely furrowed than thatof the white, and by its larger cones, its more regularly whorled andfronded branches, and its shorter leaves, which grow all around thebranches and point upward instead of being arranged in two horizontalrows. The branches are mostly whorled in fives, and stand out from thestraight, red-purple bole in level, or in old trees in drooping collars, every branch regularly pinnated like fern-fronds, making broad plumes, singularly rich and sumptuous-looking. The flowers are in their primeabout the middle of June; the male red, growing on the underside of thebranches in crowded profusion, giving a very rich color to all thetrees; the female greenish-yellow, tinged with pink, standing erect onthe upper side of the topmost branches, while the tufts of young leaves, about as brightly colored as those of the Douglas spruce, make anothergrand show. The cones mature in a single season from the flowers. Whenmature they are about six to eight inches long, three or four indiameter, covered with a fine gray down and streaked and beaded withtransparent balsam, very rich and precious-looking, and stand erect likecasks on the topmost branches. The inside of the cone is, if possible, still more beautiful. The scales and bracts are tinged with red and theseed-wings are purple with bright iridescence. Both of the silver firslive between two and three centuries when the conditions about themare at all favorable. Some venerable patriarch may be seen heavilystorm-marked, towering in severe majesty above the rising generation, with a protecting grove of hopeful saplings pressing close around hisfeet, each dressed with such loving care that not a leaf seems wanting. Other groups are made up of trees near the prime of life, nicelyarranged as if Nature had culled them with discrimination from allthe rest of the woods. It is from this tree, called Red Fir by thelumbermen, that mountaineers cut boughs to sleep on when they are sofortunate as to be within its limit. Two or three rows of the sumptuousplushy-fronded branches, overlapping along the middle, and a crescent ofsmaller plumes mixed to one's taste with ferns and flowers for a pillow, form the very best bed imaginable. The essence of the pressed leavesseems to fill every pore of one's body. Falling water makes a soothinghush, while the spaces between the grand spires afford noble openingsthrough which to gaze dreamily into the starry sky. The fir woods arefine sauntering-grounds at almost any time of the year, but finest inautumn when the noble trees are hushed in the hazy light and drip withbalsam; and the flying, whirling seeds, escaping from the ripe cones, mottle the air like flocks of butterflies. Even in the richest part ofthese unrivaled forests where so many noble trees challenge admirationwe linger fondly among the colossal firs and extol their beauty againand again, as if no other tree in the world could henceforth claim ourlove. It is in these woods the great granite domes arise that are sostriking and characteristic a feature of the Sierra. Here, too, we findthe best of the garden-meadows full of lilies. A dry spot a littleway back from the margin of a silver fir lily-garden makes a gloriouscamp-ground, especially where the slope is toward the east with a viewof the distant peaks along the summit of the Range. The tall lilies arebrought forward most impressively like visitors by the light of yourcamp-fire and the nearest of the trees with their whorled branches towerabove you like larger lilies and the sky seen through the garden-openingseems one vast meadow of white lily stars. 

The Two-Leaved Pine

The Two-Leaved Pine (Pinus contorta, var. Murrayana), above the SilverFir zone, forms the bulk of the alpine forests up to a height of from8000 to 9500 feet above the sea, growing in beautiful order on morainesscarcely changed as yet by post-glacial weathering. Compared with thegiants of the lower regions this is a small tree, seldom exceeding aheight of eighty or ninety feet. The largest I ever measured was ninetyfeet high and a little over six feet in diameter. The average height ofmature trees throughout the entire belt is probably not far from fiftyor sixty feet with a diameter of two feet. It is a well-proportioned, rather handsome tree with grayish-brown bark and crooked, much-dividedbranches which cover the greater part of the trunk, but not so denselyas to prevent it being seen. The lower limbs, like those of most otherconifers that grow in snowy regions, curve downward, gradually take ahorizontal position about half-way up the trunk, then aspire more andmore toward the summit. The short, rigid needles in fascicles of two arearranged in comparatively long cylindrical tassels at the ends of thetough up-curving branches. The cones are about two inches long, growingin clusters among the needles without any striking effect except whilevery young, when the flowers are of a vivid crimson color and the wholetree appears to be dotted with brilliant flowers. The staminate flowersare still more showy on account of their great abundance, often giving areddish-yellow tinge to the whole mass of foliage and filling the airwith pollen. No other pine on the Range is so regularly planted as thisone, covering moraines that extend along the sides of the high rockyvalleys for miles without interruption. The thin bark is streaked andsprinkled with resin as though it had been showered upon the forest likerain. 

Therefore this tree more than any other is subject to destruction byfire. During strong winds extensive forests are destroyed, the flamesleaping from tree to tree in continuous belts that go surging and racingonward above the bending wood like prairie-grass fires. During thecalm season of Indian summer the fire creeps quietly along the ground, feeding on the needles and cones; arriving at the foot of a tree, theresiny bark is ignited and the heated air ascends in a swift current, increasing in velocity and dragging the flames upward. Then the leavescatch forming an immense column of fire, beautifully spired on the edgesand tinted a rose-purple hue. It rushes aloft thirty or forty feet abovethe top of the tree, forming a grand spectacle, especially at night. Itlasts, however, only a few seconds, vanishing with magical rapidity, tobe succeeded by others along the fire-line at irregular intervals, treeafter tree, upflashing and darting, leaving the trunks and branchesscarcely scarred. The heat, however, is sufficient to kill the tree andin a few years the bark shrivels and falls off. Forests miles in extentare thus killed and left standing, with the branches on, but peeledand rigid, appearing gray in the distance like misty clouds. Later thebranches drop off, leaving a forest of bleached spars. At length theroots decay and the forlorn gray trunks are blown down during somestorm and piled one upon another, encumbering the ground until, dry andseasoned, they are consumed by another fire and leave the ground readyfor a fresh crop. 

In sheltered lake-hollows, on beds of alluvium, this pine varies so farfrom the common form that frequently it could be taken for a distinctspecies, growing in damp sods like grasses from forty to eighty feethigh, bending all together to the breeze and whirling in eddying gustsmore lively than any other tree in the woods. I frequently foundspecimens fifty feet high less than five inches in diameter. Being soslender and at the same time clad with leafy boughs, it is often bentand weighed down to the ground when laden with soft snow; thus formingfine ornamental arches, many of them to last until the melting of thesnow in the spring. 

The Mountain Pine

The Mountain Pine (Pinus monticola) is the noblest tree of the alpinezone--hardy and long-lived towering grandly above its companions andbecoming stronger and more imposing just where other species begin tocrouch and disappear. At its best it is usually about ninety feet highand five or six feet in diameter, though you may find specimens here andthere considerably larger than this. It is as massive and suggestive ofenduring strength as an oak. About two-thirds of the trunk is commonlyfree of limbs, but close, fringy tufts of spray occur nearly all the waydown to the ground. On trees that occupy exposed situations near itsupper limit the bark is deep reddish-brown and rather deeply furrowed, the main furrows running nearly parallel to each other and connected onthe old trees by conspicuous cross-furrows. The cones are from four toeight inches long, smooth, slender, cylindrical and somewhat curved. They grow in clusters of from three to six or seven and become pendulousas they increase in weight. This species is nearly related to the sugarpine and, though not half so tall, it suggests its noble relative in theway that it extends its long branches in general habit. It is first meton the upper margin of the silver fir zone, singly, in what appears aschance situations without making much impression on the general forest. Continuing up through the forests of the two-leaved pine it begins toshow its distinguishing characteristic in the most marked way at anelevation of about 10, 000 feet extending its tough, rather slender armsin the frosty air, welcoming the storms and feeding on them and reachingsometimes to the grand old age of 1000 years. 

The Western Juniper

The Juniper or Red Cedar (Juniperus occidentalis) is preeminently arock tree, occupying the baldest domes and pavements in the upper silverfir and alpine zones, at a height of from 7000 to 9500 feet. In suchsituations, rooted in narrow cracks or fissures, where there is scarcelya handful of soil, it is frequently over eight feet in diameter and notmuch more in height. The tops of old trees are almost always dead, andlarge stubborn-looking limbs push out horizontally, most of them brokenand dead at the end, but densely covered, and imbedded here and therewith tufts or mounds of gray-green scalelike foliage. Some trees aremere storm-beaten stumps about as broad as long, decorated with a fewleafy sprays, reminding one of the crumbling towers of old castlesscantily draped with ivy. Its homes on bare, barren dome and ridge-topseem to have been chosen for safety against fire, for, on isolatedmounds of sand and gravel free from grass and bushes on which fire couldfeed, it is often found growing tall and unscathed to a height of fortyto sixty feet, with scarce a trace of the rocky angularity and brokenlimbs so characteristic a feature throughout the greater part of itsrange. It never makes anything like a forest; seldom even a grove. Usually it stands out separate and independent, clinging by slightjoints to the rocks, living chiefly on snow and thin air and maintainingsound health on this diet for 2000 years or more. Every feature or everygesture it makes expresses steadfast, dogged endurance. The bark is ofa bright cinnamon color and is handsomely braided and reticulated onthrifty trees, flaking off in thin, shining ribbons that are sometimesused by the Indians for tent matting. Its fine color and picturesquenessare appreciated by artists, but to me the juniper seems a singularlystrange and taciturn tree. I have spent many a day and night in itscompany and always have found it silent and rigid. It seems to be asurvivor of some ancient race, wholly unacquainted with its neighbors. Its broad stumpiness, of course, makes wind-waving or even shaking outof the question, but it is not this rocky rigidity that constitutes itssilence. In calm, sun-days the sugar pine preaches like an enthusiasticapostle without moving a leaf. On level rocks the juniper dies standingand wastes insensibly out of existence like granite, the wind exertingabout as little control over it, alive or dead, as is does over aglacier boulder. 

I have spent a good deal of time trying to determine the age of thesewonderful trees, but as all of the very old ones are honey-combed withdry rot I never was able to get a complete count of the largest. Someare undoubtedly more than 2000 years old, for though on deep morainesoil they grow about as fast as some of the pines, on bare pavements andsmoothly glaciated, overswept ridges in the dome region they grow veryslowly. One on the Starr King Ridge only two feet eleven inches indiameter was 1140 years old forty years ago. Another on the same ridge, only one foot seven and a half inches in diameter, had reached the ageof 834 years. The first fifteen inches from the bark of a medium-sizetree six feet in diameter, on the north Tenaya pavement, had 859 layersof wood. Beyond this the count was stopped by dry rot and scars. Thelargest examined was thirty-three feet in girth, or nearly ten feet indiameter and, although I have failed to get anything like a completecount, I learned enough from this and many other specimens to convinceme that most of the trees eight or ten feet thick, standing onpavements, are more than twenty centuries old rather than less. Barringaccidents, for all I can see they would live forever; even thenoverthrown by avalanches, they refuse to lie at rest, lean stubbornlyon their big branches as if anxious to rise, and while a single rootholds to the rock, put forth fresh leaves with a grim, never-say-dieexpression. 

The Mountain Hemlock

As the juniper is the most stubborn and unshakeable of trees in theYosemite region, the Mountain Hemlock (Tsuga Mertensiana) is the mostgraceful and pliant and sensitive. Until it reaches a height of fifty orsixty feet it is sumptuously clothed down to the ground with droopingbranches, which are divided again and again into delicate wavingsprays, grouped and arranged in ways that are indescribably beautiful, and profusely adorned with small brown cones. The flowers also arepeculiarly beautiful and effective; the female dark rich purple, themale blue, of so fine and pure a tone. What the best azure of themountain sky seems to be condensed in them. Though apparently the mostdelicate and feminine of all the mountain trees, it grows best wherethe snow lies deepest, at a height of from 9000 to 9500 feet, inhollows on the northern slopes of mountains and ridges. But under allcircumstances, sheltered from heavy winds or in bleak exposure to them, well fed or starved, even at its highest limit, 10, 500 feet above thesea, on exposed ridge-tops where it has to crouch and huddle close inlow thickets, it still contrives to put forth its sprays and branches informs of invincible beauty, while on moist, well-drained moraines itdisplays a perfectly tropical luxuriance of foliage, flowers and fruit. The snow of the first winter storm is frequently soft, and lodges in duedense leafy branches, weighing them down against the trunk, and theslender, drooping axis, bending lower and lower as the load increases, at length reaches the ground, forming an ornamental arch. Then, as stormsucceeds storm and snow is heaped on snow, the whole tree is at lastburied, not again to see the light of day or move leaf or limb until setfree by the spring thaws in June or July. Not only the young saplingsare thus carefully covered and put to sleep in the whitest of white bedsfor five or six months of the year, but trees thirty feet high or more. From April to May, when the snow by repeated thawing and freezing isfirmly compacted, you may ride over the prostrate groves without seeinga single branch or leaf of them. No other of our alpine conifers sofinely veils its strength; poised in thin, white sunshine, clad withbranches from head to foot, it towers in unassuming majesty, droopingas if unaffected with the aspiring tendencies of its race, loving theground, conscious of heaven and joyously receptive of its blessings, reaching out its branches like sensitive tentacles, feeling the lightand reveling in it. The largest specimen I ever found was nineteenfeet seven inches in circumference. It was growing on the edge of LakeHollow, north of Mount Hoffman, at an elevation of 9250 feet above thelevel of the sea, and was probably about a hundred feet in height. Finegroves of mature trees, ninety to a hundred feet in height, are growingnear the base of Mount Conness. It is widely distributed from near thesouth extremity of the high Sierra northward along the Cascade Mountainsof Oregon and Washington and the coast ranges of British Columbia toAlaska, where it was first discovered in 1827. Its northernmost limit, so far as I have observed, is in the icy fiords of Prince William Soundin latitude 61 degrees, where it forms pure forests at the level of thesea, growing tall and majestic on the banks of glaciers. There, as inthe Yosemite region, it is ineffably beautiful, the very loveliest ofall the American conifers. 

The White-Bark Pine

The Dwarf Pine, or White-Bark Pine (Pinus albicaulis), forms the extremeedge of the timberline throughout nearly the whole extent of the Rangeon both flanks. It is first met growing with the two-leaved pine on theupper margin of the alpine belt, as an erect tree from fifteen to thirtyfeet high and from one to two feet in diameter hence it goes stragglingup the flanks of the summit peaks, upon moraines or crumbling ledges, wherever it can get a foothold, to an elevation of from 10, 000 to 12, 000feet, where it dwarfs to a mass of crumpled branches, covered withslender shoots, each tipped with a short, close-packed, leaf tassel. Thebark is smooth and purplish, in some places almost white. The flowersare bright scarlet and rose-purple, giving a very flowery appearancelittle looked for in such a tree. The cones are about three inches long, an inch and a half in diameter, grow in rigid clusters, and are darkchocolate in color while young, and bear beautiful pearly-white seedsabout the size of peas, most of which are eaten by chipmunks and theClarke's crows. Pines are commonly regarded as sky-loving trees thatmust necessarily aspire or die. This species forms a marked exception, crouching and creeping in compliance with the most rigorous demands ofclimate; yet enduring bravely to a more advanced age than many of itslofty relatives in the sun-lands far below it. Seen from a distance itwould never be taken for a tree of any kind. For example, on CathedralPeak there is a scattered growth of this pine, creeping like mosses overthe roof, nowhere giving hint of an ascending axis. While, approachedquite near, it still appears matty and heathy, and one experiences nodifficulty in walking over the top of it, yet it is seldom absolutelyprostrate, usually attaining a height of three or four feet with a maintrunk, and with branches outspread above it, as if in ascending theyhad been checked by a ceiling against which they had been compelled tospread horizontally. The winter snow is a sort of ceiling, lasting halfthe year; while the pressed surface is made yet smoother by violentwinds armed with cutting sand-grains that bear down any shoot whichoffers to rise much above the general level, and that carve the deadtrunks and branches in beautiful patterns. 

During stormy nights I have often camped snugly beneath the interlacingarches of this little pine. The needles, which have accumulated forcenturies, make fine beds, a fact well known to other mountaineers, suchas deer and wild sheep, who paw out oval hollows and lie beneath thelarger trees in safe and comfortable concealment. This lowly dwarfreaches a far greater age than would be guessed. A specimen that Iexamined, growing at an elevation of 10, 700 feet, yet looked as thoughit might be plucked up by the roots, for it was only three and a halfinches in diameter and its topmost tassel reached hardly three feetabove the ground. Cutting it half through and counting the annual ringswith the aid of a lens, I found its age to be no less than 255 years. Another specimen about the same height, with a trunk six inches indiameter, I found to be 426 years old, forty years ago; and one of itssupple branchlets hardly an eighth of an inch in diameter inside thebark, was seventy-five years old, and so filled with oily balsam andseasoned by storms that I tied it in knots like a whip-cord. 

The Nut Pine

In going across the Range from the Tuolumne River Soda Springs to MonoLake one makes the acquaintance of the curious little Nut Pine (Pinusmonophylla). It dots the eastern flank of the Sierra to which it ismostly restricted in grayish bush-like patches, from the margin of thesage-plains to an elevation of from 7000 to 8000 feet. A more contented, fruitful and unaspiring conifer could not be conceived. All the specieswe have been sketching make departures more or less distant from thetypical spire form, but none goes so far as this. Without any apparentcause it keeps near the ground, throwing out crooked, divergent brancheslike an orchard apple-tree, and seldom pushes a single shoot higher thanfifteen or twenty feet above the ground. 

The average thickness of the trunk is, perhaps, about ten or twelveinches. The leaves are mostly undivided, like round awls, instead ofbeing separated, like those of other pines, into twos and threes andfives. The cones are green while growing, and are usually found over allthe tree, forming quite a marked feature as seen against the bluish-grayfoliage. They are quite small, only about two inches in length, and seemto have but little space for seeds; but when we come to open them, wefind that about half the entire bulk of the cone is made up of sweet, nutritious nuts, nearly as large as hazel-nuts. This is undoubtedly themost important food-tree on the Sierra, and furnishes the Mona, Carson, and Walker River Indians with more and better nuts than all the otherspecies taken together. It is the Indian's own tree, and many a whiteman have they killed for cutting it down. Being so low, the cones arereadily beaten off with poles, and the nuts procured by roasting themuntil the scales open. In bountiful seasons a single Indian may gatherthirty or forty bushels. 

Chapter 7

The Big Trees

Between the heavy pine and silver fir zones towers the Big Tree (Sequoiagigantea), the king of all the conifers in the world, "the noblest ofthe noble race. " The groves nearest Yosemite Valley are about twentymiles to the westward and southward and are called the Tuolumne, Mercedand Mariposa groves. It extends, a widely interrupted belt, from a verysmall grove on the middle fork of the American River to the head of DeerCreek, a distance of about 260 miles, its northern limit being near thethirty-ninth parallel, the southern a little below the thirty-sixth. Theelevation of the belt above the sea varies from about 5000 to 8000 feet. From the American River to Kings River the species occurs only in smallisolated groups so sparsely distributed along the belt that three ofthe gaps in it are from forty to sixty miles wide. But from Kings Riversouth-ward the sequoia is not restricted to mere groves but extendsacross the wide rugged basins of the Kaweah and Tule Rivers in nobleforests, a distance of nearly seventy miles, the continuity of this partof the belt being broken only by the main canyons. The Fresno, thelargest of the northern groves, has an area of three or four squaremiles, a short distance to the southward of the famous Mariposa grove. Along the south rim of the canyon of the south fork of Kings River thereis a majestic sequoia forest about six miles long by two wide. This isthe northernmost group that may fairly be called a forest. Descendingthe divide between the Kings and Kaweah Rivers you come to the grandforests that form the main continuous portion of the belt. Southwardthe giants become more and more irrepressibly exuberant, heaving theirmassive crowns into the sky from every ridge and slope, waving onward ingraceful compliance with the complicated topography of the region. Thefinest of the Kaweah section of the belt is on the broad ridge betweenMarble Creek and the middle fork, and is called the Giant Forest. Itextends from the granite headlands, overlooking the hot San Joaquinplains, to within a few miles of the cool glacial fountains of thesummit peaks. The extreme upper limit of the belt is reached between themiddle and south forks of the Kaweah at a height of 8400 feet, but thefinest block of big tree forests in the entire belt is on the north forkof Tule River, and is included in the Sequoia National Park. 

In the northern groves there are comparatively few young trees orsaplings. But here for every old storm-beaten giant there are many intheir prime and for each of these a crowd of hopeful young trees andsaplings, growing vigorously on moraines, rocky edges, along watercourses and meadows. But though the area occupied by the big treeincreases so greatly from north to south, here is no marked increasein the size of the trees. The height of 275 feet or thereabouts and adiameter of about twenty feet, four feet from the ground is, perhaps, about the average size of what may be called full-grown trees, wherethey are favorably located. The specimens twenty-five feet in diameterare not very rare and a few are nearly three hundred feet high. Inthe Calaveras grove there are four trees over 300 feet in height, thetallest of which as measured by the Geological Survey is 325 feet. Thevery largest that I have yet met in the course of my explorations isa majestic old fire-scarred monument in the Kings River forest. It isthirty-five feet and eight inches in diameter inside the bark, fourfeet above the ground. It is burned half through, and I spent a dayin clearing away the charred surface with a sharp ax and counting theannual wood-rings with the aid of a pocket lens. I succeeded in layingbare a section all the way from the outside to the heart and counted alittle over four thousand rings, showing that this tree was in its primeabout twenty-seven feet in diameter at the beginning of the Christianera. No other tree in the world, as far as I know, has looked down on somany centuries as the sequoia or opens so many impressive and suggestiveviews into history. Under the most favorable conditions these giantsprobably live 5000 years or more though few of even the larger trees arehalf as old. The age of one that was felled in Calaveras grove, for thesake of having its stump for a dancing-floor, was about 1300 years, andits diameter measured across the stump twenty-four feet inside the bark. Another that was felled in the Kings River forest was about the samesize but nearly a thousand years older (2200 years), though not a veryold-looking tree. 

So harmonious and finely balanced are even the mightiest of thesemonarchs in all their proportions that there is never anything overgrownor monstrous about them. Seeing them for the first time you are moreimpressed with their beauty than their size, their grandeur being ingreat part invisible; but sooner or later it becomes manifest to theloving eye, stealing slowly on the senses like the grandeur of Niagaraor of the Yosemite Domes. When you approach them and walk around themyou begin to wonder at their colossal size and try to measure them. Theybulge considerably at the base, but not more than is required for beautyand safety and the only reason that this bulging seems in some casesexcessive is that only a comparatively small section is seen in nearviews. One that I measured in the Kings River forest was twenty-fivefeet in diameter at the ground and ten feet in diameter 220 feet abovethe ground showing the fineness of the taper of the trunk as a whole. Nodescription can give anything like an adequate idea of their singularmajesty, much less of their beauty. Except the sugar pine, most of theirneighbors with pointed tops seem ever trying to go higher, while the bigtree, soaring above them all, seems satisfied. Its grand domed headseems to be poised about as lightly as a cloud, giving no impressionof seeking to rise higher. Only when it is young does it show likeother conifers a heavenward yearning, sharply aspiring with a longquick-growing top. Indeed, the whole tree for the first century ortwo, or until it is a hundred or one hundred and fifty feet high, isarrowhead in form, and, compared with the solemn rigidity of age, seemsas sensitive to the wind as a squirrel's tail. As it grows older, thelower branches are gradually dropped and the upper ones thinned outuntil comparatively few are left. These, however, are developed to agreat size, divide again and again and terminate in bossy, roundedmasses of leafy branch-lets, while the head becomes dome-shaped, and isthe first to feel the touch of the rosy beams of the morning, the lastto bid the sun good night. Perfect specimens, unhurt by running fires orlightning, are singularly regular and symmetrical in general form thoughnot in the least conventionalized, for they show extraordinary varietyin the unity and harmony of their general outline. The immensely strong, stately shafts are free of limbs for one hundred end fifty feet or soThe large limbs reach out with equal boldness a every direction, showingno weather side, and no other tree has foliage so densely massed, sofinely molded in outline and so perfectly subordinate to an ideal type. A particularly knotty, angular, ungovernable-looking branch, from fiveto seven or eight feet in diameter and perhaps a thousand years old, may occasionally be seen pushing out from the trunk as if determined tobreak across the bounds of the regular curve, but like all the othersit dissolves in bosses of branchlets and sprays as soon as the generaloutline is approached. Except in picturesque old age, after being struckby lightning or broken by thousands of snow-storms, the regularity offorms is one of their most distinguishing characteristics. Another isthe simple beauty of the trunk and its great thickness as compared withits height and the width of the branches, which makes them look morelike finely modeled and sculptured architectural columns than the stemsof trees, while the great limbs look like rafters, supporting themagnificent dome-head. But though so consummately beautiful, the bigtree always seems unfamiliar, with peculiar physiognomy, awfully solemnand earnest; yet with all its strangeness it impresses us as being moreat home than any of its neighbors, holding the best right to the groundas the oldest strongest inhabitant. One soon becomes acquainted with newspecies of pine and fir and spruce as with friendly people, shakingtheir outstretched branches like shaking hands and fondling their littleones, while the venerable aboriginal sequoia, ancient of other days, keeps you at a distance, looking as strange in aspect and behavior amongits neighbor trees as would the mastodon among the homely bears anddeers. Only the Sierra juniper is at all like it, standing rigid andunconquerable on glacier pavements for thousands of years, grim andsilent, with an air of antiquity about as pronounced as that of thesequoia. 

The bark of the largest trees is from one to two feet thick, richcinnamon brown, purplish on young trees, forming magnificent massesof color with the underbrush. Toward the end of winter the trees arein bloom, while the snow is still eight or ten feet deep. The femaleflowers are about three-eighths of an inch long, pale green, and growin countless thousands on the ends of sprays. The male are still moreabundant, pale yellow, a fourth of an inch long and when the pollen isripe they color the whole tree and dust the air and the ground. Thecones are bright grass-green in color, about two and a half inches long, one and a half wide, made up of thirty or forty strong, closely-packed, rhomboidal scales, with four to eight seeds at the base of each. Theseeds are wonderfully small end light, being only from an eighth to afourth of an inch long and wide, including a filmy surrounding wing, which causes them to glint and waver in falling and enables the wind tocarry them considerable distances. Unless harvested by the squirrels, the cones discharge their seed and remain on the tree for many years. Infruitful seasons the trees are fairly laden. On two small branches oneand a half and two inches in diameter I counted 480 cones. No otherCalifornia conifer produces nearly so many seeds, except, perhaps, theother sequoia, the Redwood of the Coast Mountains. Millions are ripenedannually by a single tree, and in a fruitful year the product of one ofthe northern groves would be enough to plant all the mountain ranges inthe world. 

As soon as any accident happens to the crown, such as being smashed offby lightning, the branches beneath the wound, no matter how situated, seem to be excited, like a colony of bees that have lost their queen, and become anxious to repair the damage. Limbs that have grown outwardfor centuries at right angles to the trunk begin to turn upward toassist in making a new crown, each speedily assuming the special form oftrue summits. Even in the case of mere stumps, burned half through, somemere ornamental tuft will try to go aloft and do its best as a leaderin forming a new head. Groups of two or three are often found standingclose together, the seeds from which they sprang having probably grownon ground cleared for their reception by the fall of a large tree of aformer generation. They are called "loving couples, " "three graces, "etc. When these trees are young they are seen to stand twenty or thirtyfeet apart, by the time they are full-grown their trunks will touch andcrowd against each other and in some cases even appear as one. 

It is generally believed that the sequoia was once far more widelydistributed over the Sierra; but after long and careful study I havecome to the conclusion that it never was, at least since the close ofthe glacial period, because a diligent search along the margins of thegroves, and in the gaps between fails to reveal a single trace of itsprevious existence beyond its present bounds. Notwithstanding, I feelconfident that if every sequoia in the Range were to die today, numerousmonuments of their existence would remain, of so imperishable a natureas to be available for the student more than ten thousand years hence. 

In the first place, no species of coniferous tree in the Range keepsits members so well together as the sequoia; a mile is, perhaps, thegreatest distance of any straggler from the main body, and all of thosestragglers that have come under my observation are young, instead of oldmonumental trees, relics of a more extended growth. 

Again, the great trunks of the sequoia last for centuries after theyfall. I have a specimen block of sequoia wood, cut from a fallen tree, which is hardly distinguishable from a similar section cut from a livingtree, although the one cut from the fallen trunk has certainly lain onthe damp forest floor more than 380 years, probably thrice as long. Thetime-measure in the case is simply this: When the ponderous trunk towhich the old vestige belonged fell, it sunk itself into the ground, thus making a long, straight ditch, and in the middle of this ditch asilver fir four feet in diameter and 380 years old was growing, as Idetermined by cutting it half through and counting the rings, thusdemonstrating that the remnant of the trunk that made the ditch has lainon the ground _more_ than 380 years. For it is evident that, to findthe whole time, we must add to the 380 years the time that the vanishedportion of the trunk lay in the ditch before being burned out of theway, plus the time that passed before the seed from which the monumentalfir sprang fell into the prepared soil and took root. Now, becausesequoia trunks are never wholly consumed in one forest fire, and thosefires recur only at considerable intervals, and because sequoia ditchesafter being cleared are often left unplanted for centuries, it becomesevident that the trunk-remnant in question may probably have lain athousand years or more. And this instance is by no means a late one. 

Again, admitting that upon those areas supposed to have been oncecovered with sequoia forests, every tree may have fallen, and everytrunk may have been burned or buried, leaving not a remnant, many of theditches made by the fall of the ponderous trunks, and the bowls made bytheir upturning roots, would remain patent for thousands of years afterthe last vestige of the trunks that made them had vanished. Much of thisditch-writing would no doubt be quickly effaced by the flood-action ofoverflowing streams and rain-washing; but no inconsiderable portionwould remain enduringly engraved on ridge-tops beyond such destructiveaction; for, where all the conditions are favorable, it is almostimperishable. Now these historic ditches and root-bowls occur in all thepresent sequoia groves and forests, but, as far as I have observed, notthe faintest vestige of one presents itself outside of them. 

We therefore conclude that the area covered by sequoia has not beendiminished during the last eight or ten thousand years, and probably notat all in post-glacial time. Nevertheless, the questions may be asked:Is the species verging toward extinction? What are its relations toclimate, soil, and associated trees?

All the phenomena bearing on these questions also throw light, as weshall endeavor to show, upon the peculiar distribution of the species, and sustain the conclusion already arrived at as to the question offormer extension. In the northern groups, as we have seen, there arefew young trees or saplings growing up around the old ones to perpetuatethe race, and inasmuch as those aged sequoias, so nearly childless, are the only ones commonly known the species, to most observers, seemsdoomed to speedy extinction, as being nothing more than an expiringremnant, vanquished in the so-called struggle for life by pines and firsthat have driven it into its last strongholds in moist glens where theclimate is supposed to be exceptionally favorable. But the story told bythe majestic continuous forests of the south creates a very differentimpression. No tree in the forest is more enduringly established inconcordance with both climate and soil. It grows heartily everywhere--onmoraines, rocky ledges, along watercourses, and in the deep, moistalluvium of meadows with, as we have seen, a multitude of seedlings andsaplings crowding up around the aged, abundantly able to maintain theforest in prime vigor. So that if all the trees of any section of themain sequoia forest were ranged together according to age, a verypromising curve would be presented, all the way up from last year'sseedlings to giants, and with the young and middle-aged portion of thecurve many times longer than the old portion. Even as far north as theFresno, I counted 536 saplings and seedlings, growing promisingly upona landslip not exceeding two acres in area. This soil-bed was aboutseven years old, and had been seeded almost simultaneously by pines, firs, libocedrus, and sequoia, presenting a simple and instructiveillustration of the struggle for life among the rival species; and itwas interesting to note that the conditions thus far affecting them haveenabled the young sequoias to gain a marked advantage. Toward the southwhere the sequoia becomes most exuberant and numerous, the rival treesbecome less so; and where they mix with sequoias they grow up beneaththem like slender grasses among stalks of Indian corn. Upon a bed ofsandy floodsoil I counted ninety-four sequoias, from one to twelve feethigh, on a patch of ground once occupied by four large sugar pines whichlay crumbling beneath them--an instance of conditions which have enabledsequoias to crowd out the pines. I also noted eighty-six vigoroussaplings upon a piece of fresh ground prepared for their reception byfire. Thus fire, the great destroyer of the sequoia, also furnishes thebare ground required for its growth from the seed. Fresh ground is, however, furnished in sufficient quantities for the renewal of theforests without the aid of fire--by the fall of old trees. The soil isthus upturned and mellowed, and many trees are planted for every onethat falls. 

It is constantly asserted in a vague way that the Sierra was vastlywetter than now, and that the increasing drought will of itselfextinguish the sequoia, leaving its ground to other trees supposedcapable of flourishing in a drier climate. But that the sequoia can anddoes grow on as dry ground as any of its present rivals is manifest ina thousand places. "Why, then, " it will be asked, "are sequoias alwaysfound only in well-watered places?" Simply because a growth of sequoiascreates those streams. The thirsty mountaineer knows well that in everysequoia grove he will find running water, but it is a mistake to supposethat the water is the cause of the grove being there; on the contrary, the grove is the cause of the water being there. Drain off the waterand the trees will remain, but cut off the trees, and the streams willvanish. Never was cause more completely mistaken for effect than in thecase of these related phenomena of sequoia woods and perennial streams. 

When attention is called to the method of sequoia stream-making, it willbe apprehended at once. The roots of this immense tree fill the ground, forming a thick sponge that absorbs and holds back the rain and meltingsnow, only allowing it to ooze and flow gently. Indeed, every fallenleaf and rootlet, as well as long clasping root, and prostrate trunk, may be regarded as a dam hoarding the bounty of storm-clouds, anddispensing it as blessings all through the summer, instead of allowingit to go headlong in short-lived floods. 

Since, then, it is a fact that thousands of sequoias are growingthriftily on what is termed dry ground, and even clinging like mountainpines to rifts in granite precipices, and since it has also been shownthat the extra moisture found in connection with the denser growths isan effect of their presence, instead of a cause of their presence, thenthe notions as to the former extension of the species and its nearapproach to extinction, based upon its supposed dependence on greatermoisture, are seen to be erroneous. 

The decrease in rain and snowfall since the close of the glacial periodin the Sierra is much less than is commonly guessed. The highestpost-glacial water-marks are well preserved in all the upper riverchannels, and they are not greatly higher than the spring flood-marksof the present; showing conclusively that no extraordinary decreasehas taken place in the volume of the upper tributaries of post-glacialSierra streams since they came into existence. But, in the meantime, eliminating all this complicated question of climatic change, the plainfact remains that the present rain and snowfall is abundantly sufficientfor the luxuriant growth of sequoia forests. Indeed, all my observationstend to show that in a prolonged drought the sugar pines and firs wouldperish before the sequoia, not alone because of the greater longevity ofindividual trees, but because the species can endure more drought, andmake the most of whatever moisture falls. 

Again, if the restriction and irregular distribution of the species beinterpreted as a result of the desiccation of the Range, then instead ofincreasing as it does in individuals toward the south where the rainfallis less, it should diminish. If, then, the peculiar distribution ofsequoia has not been governed by superior conditions of soil as tofertility or moisture, by what has it been governed?

In the course of my studies I observed that the northern groves, theonly ones I was at first acquainted with, were located on just thoseportions of the general forest soil-belt that were first laid baretoward the close of the glacial period when the ice-sheet began to breakup into individual glaciers. And while searching the wide basin of theSan Joaquin, and trying to account for the absence of sequoia whereevery condition seemed favorable for its growth, it occurred to me thatthis remarkable gap in the sequoia belt fifty miles wide is locatedexactly in the basin of the vast, ancient mer de glace of the SanJoaquin and Kings River basins which poured its frozen floods to theplain through this gap as its channel. I then perceived that the nextgreat gap in the belt to the northward, forty miles wide, extendingbetween the Calaveras and Tuolumne groves, occurs in the basin of thegreat ancient mer de glace of the Tuolumne and Stanislaus basins; andthat the smaller gap between the Merced and Mariposa groves occurs inthe basin of the smaller glacier of the Merced. The wider the ancientglacier, the wider the corresponding gap in the sequoia belt. 

Finally, pursuing my investigations across the basins of the Kaweahand Tule, I discovered that the sequoia belt attained its greatestdevelopment just where, owing to the topographical peculiarities of theregion, the ground had been best protected from the main ice-rivers thatcontinued to pour past from the summit fountains long after the smallerlocal glaciers had been melted. 

Taking now a general view of the belt, beginning at the south we seethat the majestic ancient glaciers were shed off right and left down thevalleys of Kern and Kings Rivers by the lofty protective spurs outspreadembracingly above the warm sequoia-filled basins of the Kaweah and Tule. Then, next northward, occurs the wide sequoia-less channel, or basin ofthe ancient San Joaquin and sings River mer de glace; then the warm, protected spots of Fresno and Mariposa groves; then the sequoia-lesschannel of the ancient Merced glacier; next the warm, sheltered groundof the Merced and Tuolumne groves; then the sequoia-less channel of thegrand ancient mer de glace of the Tuolumne and Stanislaus; then thewarm old ground of the Calaveras and Stanislaus groves. It appears, therefore, that just where, at a certain period in the history of theSierra, the glaciers were not, there the sequoia is, and just where theglaciers were, there the sequoia is not. 

But although all the observed phenomena bearing on the post-glacialhistory of this colossal tree point to the conclusion that it never wasmore widely distributed on the Sierra since the close of the glacialepoch; that its present forests are scarcely past prime, if, indeed, they have reached prime; that the post-glacial day of the speciesis probably not half done; yet, when from a wider outlook the vastantiquity of the genus is considered, and its ancient richness inspecies and individuals, --comparing our Sierra Giant and Sequoiasempervirens of the Coast Range, the only other living species ofsequoia, with the twelve fossil species already discovered and describedby Heer and Lesquereux, some of which flourished over vast areas in theArctic regions and in Europe and our own territories, during tertiaryand cretaceous times--then, indeed, it becomes plain that our twosurviving species, restricted to narrow belts within the limits ofCalifornia, are mere remnants of the genus, both as to species andindividuals, and that they may be verging to extinction. But the vergeof a period beginning in cretaceous times may have a breadth of tens ofthousands of years, not to mention the possible existence of conditionscalculated to multiply and re-extend both species and individuals. 

There is no absolute limit to the existence of any tree. Death is due toaccidents, not, as that of animals, to the wearing out of organs. Onlythe leaves die of old age. Their fall is foretold in their structure;but the leaves are renewed every year, and so also are the essentialorgans wood, roots, bark, buds. Most of the Sierra trees die of disease, insects, fungi, etc. , but nothing hurts the big tree. I never saw onethat was sick or showed the slightest sign of decay. Barring accidents, it seems to be immortal. It is a curious fact that all the very oldsequoias had lost their heads by lightning strokes. "All things come tohim who waits. " But of all living things, sequoia is perhaps the onlyone able to wait long enough to make sure of being struck by lightning. 

So far as I am able to see at present only fire and the ax threaten theexistence of these noblest of God's trees. In Nature's keeping theyare safe, but through the agency of man destruction is making rapidprogress, while in the work of protection only a good beginning has beenmade. The Fresno grove, the Tuolumne, Merced and Mariposa groves areunder the protection of the Federal Government in the Yosemite NationalPark. So are the General Grant and Sequoia National Parks; the latter, established twenty-one years ago, has an area of 240 square miles and isefficiently guarded by a troop of cavalry under the direction of theSecretary of the Interior; so also are the small General Grant NationalPark, estatblished at the same time with an area of four square miles, and the Mariposa grove, about the same size and the small Merced andTuolumne group. Perhaps more than half of all the big trees have beenthoughtlessly sold and are now in the hands of speculators and mill men. It appears, therefore, that far the largest and important section ofprotected big trees is in the great Sequoia National Park, now easilyaccessible by rail to Lemon Cove and thence by a good stage road intothe giant forest of the Kaweah and thence by rail to other parts of thepark; but large as it is it should be made much larger. Its naturaleastern boundary is the High Sierra and the northern and southernboundaries are the Kings and Kern Rivers. Thus could be includedthe sublime scenery on the headwaters of these rivers and perhapsnine-tenths of all the big trees in existence. All private claimswithin these bounds should be gradually extinguished by purchase by theGovernment. The big tree, leaving all its higher uses out of the count, is a tree of life to the dwellers of the plain dependent on irrigation, a never-failing spring, sending living waters to the lowland. For everygrove cut down a stream is dried up. Therefore all California is crying, "Save the trees of the fountains. " Nor, judging by the signs of thetimes, is it likely that the cry will cease until the salvation of allthat is left of Sequoia gigantea is made sure. 

Chapter 8

The Flowers

Yosemite was all one glorious flower garden before plows and scythes andtrampling, biting horses came to make its wide open spaces look likefarmers' pasture fields. Nevertheless, countless flowers still bloomevery year in glorious profusion on the grand talus slopes, wall benchesand tablets, and in all the fine, cool side-canyons up to the rim of theValley, and beyond, higher and higher, to the summits of the peaks. Evenon the open floor and in easily-reached side-nooks many common floweringplants have survived and still make a brave show in the spring and earlysummer. Among these we may mention tall oenotheras, Pentstemon lutea, and P. Douglasii with fine blue and red flowers; Spraguea, scarletzauschneria, with its curious radiant rosettes characteristic of thesandy flats; mimulus, eunanus, blue and white violets, geranium, columbine, erythraea, larkspur, collomia, draperia, gilias, heleniums, bahia, goldenrods, daisies, honeysuckle; heuchera, bolandra, saxifrages, gentians; in cool canyon nooks and on Clouds' Rest and the base of StarrKing Dome you may find Primula suffrutescens, the only wild primrosediscovered in California, and the only known shrubby species in thegenus. And there are several fine orchids, habenaria, and cypripedium, the latter very rare, once common in the Valley near the foot of GlacierPoint, and in a bog on the rim of the Valley near a place calledGentry's Station, now abandoned. It is a very beautiful species, thelarge oval lip white, delicately veined with purple; the other petalsand the sepals purple, strap-shaped, and elegantly curled and twisted. 

Of the lily family, fritillaria, smilacina, chlorogalum and severalfine species of brodiaea, Ithuriel's spear, and others less prized arecommon, and the favorite calochortus, or Mariposa lily, a unique genusof many species, something like the tulips of Europe but far finer. Mostof them grow on the warm foothills below the Valley, but two charmingspecies, C. Coeruleus and C. Nudus, dwell in springy places on theWawona road a few miles beyond the brink of the walls. 

The snow plant (Sarcodes sanguinea) is more admired by tourists than anyother in California. It is red, fleshy and watery and looks like agigantic asparagus shoot. Soon after the snow is off the round it risesthrough the dead needles and humus in the pine and fir woods like abright glowing pillar of fire. In a week or so it grows to a height ofeight or twelve inches with a diameter of an inch and a half or twoinches; then its long fringed bracts curl aside, allowing the twenty- orthirty-five-lobed, bell-shaped flowers to open and look straight outfrom the axis. It is said to grow up through the snow; on the contrary, it always waits until the ground is warm, though with other earlyflowers it is occasionally buried or half-buried for a day or twoby spring storms. The entire plant--flowers, bracts, stem, scales, and roots--is fiery red. Its color could appeal to one's blood. Nevertheless, it is a singularly cold and unsympathetic plant. Everybodyadmires it as a wonderful curiosity, but nobody loves it as lilies, violets, roses, daisies are loved. Without fragrance, it stands beneaththe pines and firs lonely and silent, as if unacquainted with any otherplant in the world; never moving in the wildest storms; rigid as iflifeless, though covered with beautiful rosy flowers. 

Far the most delightful and fragrant of the Valley flowers is theWashington lily, white, moderate in size, with from three- toten-flowered racemes. I found one specimen in the lower end of theValley at the foot of the Wawona grade that was eight feet high, theraceme two feet long, with fifty-two flowers, fifteen of them open;the others had faded or were still in the bud. This famous lily isdistributed over the sunny portions of the sugar-pine woods, never inlarge meadow-garden companies like the large and the small tiger lilies(pardalinum and parvum), but widely scattered, standing up to the waistin dense ceanothus and manzanita chaparral, waving its lovely flowersabove the blooming wilderness of brush, and giving their fragrance tothe breeze. It is now becoming scarce in the most accessible parts ofits range on account of the high price paid for its bulbs by gardenersthrough whom it has been distributed far and wide over the flower-lovingworld. For, on account of its pure color and delicate, delightfulfragrance, all lily lovers at once adopted it as a favorite. 

The principal shrubs are manzanita and ceanothus, several species ofeach, azalea, Rubus nutkanus, brier rose, choke-cherry philadelphus, calycanthus, garrya, rhamnus, etc. 

The manzanita never fails to attract particular attention. Thespecies common in the Valley is usually about six or seven feet high, round-headed with innumerable branches, red or chocolate-color bark, pale green leaves set on edge, and a rich profusion of small, pink, narrow-throated, urn-shaped flowers, like those of arbutus. The knotty, crooked, angular branches are about as rigid as bones, and the red barkis so thin and smooth on both trunk and branches, they look as if theyhad been peeled and polished and painted. In the spring large areason the mountain up to a height of eight or nine thousand feet arebrightened with the rosy flowers, and in autumn with their red fruit. The pleasantly acid berries, about the size of peas, look like littleapples, and a hungry mountaineer is glad to eat them, though half theirbulk is made up of hard seeds. Indians, bears, coyotes, foxes, birds andother mountain people live on them for weeks and months. The differentspecies of ceanothus usually associated with manzanita are floweryfragrant and altogether delightful shrubs, growing in gloriousabundance, not only in the Valley, but high up in the forest on sunny orhalf-shaded ground. In the sugar-pine woods the most beautiful speciesis C. Integerrimus, often called Californian lilac, or deer brush. Itis five or six feet high with slender branches, glossy foliage, andabundance of blue flowers in close, showy panicles. Two species, C. Prostrates and C. Procumbens, spread smooth, blue-flowered mats andrugs beneath the pines, and offer fine beds to tired mountaineers. Thecommonest species, C. Cordulatus, is most common in the silver-firwoods. It is white-flowered and thorny, and makes dense thickets oftangled chaparral, difficult to wade through or to walk over. But it ispressed flat every winter by ten or fifteen feet of snow. The westernazalea makes glorious beds of bloom along the river bank and meadows. In the Valley it is from two to five feet high, has fine green leaves, mostly hidden beneath its rich profusion of large, fragrant white andyellow flowers, which are in their prime in June, July and August, according to the elevation, ranging from 3000 to 6000 feet. Near theazalea-bordered streams the small wild rose, resembling R. Blanda, makes large thickets deliciously fragrant, especially on a dewy morningand after showers. Not far from these azalea and rose gardens, Rubusnutkanus covers the ground with broad, soft, velvety leaves, andpure-white flowers as large as those of its neighbor and relative, therose, and much finer in texture, followed at the end of summer by softred berries good for everybody. This is the commonest and the mostbeautiful of the whole blessed, flowery, fruity Rubus genus. 

There are a great many interesting ferns in the Valley and aboutit. Naturally enough the greater number are rock ferns--pellaea, cheilanthes, polypodium, adiantum, woodsia, cryptogramma, etc. , withsmall tufted fronds, lining cool glens and fringing the seams of thecliffs. The most important of the larger species are woodwardia, aspidium, asplenium, and, above all, the common pteris. Woodwardiaradicans is a superb, broad-shouldered fern five to eight feet high, growing in vase-shaped clumps where tile ground is nearly level and onsome of the benches of the north wall of the Valley where it is wateredby a broad trickling stream. It thatches the sloping rocks, frondoverlapping frond like roof shingles. The broad-fronded, hardy Pterisaquilina, the commonest of ferns, covers large areas on the floor ofthe Valley. No other fern does so much for the color glory of autumn, with its browns and reds and yellows, even after lying dead beneaththe snow all winter. It spreads a rich brown mantle over the desolateground in the spring before the grass has sprouted, and at the firsttouch of sun-heat its young fronds come rearing up full of faith andhope through the midst of the last year's ruins. 

Of the five species of pellaea, P. Breweri is the hardiest as toenduring high altitudes and stormy weather and at the same time it isthe most fragile of the genus. It grows in dense tufts in the clefts ofstorm-beaten rocks, high up on the mountain-side on the very edge of thefern line. It is a handsome little fern about four or five inches high, has pale-green pinnate fronds, and shining bronze-colored stalks aboutas brittle as glass. Its companions on the lower part of its range areCryptogramma acrostichoides and Phegopteris alpestris, the latter withsoft, delicate fronds, not in the least like those of Rock fern, thoughit grows on the rocks where the snow lies longest. Pellaea Bridgesii, with blue-green, narrow, simply-pinnate fronds, is about the same sizeas Breweri and ranks next to it as a mountaineer, growing in fissures, wet or dry, and around the edges of boulders that are resting on glacierpavements with no fissures whatever. About a thousand feet lower wefind the smaller, more abundant P. Densa on ledges and boulder-strewn, fissured pavements, watered until late in summer from oozing currents, derived from lingering snowbanks. It is, or rather was, extremelyabundant between the foot of the Nevada and the head of the Vernal Fall, but visitors with great industry have dug out almost every root, so thatnow one has to scramble in out-of-the-way places to find it. The threespecies of Cheilanthes in the Valley--C. Californica, C. Gracillima, andmyriophylla, with beautiful two-to-four-pinnate fronds, an inch to fiveinches long, adorn the stupendous walls however dry and sheer. Theexceedingly delicate californica is so rare that I have found it onlyonce. The others are abundant and are sometimes accompanied by thelittle gold fern, Gymnogramme triangularis, and rarely by the curiouslittle Botrychium simplex, some of them less than an inch high. Thefinest of all the rock ferns is Adiantum pedatum, lover of waterfallsand the finest spray-dust. The homes it loves best are over-leaning, cave-like hollows, beside the larger falls, where it can wet its fingerswith their dewy spray. Many of these moss-lined chambers containthousands of these delightful ferns, clinging to mossy walls by theslightest hold, reaching out their delicate finger-fronds on dark, shining stalks, sensitive and tremulous, throbbing in unison with everymovement and tone of the falling water, moving each division of thefrond separately at times, as if fingering the music. 

May and June are the main bloom-months of the year. Both the flowersand falls are then at their best. By the first of August the midsummerglories of the Valley are past their prime. The young birds are then outof their nests. Most of the plants have gone to seed; berries are ripe;autumn tints begin to kindle and burn over meadow and grove, and a softmellow haze in the morning sunbeams heralds the approach of Indiansummer. The shallow river is now at rest, its flood-work done. It is nowbut little more than a series of pools united by trickling, whisperingcurrents that steal softly over brown pebbles and sand with scarce anaudible murmur. Each pool has a character of its own and, though theyare nearly currentless, the night air and tree shadows keep them cool. Their shores curve in and out in bay and promontory, giving theappearance of miniature lakes, their banks in most places embossed withbrier and azalea, sedge and grass and fern; and above these in theirglory of autumn colors a mingled growth of alder, willow, dogwood andbalm-of-Gilead; mellow sunshine overhead, cool shadows beneath; lightfiltered and strained in passing through the ripe leaves like that whichpasses through colored windows. The surface of the water is stirred, perhaps, by whirling water-beetles, or some startled trout, seekingshelter beneath fallen logs or roots. The falls, too, are quiet; no windstirs, and the whole Valley floor is a mosaic of greens and purples, yellows and reds. Even the rocks seem strangely soft and mellow, as ifthey, too, had ripened. 

Chapter 9

The Birds

The songs of the Yosemite winds and waterfalls are delightfully enrichedwith bird song, especially in the nesting time of spring and earlysummer. The most familiar and best known of all is the common robin, whomay be seen every day, hopping about briskly on the meadows and utteringhis cheery, enlivening call. The black-headed grosbeak, too, is here, with the Bullock oriole, and western tanager, brown song-sparrow, hermitthrush, the purple finch, --a fine singer, with head and throat of arosy-red hue, --several species of warblers and vireos, kinglets, flycatchers, etc. 

But the most wonderful singer of all the birds is the water-ouzel thatdives into foaming rapids and feeds at the bottom, holding on in awonderful way, living a charmed life. 

Several species of humming-birds are always to be seen, darting andbuzzing among the showy flowers. The little red-bellied nuthatches, thechickadees, and little brown creepers, threading the furrows of the barkof the pines, searching for food in the crevices. The large Steller'sjay makes merry in the pine-tops; flocks of beautiful green swallowsskim over the streams, and the noisy Clarke's crow may oftentimes beseen on the highest points around the Valley; and in the deep woodsbeyond the walls you may frequently hear and see the dusky grouse andthe pileated woodpecker, or woodcock almost as large as a pigeon. Thejunco or snow-bird builds its nest on the floor of the Valley among theferns; several species of sparrow are common and the beautiful lazulibunting, a common bird in the underbrush, flitting about among theazalea and ceanothus bushes and enlivening the groves with his brilliantcolor; and on gravelly bars the spotted sandpiper is sometimes seen. Many woodpeckers dwell in the Valley; the familiar flicker, the Harriswoodpecker and the species which so busily stores up acorns in the thickbark of the yellow pines. 

The short, cold days of winter are also sweetened with the music andhopeful chatter of a considerable number of birds. No cheerier choirever sang in snow. First and best of all is the water-ouzel, a dainty, dusky little bird about the size of a robin, that sings in sweet flutysong all winter and all summer, in storms and calms, sunshine andshadow, haunting the rapids and waterfalls with marvelous constancy, building his nest in the cleft of a rock bathed in spray. He is notweb-footed, yet he dives fearlessly into foaming rapids, seeming to takethe greater delight the more boisterous the stream, always as cheerfuland calm as any linnet in a grove. All his gestures as he flits aboutamid the loud uproar of the falls bespeak the utmost simplicity andconfidence--bird and stream one and inseparable. What a pair! yet theyare well related. A finer bloom than the foam bell in an eddying poolis this little bird. We may miss the meaning of the loud-resoundingtorrent, but the flute-like voice of the bird--only love is in it. 

A few robins, belated on their way down from the upper Meadows, lingerin the Valley and make out to spend the winter in comparative comfort, feeding on the mistletoe berries that grow on the oaks. In the depthsof the great forests, on the high meadows, in the severest altitudes, they seem as much at home as in the fields and orchards about the busyhabitations of man, ascending the Sierra as the snow melts, followingthe green footsteps of Spring, until in July or August the highestglacier meadows are reached on the summit of the Range. Then, after theshort summer is over, and their work in cheering and sweetening theselofty wilds is done, they gradually make their way down again in accordwith the weather, keeping below the snow-storms, lingering here andthere to feed on huckleberries and frost-nipped wild cherries growingon the upper slopes. Thence down to the vineyards and orchards of thelowlands to spend the winter; entering the gardens of the great townsas well as parks and fields, where the blessed wanderers are too oftenslaughtered for food--surely a bad use to put so fine a musician to;better make stove wood of pianos to feed the kitchen fire. 

The kingfisher winters in the Valley, and the flicker and, of course, the carpenter woodpecker, that lays up large stores of acorns in thebark of trees; wrens also, with a few brown and gray linnets, and flocksof the arctic bluebird, making lively pictures among the snow-ladenmistletoe bushes. Flocks of pigeons are often seen, and about sixspecies of ducks, as the river is never wholly frozen over. Among theseare the mallard and the beautiful woodduck, now less common on accountof being so often shot at. Flocks of wandering geese used to visit theValley in March and April, and perhaps do so still, driven down byhunger or stress of weather while on their way across the Range. Whenpursued by the hunters I have frequently seen them try to fly over thewalls of Lee Valley until tired out and compelled to re-alight. Yosemitemagnitudes seem to be as deceptive to geese as to men, for aftercircling to a considerable height and forming regular harrow-shapedranks they would suddenly find themselves in danger of being dashedagainst the face of the cliff, much nearer the bottom than the top. Thenturning in confusion with loud screams they would try again and againuntil exhausted and compelled to descend. I have occasionally observedlarge flocks on their travels crossing the summits of the Range at aheight of 12, 000 to 13, 000 feet above the level of the sea, and even inso rare an atmosphere as this they seemed to be sustaining themselveswithout extra effort. Strong, however, as they are of wind and wing, they cannot fly over Yosemite walls, starting from the bottom. 

A pair of golden eagles have lived in the Valley ever since I firstvisited it, hunting all winter along the northern cliffs and down theriver canyon. Their nest is on a ledge of the cliff over which poursthe Nevada Fall. Perched on the top of a dead spar, they were alwaysinterested observers of the geese when they were being shot at. I oncenoticed one of the geese compelled to leave the flock on account ofbeing sorely wounded, although it still seemed to fly pretty well. Immediately the eagles pursued it and no doubt struck it down, althoughI did not see the result of the hunt. Anyhow, it flew past me up theValley, closely pursued. 

One wild, stormy winter morning after five feet of snow had fallen onthe floor of the Valley and the flying flakes driven by a strong windstill thickened the air, making darkness like the approach of night, Isallied forth to see what I might learn and enjoy. It was impossibleto go very far without the aid of snow-shoes, but I found no greatdifficulty in making my way to a part of the river where one of myouzels lived. I found him at home busy about his breakfast, apparentlyunaware of anything uncomfortable in the weather. Presently he flew outto a stone against which the icy current was beating, and turning hisback to the wind, sang as delightfully as a lark in springtime. 

After spending an hour or two with my favorite, I made my way across theValley, boring and wallowing through the loose snow, to learn as muchas possible about the way the other birds were spending their time. Inwinter one can always find them because they are then restricted to thenorth side of the Valley, especially the Indian Canyon groves, whichfrom their peculiar exposure are the warmest. 

I found most of the robins cowering on the lee side of the largerbranches of the trees, where the snow could not fall on them, while twoor three of the more venturesome were making desperate efforts to get atthe mistletoe berries by clinging to the underside of the snow-crownedmasses, back downward, something like woodpeckers. Every now and thensome of the loose snow was dislodged and sifted down on the hungrybirds, sending them screaming back to their companions in the grove, shivering and muttering like cold, hungry children. 

Some of the sparrows were busy scratching and pecking at the feet ofthe larger trees where the snow had been shed off, gleaning seedsand benumbed insects, joined now and then by a robin weary of hisunsuccessful efforts to get at the snow-covered mistletoe berries. Thebrave woodpeckers were clinging to the snowless sides of the largerboles and overarching branches of the camp trees, making short flightsfrom side to side of the grove, pecking now and then at the acorns theyhad stored in the bark, and chattering aimlessly as if unable to keepstill, evidently putting in the time in a very dull way. The hardynuthatches were threading the open furrows of the barks in their usualindustrious manner and uttering their quaint notes, giving no evidenceof distress. The Steller's jays were, of course, making more noise andstir than all the other birds combined; ever coming and going withloud bluster, screaming as if each had a lump of melting sludge in histhroat, and taking good care to improve every opportunity afforded bythe darkness and confusion of the storm to steal from the acorn storesof the woodpeckers. One of the golden eagles made an impressive pictureas he stood bolt upright on the top of a tall pine-stump, braving thestorm, with his back to the wind and a tuft of snow piled on his broadshoulders, a monument of passive endurance. Thus every storm-bound birdseemed more or less uncomfortable, if not in distress. The storm wasreflected in every gesture, and not one cheerful note, not to say song, came from a single bill. Their cowering, joyless endurance offeredstriking contrasts to the spontaneous, irrepressible gladness of theouzel, who could no more help giving out sweet song than a rose sweetfragrance. He must sing, though the heavens fall. 

Chapter 10

The South Dome

With the exception of a few spires and pinnacles, the South Dome isthe only rock about the Valley that is strictly inaccessible withoutartificial means, and its inaccessibility is expressed in severe terms. Nevertheless many a mountaineer, gazing admiringly, tried hard toinvent a way to the top of its noble crown--all in vain, until in theyear 1875, George Anderson, an indomitable Scotchman, undertook theadventure. The side facing Tenaya Canyon is an absolutely verticalprecipice from the summit to a depth of about 1600 feet, and on theopposite side it is nearly vertical for about as great a depth. Thesouthwest side presents a very steep and finely drawn curve from the topdown a thousand feet or more, while on the northeast, where it is unitedwith the Clouds' Rest Ridge, one may easily reach a point called theSaddle, about seven hundred feet below the summit. From the Saddle theDome rises in a graceful curve a few degrees too steep for unaidedclimbing, besides being defended by overleaning ends of the concentricdome layers of the granite. 

A year or two before Anderson gained the summit, John Conway, the mastertrail-builder of the Valley, and his little sons, who climbed smoothrocks like lizards, made a bold effort to reach the top by climbingbarefooted up the grand curve with a rope which they fastened atirregular intervals by means of eye-bolts driven into joints of therock. But finding that the upper part would require laborious drilling, they abandoned the attempt, glad to escape from the dangerous positionthey had reached, some 300 feet above the Saddle. Anderson began withConway's old rope, which had been left in place, and resolutely drilledhis way to the top, inserting eye-bolts five to six feet apart, andmaking his rope fast to each in succession, resting his feet on thelast bolt while he drilled a hole for the next above. Occasionally someirregularity in the curve, or slight foothold, would enable him to climba few feet without a rope, which he would pass and begin drilling again, and thus the whole work was accomplished in a few days. From thisslender beginning he proposed to construct a substantial stairway whichhe hoped to complete in time for the next year's travel, but while busygetting out timber for his stairway and dreaming of the wealth he hopedto gain from tolls, he was taken sick and died all alone in his littlecabin. 

On the 10th of November, after returning from a visit to Mount Shasta, amonth or two after Anderson had gained the summit, I made haste to theDome, not only for the pleasure of climbing, but to see what I mightlearn. The first winter storm-clouds had blossomed and the mountains andall the high points about the Valley were mantled in fresh snow. I was, therefore, a little apprehensive of danger from the slipperiness of therope and the rock. Anderson himself tried to prevent me from makingthe attempt, refusing to believe that any one could climb his rope inthe now-muffled condition in which it then was. Moreover, the sky wasovercast and solemn snow-clouds began to curl around the summit, andmy late experiences on icy Shasta came to mind. But reflecting that Ihad matches in my pocket, and that a little firewood might be found, Iconcluded that in case of a storm the night could be spent on the Domewithout suffering anything worth minding, no matter what the cloudsmight bring forth. I therefore pushed on and gained the top. 

It was one of those brooding, changeful days that come between Indiansummer and winter, when the leaf colors have grown dim and the cloudscome and go among the cliffs like living creatures looking for work: nowhovering aloft, now caressing rugged rock-brows with great gentleness, or, wandering afar over the tops of the forests, touching the spires offir and pine with their soft silken fringes as if trying to tell theglad news of the coming of snow. 

The first view was perfectly glorious. A massive cloud of pure pearlluster, apparently as fixed and calm as the meadows and groves in theshadow beneath it, was arched across the Valley from wall to wall, oneend resting on the grand abutment of El Capitan, the other on CathedralRock. A little later, as I stood on the tremendous verge overlookingMirror Lake, a flock of smaller clouds, white as snow, came from thenorth, trailing their downy skirts over the dark forests, and enteredthe Valley with solemn god-like gestures through Indian Canyon and overthe North Dome and Royal Arches, moving swiftly, yet with majesticdeliberation. On they came, nearer and nearer, gathering and massingbeneath my feet and filling the Tenaya Canyon. Then the sun shone free, lighting the pearly gray surface of the cloud-like sea and making itglow. Gazing, admiring, I was startled to see for the first time therare optical phenomenon of the "Specter of the Brocken. " My shadow, clearly outlined, about half a mile long, lay upon this glorious whitesurface with startling effect. I walked back and forth, waved my armsand struck all sorts of attitudes, to see every slightest movementenormously exaggerated. Considering that I have looked down so manytimes from mountain tops on seas of all sorts of clouds, it seemsstrange that I should have seen the "Brocken Specter" only this once. A grander surface and a grander stand-point, however, could hardlyhave been found in all the Sierra. 

After this grand show the cloud-sea rose higher, wreathing the Dome, andfor a short time submerging it, making darkness like night, and I beganto think of looking for a camp ground in a cluster of dwarf pines. Butsoon the sun shone free again, the clouds, sinking lower and lower, gradually vanished, leaving the Valley with its Indian-summer colorsapparently refreshed, while to the eastward the summit-peaks, clad innew snow, towered along the horizon in glorious array. 

Though apparently it is perfectly bald, there are four clumps of pinesgrowing on the summit, representing three species, Pinus albicaulis, P. Contorta and P. Ponderosa, var. Jeffreyi--all three, of course, repressed and storm-beaten. The alpine spiraea grows here also andblossoms profusely with potentilla, erigeron, eriogonum, pentstemon, solidago, and an interesting species of onion, and four or five speciesof grasses and sedges. None of these differs in any respect from thoseof other summits of the same height, excepting the curious littlenarrow-leaved, waxen-bulbed onion, which I had not seen elsewhere. 

Notwithstanding the enthusiastic eagerness of tourists to reach thecrown of the Dome the views of the Valley from this lofty standpoint areless striking than from many other points comparatively low, chiefly onaccount of the foreshortening effect produced by looking down from sogreat a height. The North Dome is dwarfed almost beyond recognition, the grand sculpture of the Royal Arches is scarcely noticeable, and thewhole range of walls on both sides seem comparatively low, especiallywhen the Valley is flooded with noon sunshine; while the Dome itself, the most sublime feature of all the Yosemite views, is out of sightbeneath one's feet. The view of Little Yosemite Valley is very fine, though inferior to one obtained from the base of the Starr King Cone, but the summit landscapes towards Mounts Ritter, Lyell, Dana, Conness, and the Merced Group, are very effective and complete. 

No one has attempted to carry out Anderson's plan of making the Domeaccessible. For my part I should prefer leaving it in pure wildness, though, after all, no great damage could be done by tramping over it. The surface would be strewn with tin cans and bottles, but the wintergales would blow the rubbish away. Avalanches might strip off any sortof stairway or ladder that might be built. Blue jays and Clark's crowshave trodden the Dome for many a day, and so have beetles and chipmunks, and Tissiack would hardly be more "conquered" or spoiled should man beadded to her list of visitors. His louder scream and heavier scramblingwould not stir a line of her countenance. 

When the sublime ice-floods of the glacial period poured down the flankof the Range over what is now Yosemite Valley, they were compelled tobreak through a dam of domes extending across from Mount Starr King toNorth Dome; and as the period began to draw near a close the shallowingice-currents were divided and the South Dome was, perhaps, the first toemerge, burnished and shining like a mirror above the surface of the icysea; and though it has sustained the wear and tear of the elements tensof thousands of years, it yet remains a telling monument of the actionof the great glaciers that brought it to light. Its entire surface isstill covered with glacial hieroglyphics whose interpretation is thereward of all who devoutly study them. 

Chapter 11

The Ancient Yosemite Glaciers:How the Valley Was Formed

All California has been glaciated, the low plains and valleys as wellas the mountains. Traces of an ice-sheet, thousands of feet in thickness, beneath whose heavy folds the present landscapes have been molded, maybe found everywhere, though glaciers now exist only among the peaks ofthe High Sierra. No other mountain chain on this or any other of thecontinents that I have seen is so rich as the Sierra in bold, striking, well-preserved glacial monuments. Indeed, every feature is more orless tellingly glacial. Not a peak, ridge, dome, canyon, yosemite, lake-basin, stream or forest will you see that does not in some wayexplain the past existence and modes of action of flowing, grinding, sculpturing, soil-making, scenery-making ice. For, notwithstanding thepost-glacial agents--the air, rain, snow, frost, river, avalanche, etc. --have been at work upon the greater portion of the Range for tensof thousands of stormy years, each engraving its own characters moreand more deeply over those of the ice, the latter are so enduring andso heavily emphasized, they still rise in sublime relief, clear andlegible, through every after-inscription. The landscapes of NorthGreenland, Antarctica, and some of those of our own Alaska, are stillbeing fashioned beneath a slow-crawling mantle of ice, from a quarterof a mile to probably more than a mile in thickness, presenting nobleillustrations of the ancient condition of California, when its sublimescenery lay hidden in process of formation. On the Himalaya, themountains of Norway and Switzerland, the Caucasus, and on most of thoseof Alaska, their ice-mantle has been melted down into separate glaciersthat flow river-like through the valleys, illustrating a similar pastcondition in the Sierra, when every canyon and valley was the channelof an ice-stream, all of which may be easily traced back to theirfountains, where some sixty-five or seventy of their topmost residualbranches still linger beneath protecting mountain shadows. 

The change from one to another of those glacial conditions was slow aswe count time. When the great cycle of snow years, called the GlacialPeriod, was nearly complete in California, the ice-mantle, wasting fromseason to season faster than it was renewed, began to withdraw from thelowlands and gradually became shallower everywhere. Then the highestof the Sierra domes and dividing ridges, containing distinct glaciersbetween them, began to appear above the icy sea. These first river-likeglaciers remained united in one continuous sheet toward the summit ofthe Range for many centuries. But as the snow-fall diminished, and theclimate became milder, this upper part of the ice-sheet was also inturn separated into smaller distinct glaciers, and these again intostill smaller ones, while at the same time all were growing shorter andshallower, though fluctuations of the climate now and then occurredthat brought their receding ends to a standstill, or even enabled themto advance for a few tens or hundreds of years. 

Meanwhile, hardy, home-seeking plants and animals, after long waiting, flocked to their appointed places, pushing bravely on higher and higher, along every sun-warmed slope, closely following the retreating ice, which, like shreds of summer clouds, at length vanished from thenew-born mountains, leaving them in all their main, telling featuresnearly as we find them now. 

Tracing the ways of glaciers, learning how Nature sculpturesmountain-waves in making scenery-beauty that so mysteriously influencesevery human being, is glorious work. 

The most striking and attractive of the glacial phenomena in the upperYosemite region are the polished glacier pavements, because they are sobeautiful, and their beauty is of so rare a kind, so unlike any portionof the loose, deeply weathered lowlands where people make homes and earntheir bread. They are simply flat or gently undulating areas of hardresisting granite, which present the unchanged surface upon which withenormous pressure the ancient glaciers flowed. They are found in mostperfect condition in the subalpine region, at an elevation of from eightthousand to nine thousand feet. Some are miles in extent, only slightlyinterrupted by spots that have given way to the weather, while the bestpreserved portions reflect the sunbeams like calm water or glass, andshine as if polished afresh every day, notwithstanding they have beenexposed to corroding rains, dew, frost, and snow measureless thousandsof years. 

The attention of wandering hunters and prospectors, who see so manymountain wonders, is seldom commanded by other glacial phenomena, moraines however regular and artificial-looking, canyons however deepor strangely modeled, rocks however high; but when they come to theseshining pavements they stop and stare in wondering admiration, kneelagain and again to examine the brightest spots, and try hard to accountfor their mysterious shining smoothness. They may have seen the winteravalanches of snow descending in awful majesty through the woods, scouring the rocks and sweeping away like weeds the trees that stoodin their way, but conclude that this cannot be the work of avalanches, because the scratches and fine polished strife show that the agent, whatever it was, moved along the sides of high rocks and ridges and upover the tops of them as well as down their slopes. Neither can they seehow water may possibly have been the agent, for they find the samestrange polish upon ridges and domes thousands of feet above the reachof any conceivable flood. Of all the agents of whose work they knowanything, only the wind seems capable of moving across the face of thecountry in the directions indicated by the scratches and grooves. TheIndian name of Lake Tenaya is "Pyweak"--the lake of shining rocks. Oneof the Yosemite tribe, Indian Tom, came to me and asked if I could tellhim what had made the Tenaya rocks so smooth. Even dogs and horses, whenfirst led up the mountains, study geology to this extent that they gazewonderingly at the strange brightness of the ground and smell it, andplace their feet cautiously upon it as if afraid of falling or sinking. 

In the production of this admirable hard finish, the glaciers in manyplaces flowed with a pressure of more than a thousand tons to the squareyard, planing down granite, slate, and quartz alike, and bringing outthe veins and crystals of the rocks with beautiful distinctness. Overlarge areas below the sources of the Tuolumne and Merced the granite isporphyritic; feldspar crystals in inch or two in length in many placesform the greater part of the rock, and these, when planed off level withthe general surface, give rise to a beautiful mosaic on which the happysunbeams plash and glow in passionate enthusiasm. Here lie the brightestof all the Sierra landscapes. The Range both to the north and south ofthis region was, perhaps, glaciated about as heavily, but because therocks are less resisting, their polished surfaces have mostly given wayto the weather, leaving only small imperfect patches. The lower remnantsof the old glacial surface occur at an elevation of from 3000 to 5000feet above the sea level, and twenty to thirty miles below the axis ofthe Range. The short, steeply inclined canyons of the eastern flank alsocontain enduring, brilliantly striated and polished rocks, but these areless magnificent than those of the broad western flank. 

One of the best general views of the brightest and best of the Yosemitepark landscapes that every Yosemite tourist should see, is to be hadfrom the top of Fairview Dome, a lofty conoidal rock near Cathedral Peakthat long ago I named the Tuolumne Glacier Monument, one of the moststriking and best preserved of the domes. Its burnished crown is about1500 feet above the Tuolumne Meadows and 10, 000 above the sea. At firstsight it seems inaccessible, though a good climber will find it maybe scaled on the south side. About half-way up you will find it sosteep that there is danger of slipping, but feldspar crystals, two orthree inches long, of which the rock is full, having offered greaterresistance to atmospheric erosion than the mass of the rock in whichthey are imbedded, have been brought into slight relief in some places, roughening the surface here and there, and affording helping footholds. 

The summit is burnished and scored like the sides and base, thescratches and strife indicating that the mighty Tuolumne Glacier sweptover it as if it were only a mere boulder in the bottom of its channel. The pressure it withstood must have been enormous. Had it been lesssolidly built it would have been carried away, ground into morainefragments, like the adjacent rock in which it lay imbedded; for, greatas it is, it is only a hard residual knot like the Yosemite domes, brought into relief by the removal of less resisting rock about it;an illustration of the survival of the strongest and most favorablysituated. 

Hardly less wonderful is the resistance it has offered to the tryingmountain weather since first its crown rose above the icy sea. The wholequantity of post-glacial wear and tear it has suffered has not degradedit a hundredth of an inch, as may readily be shown by the polishedportions of the surface. A few erratic boulders, nicely poised on itscrown, tell an interesting story. They came from the summit-peaks twelvemiles away, drifting like chips on the frozen sea, and were strandedhere when the top of the monument merged from the ice, while theircompanions, whose positions chanced to be above the slopes of the sideswhere they could not find rest, were carried farther on by falling backon the shallowing ice current. 

The general view from the summit consists of a sublime assemblage ofice-born rocks and mountains, long wavering ridges, meadows, lakes, andforest-covered moraines, hundreds of square miles of them. The loftysummit-peaks rise grandly along the sky to the east, the gray pillaredslopes of the Hoffman Range toward the west, and a billowy sea ofshining rocks like the Monument, some of them almost as high and whichfrom their peculiar sculpture seem to be rolling westward in the middleground, something like breaking waves. Immediately beneath you are theBig Tuolumne Meadows, smooth lawns with large breadths of woods oneither side, and watered by the young Tuolumne River, rushing cool andclear from its many snow- and ice-fountains. Nearly all the upper partof the basin of the Tuolumne Glacier is in sight, one of the greatestand most influential of all the Sierra ice-rivers. Lavishly flooded bymany a noble affluent from the ice-laden flanks of Mounts Dana, Lyell, McClure, Gibbs, Conness, it poured its majestic outflowing current fullagainst the end of the Hoffman Range, which divided and deflected it toright and left, just as a river of water is divided against an islandin the middle of its channel. Two distinct glaciers were thus formed, one of which flowed through the great Tuolumne Canyon and Hetch HetchyValley, while the other swept upward in a deep current two miles wideacross the divide, five hundred feet high between the basins of theTuolumne and Merced, into the Tenaya Basin, and thence down through theTenaya Canyon and Yosemite. 

The map-like distinctness and freshness of this glacial landscape cannotfail to excite the attention of every beholder, no matter how little ofits scientific significance may be recognized. These bald, westward-leaning rocks, with their rounded backs and shoulders towardthe glacier fountains of the summit-mountains, and their split, angularfronts looking in the opposite direction, explain the tremendousgrinding force with which the ice-flood passed over them, and also thedirection of its flow. And the mountain peaks around the sides of theupper general Tuolumne Basin, with their sharp unglaciated summits andpolished rounded sides, indicate the height to which the glaciers rose;while the numerous moraines, curving and swaying in beautiful lines, mark the boundaries of the main trunk and its tributaries as theyexisted toward the close of the glacial winter. None of the commericalhighways of the land or sea, marked with buoys and lamps, fences, andguide-boards, is so unmistakably indicated as are these broad, shiningtrails of the vanished Tuolumne Glacier and its far-reachingtributaries. 

I should like now to offer some nearer views of a few characteristicspecimens of these wonderful old ice-streams, though it is not easy tomake a selection from so vast a system intimately inter-blended. Themain branches of the Merced Glacier are, perhaps, best suited to ourpurpose, because their basins, full of telling inscriptions, are theones most attractive and accessible to the Yosemite visitors who like tolook beyond the valley walls. They number five, and may well be calledYosemite glaciers, since they were the agents Nature used in developingand fashioning the grand Valley. The names I have given them are, beginning with the northern-most, Yosemite Creek, Hoffman, Tenaya, SouthLyell, and Illilouette Glaciers. These all converged in admirable poisearound from northeast to southeast, welded themselves together into themain Yosemite Glacier, which, grinding gradually deeper, swept downthrough the Valley, receiving small tributaries on its way from theIndian, Sentinel, and Pohono Canyons; and at length flowed out of theValley, and on down the Range in a general westerly direction. At thetime that the tributaries mentioned above were well defined as to theirboundaries, the upper portion of the valley walls, and the highest rocksabout them, such as the Domes, the uppermost of the Three Brothers andthe Sentinel, rose above the surface of the ice. But during the Valley'searlier history, all its rocks, however lofty, were buried beneath acontinuous sheet, which swept on above and about them like the wind, theupper portion of the current flowing steadily, while the lower portionwent mazing and swedging down in the crooked and dome-blocked canyonstoward the head of the Valley. 

Every glacier of the Sierra fluctuated in width and depth and length, and consequently in degree of individuality, down to the latestglacial days. It must, therefore, be borne in mind that the followingdescription of the Yosemite glaciers applies only to their separatecondition, and to that phase of their separate condition that theypresented toward the close of the glacial period after most of theirwork was finished, and all the more telling features of the Valley andthe adjacent region were brought into relief. 

The comparatively level, many-fountained Yosemite Creek Glacier wasabout fourteen miles in length by four or five in width, and from fivehundred to a thousand feet deep. Its principal tributaries, drawingtheir sources from the northern spurs of the Hoffman Range, at firstpursued a westerly course; then, uniting with each other, and a seriesof short affluents from the western rim of the basin, the trunk thusformed swept around to the southward in a magnificent curve, and pouredits ice over the north wall of Yosemite in cascades about two mileswide. This broad and comparatively shallow glacier formed a sort ofcrawling, wrinkled ice-cloud, that gradually became more regular inshape and river-like as it grew older. Encircling peaks began toovershadow its highest fountains, rock islets rose here and there amidits ebbing currents, and its picturesque banks, adorned with domes andround-backed ridges, extended in massive grandeur down to the brink ofthe Yosemite walls. 

In the meantime the chief Hoffman tributaries, slowly receding to theshelter of the shadows covering their fountains, continued to live andwork independently, spreading soil, deepening lake-basins and givingfinishing touches to the sculpture in general. At length these alsovanished, and the whole basin is now full of light. Forests flourishluxuriantly upon its ample moraines, lakes and meadows shine and bloomamid its polished domes, and a thousand gardens adorn the banks of itsstreams. 

It is to the great width and even slope of the Yosemite Creek Glacierthat we owe the unrivaled height and sheerness of the Yosemite Falls. For had the positions of the ice-fountains and the structure of therocks been such as to cause down-thrusting concentration of the Glacieras it approached the Valley, then, instead of a high vertical fall weshould have had a long slanting cascade, which after all would perhapshave been as beautiful and interesting, if we only had a mind to seeit so. 

The short, comparatively swift-flowing Hoffman Glacier, whose fountainsextend along the south slopes of the Hoffman Range, offered a strikingcontrast to the one just described. The erosive energy of the latter wasdiffused over a wide field of sunken, boulder-like domes and ridges. TheHoffman Glacier, on the contrary moved right ahead on a comparativelyeven surface, making descent of nearly five thousand feet in five miles, steadily contracting and deepening its current, and finally united withthe Tenaya Glacier as one of its most influential tributaries in thedevelopment and sculpture of the great Half Dome, North Dome and therocks adjacent to them about the head of the Valley. 

The story of its death is not unlike that of its companion alreadydescribed, though the declivity of its channel, and its uniform exposureto sun-heat prevented any considerable portion of its current frombecoming torpid, lingering only well up on the Mountain slopes to finishtheir sculpture and encircle them with a zone of moraine soil forforests and gardens. Nowhere in all this wonderful region will you findmore beautiful trees and shrubs and flowers covering the traces of ice. 

The rugged Tenaya Glacier wildly crevassed here and there above theridges it had to cross, instead of drawing its sources direct from thesummit of the Range, formed, as we have seen, one of the outlets of thegreat Tuolumne Glacier, issuing from this noble fountain like a riverfrom a lake, two miles wide, about fourteen miles long, and from 1500to 2000 feet deep. 

In leaving the Tuolumne region it crossed over the divide, as mentionedabove, between the Tuolumne and Tenaya basins, making an ascent of fivehundred feet. Hence, after contracting its wide current and receivinga strong affluent from the fountains about Cathedral Peak, it pouredits massive flood over the northeastern rim of its basin in splendidcascades. Then, crushing heavily against the Clouds' Rest Ridge, it boredown upon the Yosemite domes with concentrated energy. 

Toward the end of the ice period, while its Hoffman companion continuedto grind rock-meal for coming plants, the main trunk became torpid, and vanished, exposing wide areas of rolling rock-waves and glisteningpavements, on whose channelless surface water ran wild and free. Andbecause the trunk vanished almost simultaneously throughout its wholeextent, no terminal moraines are found in its canyon channel; nor, sinceits walls are, in most places, too steeply inclined to admit of thedeposition of moraine matter, do we find much of the two main laterals. The lowest of its residual glaciers lingered beneath the shadow of theYosemite Half Dome; others along the base of Coliseum Peak above LakeTenaya and along the precipitous wall extending from the lake to theBig Tuolumne Meadows. The latter, on account of the uniformity andcontinuity of their protecting shadows, formed moraines of considerablelength and regularity that are liable to be mistaken for portions ofthe left lateral of the Tuolumne tributary glacier. 

Spend all the time you can spare or steal on the tracks of this grandold glacier, charmed and enchanted by its magnificent canyon, lakes andcascades and resplendent glacier pavements. 

The Nevada Glacier was longer and more symmetrical than the last, andthe only one of the Merced system whose sources extended directly backto the main summits on the axis of the Range. Its numerous fountainswere ranged side by side in three series, at an elevation of from 10, 000to 12, 000 feet above the sea. The first, on the right side of the basin, extended from the Matterhorn to Cathedral Peak; that on the left throughthe Merced group, and these two parallel series were united by a thirdthat extended around the head of the basin in a direction at rightangles to the others. 

The three ranges of high peaks and ridges that supplied the snow forthese fountains, together with the Clouds' Rest Ridge, nearly inclose arectangular basin, that was filled with a massive sea of ice, leavingan outlet toward the west through which flowed the main trunk glacier, three-fourths of a mile to a mile and a half wide, fifteen miles long, and from 1000 to 1500 feet deep, and entered Yosemite between the HalfDome and Mount Starr King. 

Could we have visited Yosemite Valley at this period of its history, weshould have found its ice cascades vastly more glorious than their tinywater representatives of the present day. One of the grandest of thesewas formed by that portion of the Nevada Glacier that poured over theshoulder of the Half Dome. 

This glacier, as a whole, resembled an oak, with a gnarled swelling baseand wide-spreading branches. Picturesque rocks of every conceivable formadorned its banks, among which glided the numerous tributaries, mottledwith black and red and gray boulders, from the fountain peaks, whileever and anon, as the deliberate centuries passed away, dome after domeraised its burnished crown above the ice-flood to enrich the slowlyopening landscapes. 

The principal moraines occur in short irregular sections along the sidesof the canyons, their fragmentary condition being due to interruptionscaused by portions of the sides of the canyon walls being too steep formoraine matter to lie on, and to down-sweeping torrents and avalanches. The left lateral of the trunk may be traced about five miles from themouth of the first main tributary to the Illilouette Canyon. Thecorresponding section of the right lateral, extending from Cathedraltributary to the Half Dome, is more complete because of the morefavorable character of the north side of the canyon. A shortside-glacier came in against it from the slopes of Clouds' Rest; butbeing fully exposed to the sun, it was melted long before the maintrunk, allowing the latter to deposit this portion of its moraineundisturbed. Some conception of the size and appearance of this finemoraine may be gained by following the Clouds' Rest trail from Yosemite, which crosses it obliquely and conducts past several sections made bystreams. Slate boulders may be seen that must have come from the Lyellgroup, twelve miles distant. But the bulk of the moraine is composedof porphyritic granite derived from Feldspar and Cathedral Valleys. 

On the sides of the moraines we find a series of terraces, indicatingfluctuations in the level of the glacier, caused by variations ofsnow-fall, temperature, etc. , showing that the climate of the glacialperiod was diversified by cycles of milder or stormier seasons similarto those of post-glacial time. 

After the depth of the main trunk diminished to about five hundred feet, the greater portion became torpid, as is shown by the moraines, andlay dying in its crooked channel like a wounded snake, maintaining fora time a feeble squirming motion in places of exceptional depth, orwhere the bottom of the canyon was more steeply inclined. The numerousfountain-wombs, however, continued fruitful long after the trunk hadvanished, giving rise to an imposing array of short residual glaciers, extending around the rim of the general basin a distance of nearlytwenty-four miles. Most of these have but recently succumbed to the newclimate, dying in turn as determined by elevation, size, and exposure, leaving only a few feeble survivors beneath the coolest shadows, whichare now slowly completing the sculpture of one of the noblest of theYosemite basins. 

The comparatively shallow glacier that at this time filled theIllilouette Basin, though once far from shallow, more resembled a lakethan a river of ice, being nearly half as wide as it was long. Itsgreatest length was about ten miles, and its depth perhaps nowhere muchexceeded 1000 feet. Its chief fountains, ranged along the west side ofthe Merced group, at an elevation of about 10, 000 feet, gave birth tofine tributaries that flowed in a westerly direction, and united in thecenter of the basin. The broad trunk at first poured northwestward, thencurved to the northward, deflected by the lofty wall forming its westernbank, and finally united with the grand Yosemite trunk, opposite GlacierPoint. 

All the phenomena relating to glacial action in this basin areremarkably simple and orderly, on account of the sheltered positionsoccupied by its ice-fountains, with reference to the disturbing effectsof larger glaciers from the axis of the main Range earlier in theperiod. From the eastern base of the Starr King cone you may obtaina fine view of the principal moraines sweeping grandly out into themiddle of the basin from the shoulders of the peaks, between which theice-fountains lay. The right lateral of the tributary, which took itsrise between Red and Merced Mountains, measures two hundred and fiftyfeet in height at its upper extremity, and displays three well-definedterraces, similar to those of the south Lyell Glacier. The comparativesmoothness of the upper-most terrace shows that it is considerably moreancient than the others, many of the boulders of which it is composedhaving crumbled. A few miles to the westward, this moraine has anaverage slope of twenty-seven degrees, and an elevation above the bottomof the channel of six hundred and sixty feet. Near the middle of themain basin, just where the regularly formed medial and lateral morainesflatten out and disappear, there is a remarkably smooth field of gravel, planted with arctostaphylos, that looks at the distance of a mile likea delightful meadow. Stream sections show the gravel deposit to becomposed of the same material as the moraines, but finer, and morewater-worn from the action of converging torrents issuing from thetributary glaciers after the trunk was melted. The southern boundary ofthe basin is a strikingly perfect wall, gray on the top, and white downthe sides and at the base with snow, in which many a crystal brook takesrise. The northern boundary is made up of smooth undulating masses ofgray granite, that lift here and there into beautiful domes of whichthe Starr King cluster is the finest, while on the east tower of themajestic fountain-peaks with wide canyons and neve amphitheaters betweenthem, whose variegated rocks show out gloriously against the sky. 

The ice-plows of this charming basin, ranged side by side in orderlygangs, furrowed the rocks with admirable uniformity, producingirrigating channels for a brood of wild streams, and abundance of richsoil adapted to every requirement of garden and grove. No other sectionof the Yosemite uplands is in so perfect a state of glacial cultivation. Its domes and peaks, and swelling rock-waves, however majestic inthemselves, and yet submissively subordinate to the garden center. Theother basins we have been describing are combinations of sculpturedrocks, embellished with gardens and groves; the Illilouette is one grandgarden and forest, embellished with rocks, each of the five beautifulin its own way, and all as harmoniously related as are the five petalsof a flower. After uniting in the Yosemite Valley, and expending thedown-thrusting energy derived from their combined weight and thedeclivity of their channels, the grand trunk flowed on through and outof the Valley. In effecting its exit a considerable ascent was made, traces of which may still be seen on the abraded rocks at the lower endof the Valley, while the direction pursued after leaving the Valley issurely indicated by the immense lateral moraines extending from theends of the walls at an elevation of from 1500 to 1800 feet. The rightlateral moraine was disturbed by a large tributary glacier that occupiedthe basin of Cascade Creek, causing considerable complication in itsstructure. The left is simple in form for several miles of its length, or to the point where a tributary came in from the southeast. But bothare greatly obscured by the forests and underbrush growing upon them, and by the denuding action of rains and melting snows, etc. It is, therefore, the less to be wondered at that these moraines, made up ofmaterial derived from the distant fountain-mountains, and from theValley itself, were not sooner recognized. 

The ancient glacier systems of the Tuolumne, San Joaquin, Kern, andKings River Basins were developed on a still grander scale and are soreplete with interest that the most sketchy outline descriptions ofeach, with the works they have accomplished would fill many a volume. Therefore I can do but little more than invite everybody who is freeto go and see for himself. 

The action of flowing ice, whether in the form of river-like glaciers orbroad mantles, especially the part it played in sculpturing the earth, is as yet but little understood. Water rivers work openly where peopledwell, and so does the rain, and the sea, thundering on all the shoresof the world; and the universal ocean of air, though invisible, speaksaloud in a thousand voices, and explains its modes of working and itspower. But glaciers, back in their white solitudes, work apart from men, exerting their tremendous energies in silence and darkness. Outspread, spirit-like, they brood above the predestined landscapes, work onunwearied through immeasurable ages, until, in the fullness of time, themountains and valleys are brought forth, channels furrowed for rivers, basins made for lakes and meadows, and arms of the sea, soils spread forforests and fields; then they shrink and vanish like summer clouds. 

Chapter 12

How Best to Spend One's Yosemite Time

One-Day Excursions

No. 1. 

If I were so time-poor as to have only one day to spend in Yosemite Ishould start at daybreak, say at three o'clock in midsummer, with apocketful of any sort of dry breakfast stuff, for Glacier Point, Sentinel Dome, the head of Illilouette Fall, Nevada Fall, the top ofLiberty Cap, Vernal Fall and the wild boulder-choked River Canyon. Thetrail leaves the Valley at the base of the Sentinel Rock, and asyou slowly saunter from point to point along its many accommodatingzigzags nearly all the Valley rocks and falls are seen in striking, ever-changing combinations. At an elevation of about five hundred feet aparticularly fine, wide-sweeping view down the Valley is obtained, pastthe sheer face of the Sentinel and between the Cathedral Rocks andEl Capitan. At a height of about 1500 feet the great Half Dome comesfull in sight, overshadowing every other feature of the Valley to theeastward. From Glacier Point you look down 3000 feet over the edge ofits sheer face to the meadows and groves and innumerable yellow pinespires, with the meandering river sparkling and spangling through themidst of them. Across the Valley a great telling view is presented ofthe Royal Arches, North Dome, Indian Canyon, Three Brothers and ElCapitan, with the dome-paved basin of Yosemite Creek and Mount Hoffmanin the background. To the eastward, the Half Dome close beside youlooking higher and more wonderful than ever; southeastward the StarrKing, girdled with silver firs, and the spacious garden-like basin ofthe Illilouette and its deeply sculptured fountain-peaks, called "TheMerced Group"; and beyond all, marshaled along the eastern horizon, theicy summits on the axis of the Range and broad swaths of forests growingon ancient moraines, while the Nevada, Vernal and Yosemite Falls arenot only full in sight but are distinctly heard as if one were standingbeside them in their spray. 

The views from the summit of Sentinel Dome are still more extensiveand telling. Eastward the crowds of peaks at the head of the Merced, Tuolumne and San Joaquin Rivers are presented in bewildering array;westward, the vast forests, yellow foothills and the broad San Joaquinplains and the Coast Ranges, hazy and dim in the distance. 

From Glacier Point go down the trail into the lower end of theIllilouette basin, cross Illilouette Creek and follow it to the Fallwhere from an outjutting rock at its head you will get a fine view ofits rejoicing waters and wild canyon and the Half Dome. Thence returningto the trail, follow it to the head of the Nevada Fall. Linger here anhour or two, for not only have you glorious views of the wonderful fall, but of its wild, leaping, exulting rapids and, greater than all, thestupendous scenery into the heart of which the white passionate rivergoes wildly thundering, surpassing everything of its kind in the world. After an unmeasured hour or so of this glory, all your body aglow, nervecurrents flashing through you never before felt, go to the top of theLiberty Cap, only a glad saunter now that your legs as well as headand heart are awake and rejoicing with everything. The Liberty Cap, acompanion of the Half Dome, is sheer and inaccessible on three of itssides but on the east a gentle, ice-burnished, juniper-dotted slopeextends to the summit where other wonderful views are displayed whereall are wonderful: the south side and shoulders of Half Dome and Clouds'Rest, the beautiful Little Yosemite Valley and its many domes, the StarrKing cluster of domes, Sentinel Dome, Glacier Point, and, perhaps themost tremendously impressive of all, the views of the hopper-shapedcanyon of the river from the head of the Nevada Fall to the head ofthe Valley. 

Returning to the trail you descend between the Nevada Fall and theLiberty Cap with fine side views of both the fall and the rock, passon through clouds of spray and along the rapids to the head of theVernal Fall, about a mile below the Nevada. Linger here if night isstill distant, for views of this favorite fall and the stupendous rockscenery about it. Then descend a stairway by its side, follow a dimtrail through its spray, and a plain one along the border of theboulder-dashed rapids and so back to the wide, tranquil Valley. 

One-Day Excursions

No. 2. 

Another grand one-day excursion is to the Upper Yosemite Fall, thetop of the highest of the Three Brothers, called Eagle Peak on theGeological Survey maps; the brow of El Capitan; the head of the RibbonFall; across the beautiful Ribbon Creek Basin; and back to the Valleyby the Big Oak Flat wagon-road. 

The trail leaves the Valley on the east side of the largest of theearthquake taluses immediately opposite the Sentinel Rock and as itpasses within a few rods of the foot of the great fall, magnificentviews are obtained as you approach it and pass through its spray, thoughwhen the snow is melting fast you will be well drenched. From the footof the Fall the trail zigzags up a narrow canyon between the fall and aplain mural cliff that is burnished here and there by glacial action. 

You should stop a while on a flat iron-fenced rock a little below thehead of the fall beside the enthusiastic throng of starry comet-likewaters to learn something of their strength, their marvelous variety offorms, and above all, their glorious music, gathered and composed fromthe snow-storms, hail-, rain- and wind-storms that have fallen on theirglacier-sculptured, domey, ridgy basin. Refreshed and exhilarated, you follow your trail-way through silver fir and pine woods to EaglePeak, where the most comprehensive of all the views to be had on thenorth-wall heights are displayed. After an hour or two of gazing, dreaming, studying the tremendous topography, etc. , trace the rim ofthe Valley to the grand El Capitan ridge and go down to its brow, whereyou will gain everlasting impressions of Nature's steadfastness andpower combined with ineffable fineness of beauty. 

Dragging yourself away, go to the head of the Ribbon Fall, thence acrossthe beautiful Ribbon Creek Basin to the Big Oak Flat stage-road, anddown its fine grades to the Valley, enjoying glorious Yosemite sceneryall the way to the foot of El Capitan and your camp. 

Two-Day Excursions

No. 1. 

For a two-day trip I would go straight to Mount Hoffman, spend the nighton the summit, next morning go down by May Lake to Tenaya Lake andreturn to the Valley by Cloud's Rest and the Nevada and Vernal Falls. Ason the foregoing excursion, you leave the Valley by the Yosemite Fallstrail and follow it to the Tioga wagon-road, a short distance east ofPorcupine Flat. From that point push straight up to the summit. MountHoffman is a mass of gray granite that rises almost in the center of theYosemite Park, about eight or ten miles in a straight line from theValley. Its southern slopes are low and easily climbed, and adorned hereand there with castle-like crumbling piles and long jagged crests thatlook like artificial masonry; but on the north side it is abruptlyprecipitous and banked with lasting snow. Most of the broad summitis comparatively level and thick sown with crystals, quartz, mica, hornblende, feldspar, granite, zircon, tourmaline, etc. , weathered outand strewn closely and loosely as if they had been sown broadcast. Theirradiance is fairly dazzling in sunlight, almost hiding the multitude ofsmall flowers that grow among them. At first sight only these radiantcrystals are likely to be noticed, but looking closely you discover amultitude of very small gilias, phloxes, mimulus, etc. , many of themwith more petals than leaves. On the borders of little streams largerplants flourish--lupines, daisies, asters, goldenrods, hairbell, mountain columbine, potentilla, astragalus and a few gentians; withcharming heathworts--bryanthus, cassiope, kalmia, vaccinium inboulder-fringing rings or bank covers. You saunter among the crystalsand flowers as if you were walking among stars. From the summit nearlyall the Yosemite Park is displayed like a map: forests, lakes, meadows, and snowy peaks. Northward lies Yosemite's wide basin with its domes andsmall lakes, shining like larger crystals; eastward the rocky, meadowyTuolumne region, bounded by its snowy peaks in glorious array; southwardYosemite and westward the vast forest. On no other Yosemite Parkmountain are you more likely to linger. You will find it a magnificentsky camp. Clumps of dwarf pine and mountain hemlock will furnish resinroots and branches for fuel and light, and the rills, sparkling water. Thousands of the little plant people will gaze at your camp-fire withthe crystals and stars, companions and guardians as you lie at rest inthe heart of the vast serene night. 

The most telling of all the wide Hoffman views is the basin of theTuolumne with its meadows, forests and hundreds of smooth rock-wavesthat appear to be coming rolling on towards you like high heaving wavesready to break, and beyond these the great mountains. But best of allare the dawn and the sunrise. No mountain top could be better placed forthis most glorious of mountain views--to watch and see the deepeningcolors of the dawn and the sunbeams streaming through the snowy HighSierra passes, awakening the lakes and crystals, the chilled plantpeople and winged people, and making everything shine and sing inpure glory. 

With your heart aglow, spangling Lake Tenaya and Lake May will beckonyou away for walks on their ice-burnished shores. Leave Tenaya at thewest end, cross to the south side of the outlet, and gradually workyour way up in an almost straight south direction to the summit of thedivide between Tenaya Creek and the main upper Merced River or NevadaCreek and follow the divide to Clouds Rest. After a glorious view fromthe crest of this lofty granite wave you will find a trail on itswestern end that will lead you down past Nevada and Vernal Falls to theValley in good time, provided you left your Hoffman sky camp early. 

Two-Day Excursions

No. 2. 

Another grand two-day excursion is the same as the first of the one-daytrips, as far as the head of Illilouette Fall. From there trace thebeautiful stream up through the heart of its magnificent forests andgardens to the canyons between the Red and Merced Peaks, and pass thenight where I camped forty-one years ago. Early next morning visitthe small glacier on the north side of Merced Peak, the first of thesixty-five that I discovered in the Sierra. 

Glacial phenomena in the Illilouette Basin are on the grandest scale, and in the course of my explorations I found that the canyon andmoraines between the Merced and Red Mountains were the most interestingof them all. The path of the vanished glacier shone in many places asif washed with silver, and pushing up the canyon on this bright roadI passed lake after lake in solid basins of granite and many a meadowalong the canyon stream that links them together. The main lateralmoraines that bound the view below the canyon are from a hundred tonearly two hundred feet high and wonderfully regular, like artificialembankments covered with a magnificent growth of silver fir and pine. But this garden and forest luxuriance is speedily left behind, andpatches of bryanthus, cassiope and arctic willows begin to appear. Thesmall lakes which a few miles down the Valley are so richly borderedwith flowery meadows have at an elevation of 10, 000 feet only smallbrown mats of carex, leaving bare rocks around more than half theirshores. Yet, strange to say, amid all this arctic repression themountain pine on ledges and buttresses of Red Mountain seems to find theclimate best suited to it. Some specimens that I measured were over ahundred feet high and twenty-four feet in circumference, showing hardlya trace of severe storms, looking as fresh and vigorous as the giants ofthe lower zones. Evening came on just as I got fairly into the maincanyon. It is about a mile wide and a little less than two miles long. The crumbling spurs of Red Mountain bound it on the north, the sombercliffs of Merced Mountain on the south and a deeply-serrated, splinteredridge curving around from mountain to mountain shuts it in on the east. My camp was on the brink of one of the lakes in a thicket of mountainhemlock, partly sheltered from the wind. Early next morning I set out totrace the ancient glacier to its head. Passing around the north shore ofmy camp lake I followed the main stream from one lakelet to another. Thedwarf pines and hemlocks disappeared and the stream was bordered withicicles. The main lateral moraines that extend from the mouth of thecanyon are continued in straggling masses along the walls. Tracing thestreams back to the highest of its little lakes, I noticed a deposit offine gray mud, something like the mud corn from a grindstone. Thissuggested its glacial origin, for the stream that was carrying it issuedfrom a raw-looking moraine that seemed to be in process of formation. It is from sixty to over a hundred feet high in front, with a slope ofabout thirty-eight degrees. Climbing to the top of it, I discovered avery small but well-characterized glacier swooping down from the shadowycliffs of the mountain to its terminal moraine. The ice appeared on allthe lower portion of the glacier; farther up it was covered with snow. The uppermost crevasse or "bergeschrund" was from twelve to fourteenfeet wide. The melting snow and ice formed a network of rills that rangracefully down the surface of the glacier, merrily singing in theirshining channels. After this discovery I made excursions over all theHigh Sierra and discovered that what at first sight looked likesnowfields were in great part glaciers which were completing thesculpture of the summit peaks. 

Rising early, --which will be easy, as your bed will be rather cold andyou will not be able to sleep much anyhow, --after visiting the glacier, climb the Red Mountain and enjoy the magnificent views from the summit. I counted forty lakes from one standpoint an this mountain, and theviews to the westward over the Illilouette Basin, the most superblyforested of all the basins whose waters rain into Yosemite, and those ofthe Yosemite rocks, especially the Half Dome and the upper part of thenorth wall, are very fine. But, of course, far the most imposing view isthe vast array of snowy peaks along the axis of the Range. Then from thetop of this peak, light and free and exhilarated with mountain air andmountain beauty, you should run lightly down the northern slope of themountain, descend the canyon between Red and Gray Mountains, thencenorthward along the bases of Gray Mountain and Mount Clark and go downinto the head of Little Yosemite, and thence down past the Nevada andVernal Falls to the Valley, a truly glorious two-day trip!

A Three-Day Excursion

The best three-day excursion, as far as I can see, is the same as thefirst of the two-day trips until you reach Lake Tenaya. There instead ofreturning to the Valley, follow the Tioga road around the northwest sideof the lake, over to the Tuolumne Meadows and up to the west base ofMount Dana. Leave the road there and make straight for the highest pointon the timber line between Mounts Dana and Gibbs and camp there. 

On the morning of the third day go to the top of Mount Dana in time forthe glory of the dawn and the sunrise over the gray Mono Desert and thesublime forest of High Sierra peaks. When you leave the mountain go farenough down the north side for a view of the Dana Glacier, then makeyour way back to the Tioga road, follow it along the Tuolumne Meadowsto the crossing of Budd Creek where you will find the Sunrise trailbranching off up the mountain-side through the forest in a southwesterlydirection past the west side of Cathedral Peak, which will lead you downto the Valley by the Vernal and Nevada Falls. If you are a good walkeryou can leave the trail where it begins to descend a steep slope in thesilver fir woods, and bear off to the right and make straight for thetop of Clouds' Rest. The walking is good and almost level and from thewest end of Clouds' Rest take the Clouds' Rest Trail which will leaddirect to the Valley by the Nevada and Vernal Falls. To any one notdesperately time-poor this trip should have four days instead of three;camping the second night at the Soda Springs; thence to Mount Dana andreturn to the Soda Springs, camping the third night there; thence bythe Sunrise trail to Cathedral Peak, visiting the beautiful Cathedrallake which lies about a mile to the west of Cathedral Peak, eating yourluncheon, and thence to Clouds' Rest and the Valley as above. This is oneof the most interesting of all the comparatively short trips that can bemade in the whole Yosemite region. Not only do you see all the grandestof the Yosemite rocks and waterfalls and the High Sierra with theirglaciers, glacier lakes and glacier meadows, etc. , but sections of themagnificent silver fir, two-leaved pine, and dwarf pine zones; with theprincipal alpine flowers and shrubs, especially sods of dwarf vacciniumcovered with flowers and fruit though less than an inch high, broad matsof dwarf willow scarce an inch high with catkins that rise straight fromthe ground, and glorious beds of blue gentians, --grandeur enough andbeauty enough for a lifetime. 

The Upper Tuolumne Excursion

We come now to the grandest of all the Yosemite excursions, one thatrequires at least two or three weeks. The best time to make it is fromabout the middle of July. The visitor entering the Yosemite in July hasthe advantage of seeing the falls not, perhaps, in their very floodprime but next thing to it; while the glacier-meadows will be in theirglory and the snow on the mountains will be firm enough to make climbingsafe. Long ago I made these Sierra trips, carrying only a sackful ofbread with a little tea and sugar and was thus independent and free, butnow that trails or carriage roads lead out of the Valley in almost everydirection it is easy to take a pack animal, so that the luxury of ablanket and a supply of food can easily be had. 

The best way to leave the Valley will be by the Yosemite Fall trail, camping the first night on the Tioga road opposite the east end of theHoffman Range. Next morning climb Mount Hoffman; thence push on pastTenaya Lake into the Tuolumne Meadows and establish a central campnear the Soda Springs, from which glorious excursions can be made atyour leisure. For here in this upper Tuolumne Valley is the widest, smoothest, most serenely spacious, and in every way the most delightfulsummer pleasure-park in all the High Sierra. And since it is connectedwith Yosemite by two good trails, and a fairly good carriage roadthat passes between Yosemite and Mount Hoffman, it is also the mostaccessible. It is in the heart of the High Sierra east of Yosemite, 8500to 9000 feet above the level of the sea. The gray, picturesque CathedralRange bounds it on the south; a similar range or spur, the highest peakof which is Mount Conness, on the north; the noble Mounts Dana, Gibbs, Mammoth, Lyell, McClure and others on the axis of the Range on the east;a heaving, billowing crowd of glacier-polished rocks and Mount Hoffmanon the west. Down through the open sunny meadow-levels of the Valleyflows the Tuolumne River, fresh and cool from its many glacialfountains, the highest of which are the glaciers that lie on the northsides of Mount Lyell and Mount McClure. 

Along the river a series of beautiful glacier-meadows extend with butlittle interruption, from the lower end of the Valley to its head, adistance of about twelve miles, forming charming sauntering-grounds fromwhich the glorious mountains may be enjoyed as they look down in divineserenity over the dark forests that clothe their bases. Narrow strips ofpine woods cross the meadow-carpet from side to side, and it is somewhatroughened here and there by moraine boulders and dead trees brought downfrom the heights by snow avalanches; but for miles and miles it is sosmooth and level that a hundred horsemen may ride abreast over it. 

The main lower portion of the meadows is about four miles long and froma quarter to half a mile wide, but the width of the Valley is, on anaverage, about eight miles. Tracing the river, we find that it forks amile above the Soda Springs, the main fork turning southward to MountLyell, the other eastward to Mount Dana and Mount Gibbs. Along bothforks strips of meadow extend almost to their heads. The most beautifulportions of the meadows are spread over lake basins, which have beenfilled up by deposits from the river. A few of these river-lakes stillexist, but they are now shallow and are rapidly approaching extinction. The sod in most places is exceedingly fine and silky and free from weedsand bushes; while charming flowers abound, especially gentians, dwarfdaisies, potentillas, and the pink bells of dwarf vaccinium. On thebanks of the river and its tributaries cassiope and bryanthus may befound, where the sod curls over stream banks and around boulders. Theprincipal grass of these meadows is a delicate calamagrostis with veryslender filiform leaves, and when it is in flower the ground seems tobe covered with a faint purple mist, the stems of the panicles being sofine that they are almost invisible, and offer no appreciable resistancein walking through them. Along the edges of the meadows beneath thepines and throughout the greater part of the Valley tall ribbon-leavedgrasses grow in abundance, chiefly bromus, triticum and agrostis. 

In October the nights are frosty, and then the meadows at sunrise, whenevery leaf is laden with crystals, are a fine sight. The days are stillwarm and calm, and bees and butterflies continue to waver and hum aboutthe late-blooming flowers until the coming of the snow, usually inNovember. Storm then follows storm in quick succession, burying themeadows to a depth of from ten to twenty feet, while magnificentavalanches descend through the forests from the laden heights, depositing huge piles of snow mixed with uprooted trees and boulders. Inthe open sunshine the snow usually lasts until the end of June but thenew season's vegetation is not generally in bloom until late in July. Perhaps the best all round excursion-time after winters of averagesnowfall is from the middle of July to the middle or end of August. Thesnow is then melted from the woods and southern slopes of the mountainsand the meadows and gardens are in their glory, while the weather ismostly all-reviving, exhilarating sunshine. The few clouds that rise nowand then and the showers they yield are only enough to keep everythingfresh and fragrant. 

The groves about the Soda Springs are favorite camping-grounds onaccount of the cold, pleasant-tasting water charged with carbonic acid, and because of the views of the mountains across the meadow--the GlacierMonument, Cathedral Peak, Cathedral Spires, Unicorn Peak and a series ofornamental nameless companions, rising in striking forms and nearnessabove a dense forest growing on the left lateral moraine of the ancientTuolumne glacier, which, broad, deep, and far-reaching, exerted vastinfluence on the scenery of this portion of the Sierra. But there arefine camping-grounds all along the meadows, and one may move from groveto grove every day all summer, enjoying new homes and new beauty tosatisfy every roving desire for change. 

There are five main capital excursions to be made from here--to thesummits of Mounts Dana, Lyell and Conness, and through the Bloody CanyonPass to Mono Lake and the volcanoes, and down the Tuolumne Canyon, atleast as far as the foot of the wonderful series of river cataracts. All of these excursions are sure to be made memorable with joyfulhealth-giving experiences; but perhaps none of them will be rememberedwith keener delight than the days spent in sauntering on the broadvelvet lawns by the river, sharing the sky with the mountains and trees, gaining something of their strength and peace. 

The excursion to the top of Mount Dana is a very easy one; for thoughthe mountain is 13, 000 feet high, the ascent from the west side is sogentle and smooth that one may ride a mule to the very summit. Acrossmany a busy stream, from meadow to meadow, lies your flowery way;mountains all about you, few of them hidden by irregular foregrounds. Gradually ascending, other mountains come in sight, peak rising abovepeak with their snow and ice in endless variety of grouping andsculpture. Now your attention is turned to the moraines, sweeping inbeautiful curves from the hollows and canyons, now to the granite wavesand pavements rising here and there above the heathy sod, polished athousand years ago and still shining. Towards the base of the mountainyou note the dwarfing of the trees, until at a height of about 11, 000feet you find patches of the tough, white-barked pine, pressed so flatby the ten or twenty feet of snow piled upon them every winter forcenturies that you may walk over them as if walking on a shaggy rug. And, if curious about such things, you may discover specimens of thishardy tree-mountaineer not more than four feet high and about as manyinches in diameter at the ground, that are from two hundred to fourhundred years old, still holding bravely to life, making the most oftheir slender summers, shaking their tasseled needles in the breezeright cheerily, drinking the thin sunshine and maturing their finepurple cones as if they meant to live forever. The general view from thesummit is one of the most extensive and sublime to be found in all theRange. To the eastward you gaze far out over the desert plains andmountains of the "Great Basin, " range beyond range extending with softoutlines, blue and purple in the distance. More than six thousand feetbelow you lies Lake Mono, ten miles in diameter from north to south, andfourteen from west to east, lying bare in the treeless desert like adisk of burnished metal, though at times it is swept by mountain stormwinds and streaked with foam. To the southward there is a well definedrange of pale-gray extinct volcanoes, and though the highest of themrises nearly two thousand feet above the lake, you can look down fromhere into their circular, cup-like craters, from which a comparativelyshort time ago ashes and cinders were showered over the surrounding sageplains and glacier-laden mountains. 

To the westward the landscape is made up of exceedingly strong, gray, glaciated domes and ridge waves, most of them comparatively low, butthe largest high enough to be called mountains; separated by canyonsand darkened with lines and fields of forest, Cathedral Peak and MountHoffman in the distance; small lakes and innumerable meadows in theforeground. Northward and southward the great snowy mountains, marshaledalong the axis of the Range, are seen in all their glory, crowdedtogether in some places like trees in groves, making landscapes of wild, extravagant, bewildering magnificence, yet calm and silent as the sky. 

Some eight glaciers are in sight. One of these is the Dana Glacier onthe north side of the mountain, lying at the foot of a precipice abouta thousand feet high, with a lovely pale-green lake a little below it. This is one of the many, small, shrunken remnants of the vast glacialsystem of the Sierra that once filled the hollows and valleys ofthe mountains and covered all the lower ridges below the immediatesummit-fountains, flowing to right and left away from the axis of theRange, lavishly fed by the snows of the glacial period. 

In the excursion to Mount Lyell the immediate base of the mountain iseasily reached on meadow walks along the river. Turning to the southwardabove the forks of the river, you enter the narrow Lyell branch of theValley, narrow enough and deep enough to be called a canyon. It is abouteight miles long and from 2000 to 3000 feet deep. The flat meadow bottomis from about three hundred to two hundred yards wide, with gently curvedmargins about fifty yards wide from which rise the simple massive wallsof gray granite at an angle of about thirty-three degrees, mostlytimbered with a light growth of pine and streaked in many places withavalanche channels. Towards the upper end of the canyon the Sierra crowncomes in sight, forming a finely balanced picture framed by the massivecanyon walls. In the foreground, when the grass is in flower, you havethe purple meadow willow-thickets on the river banks; in the middledistance huge swelling bosses of granite that form the base of thegeneral mass of the mountain, with fringing lines of dark woods markingthe lower curves, smoothly snow-clad except in the autumn. 

If you wish to spend two days on the Lyell trip you will find a goodcamp-ground on the east side of the river, about a mile above a finecascade that comes down over the canyon wall in telling style and makesgood camp music. From here to the top of the mountains is usually aneasy day's work. At one place near the summit careful climbing isnecessary, but it is not so dangerous or difficult as to deter any oneof ordinary skill, while the views are glorious. To the northward areMammoth Mountain, Mounts Gibbs, Dana, Warren, Conness and others, unnumbered and unnamed; to the southeast the indescribably wild andjagged range of Mount Ritter and the Minarets; southwestward stretchesthe dividing ridge between the north fork of the San Joaquin and theMerced, uniting with the Obelisk or Merced group of peaks that form themain fountains of the Illilouette branch of the Merced; and to thenorth-westward extends the Cathedral spur. These spurs like distinctranges meet at your feet; therefore you look at them mostly in thedirection of their extension, and their peaks seem to be massed andcrowded against one another, while immense amphitheaters, canyonsand subordinate ridges with their wealth of lakes, glaciers, andsnow-fields, maze and cluster between them. In making the ascent inJune or October the glacier is easily crossed, for then its snow mantleis smooth or mostly melted off. But in midsummer the climbing isexceedingly tedious because the snow is then weathered into curiousand beautiful blades, sharp and slender, and set on edge in a leaningposition. They lean towards the head of the glacier and extend acrossfrom side to side in regular order in a direction at right angles to thedirection of greatest declivity, the distance between the crests beingabout two or three feet, and the depth of the troughs between them aboutthree feet. A more interesting problem than a walk over a glacier thussculptured and adorned is seldom presented to the mountaineer. 

The Lyell Glacier is about a mile wide and less than a mile long, but presents, nevertheless, all the essential characters of large, river-like glaciers--moraines, earth-bands, blue veins, crevasses, etc. , while the streams that issue from it are, of course, turbid withrock-mud, showing its grinding action on its bed. And it is all themore interesting since it is the highest and most enduring remnant ofthe great Tuolumne Glacier, whose traces are still distinct fifty milesaway, and whose influence on the landscape was so profound. The McClureGlacier, once a tributary of the Lyell, is smaller. Thirty-eight yearsago I set a series of stakes in it to determine its rate of motion. Towards the end of summer in the middle of the glacier it was only alittle over an inch in twenty-four hours. 

The trip to Mono from the Soda Springs can be made in a day, but manydays may profitably be spent near the shores of the lake, out on itsislands and about the volcanoes. 

In making the trip down the Big Tuolumne Canyon, animals may be led asfar as a small, grassy, forested lake-basin that lies below the crossingof the Virginia Creek trail. And from this point any one accustomed towalking on earthquake boulders, carpeted with canyon chaparral, caneasily go down as far as the big cascades and return to camp in one day. Many, however, are not able to do his, and it is better to go leisurely, prepared to camp anywhere, and enjoy the marvelous grandeur of theplace. 

The canyon begins near the lower end of the meadows and extends to theHetch Hetchy Valley, a distance of about eighteen miles, though it willseem much longer to any one who scrambles through it. It is from twelvehundred to about five thousand feet deep, and is comparatively narrow, but there are several roomy, park-like openings in it, and throughoutits whole extent Yosemite natures are displayed on a grand scale--domes, El Capitan rocks, gables, Sentinels, Royal Arches, Glacier Points, Cathedral Spires, etc. There is even a Half Dome among its wealth ofrock forms, though far less sublime than the Yosemite Half Dome. Itsfalls and cascades are innumerable. The sheer falls, except when thesnow is melting in early spring, are quite small in volume as comparedwith those of Yosemite and Hetch Hetchy; though in any other countrymany of them would be regarded as wonders. But it is the cascades orsloping falls on the main river that are the crowning glory of thecanyon, and these in volume, extent and variety surpass those of anyother canyon in the Sierra. The most showy and interesting of them aremostly in the upper part of the canyon, above the point of entrance ofCathedral Creek and Hoffman Creek. For miles the river is one wild, exulting, on-rushing mass of snowy purple bloom, spreading over glacialwaves of granite without any definite channel, gliding in magnificentsilver plumes, dashing and foaming through huge boulder-dams, leapinghigh into the air in wheel-like whirls, displaying glorious enthusiasm, tossing from side to side, doubling, glinting, singing in exuberance ofmountain energy. 

Every one who is anything of a mountaineer should go on through theentire length of the canyon, coming out by Hetch Hetchy. There is nota dull step all the way. With wide variations, it is a Yosemite Valleyfrom end to end. 

Besides these main, far-reaching, much-seeing excursions from the maincentral camp, there are numberless, lovely little saunters and scramblesand a dozen or so not so very little. Among the best of these are toLambert and Fair View Domes; to the topmost spires of Cathedral Peak, and to those of the North Church, around the base of which you passon your way to Mount Conness; to one of the very loveliest of theglacier-meadows imbedded in the pine woods about three miles north ofthe Soda Springs, where forty-two years ago I spent six weeks. It trendseast and west, and you can find it easily by going past the base ofLambert's Dome to Dog Lake and thence up northward through the woodsabout a mile or so; to the shining rock-waves full of ice-burnished, feldspar crystals at the foot of the meadows; to Lake Tenaya; and, lastbut not least, a rather long and very hearty scramble down by the end ofthe meadow along the Tioga road toward Lake Tenaya to the crossing ofCathedral Creek, where you turn off and trace the creek down to itsconfluence with the Tuolumne. This is a genuine scramble much of the waybut one of the most wonderfully telling in its glacial rock-forms andinscriptions. 

If you stop and fish at every tempting lake and stream you come to, awhole month, or even two months, will not be too long for this grandHigh Sierra excursion. My own Sierra trip was ten years long. 

Other Trips From The Valley

Short carriage trips are usually made in the early morning to MirrorLake to see its wonderful reflections of the Half Dome and MountWatkins; and in the afternoon many ride down the Valley to see theBridal Veil rainbows or up the river canyon to see those of the VernalFall; where, standing in the spray, not minding getting drenched, you may see what are called round rainbows, when the two ends of theordinary bow are lengthened and meet at your feet, forming a completecircle which is broken and united again and again as determined by thevarying wafts of spray. A few ambitious scramblers climb to the top ofthe Sentinel Rock, others walk or ride down the Valley and up to theonce-famous Inspiration Point for a last grand view; while a good manyappreciative tourists, who slave only day or two, do no climbing orriding but spend their time sauntering on the meadows by the river, watching the falls, and the relay of light and shade among the rocksfrom morning to night, perhaps gaining more than those who make haste upthe trails in large noisy parties. Those who have unlimited time findsomething worth while all the year round on every accessible part of thevast deeply sculptured walls. At least so I have found it after makingthe Valley my home for years. 

Here are a few specimens selected from my own short trips which walkersmay find useful. 

One, up the river canyon, across the bridge between the Vernal andNevada Falls, through chaparral beds and boulders to the shoulder ofHalf Dome, along the top of the shoulder to the dome itself, down by acrumbling slot gully and close along the base of the tremendous splitfront (the most awfully impressive, sheer, precipice view I ever foundin all my canyon wanderings), thence up the east shoulder and along theridge to Clouds' Rest--a glorious sunset--then a grand starry run backhome to my cabin; down through the junipers, down through the firs, nowin black shadows, now in white light, past roaring Nevada and Vernal, flowering ghost-like beneath their huge frowning cliffs; down the dark, gloomy canyon, through the pines of the Valley, dreamily murmuring intheir calm, breezy sleep--a fine wild little excursion for good legsand good eyes--so much sun-, moon- and star-shine in it, and sublime, up-and-down rhythmical, glacial topography. 

Another, to the head of Yosemite Fall by Indian Canyon; thence up theYosemite Creek, tracing it all the way to its highest sources back ofMount Hoffman, then a wide sweep around the head of its dome-pavedbasin, passing its many little lakes and bogs, gardens and groves, trilling, warbling rills, and back by the Fall Canyon. This was one ofmy Sabbath walk, run-and-slide excursions long ago before any trail hadbeen made on the north side of the Valley. 

Another fine trip was up, bright and early, by Avalanche Canyon toGlacier Point, along the rugged south wall, tracing all its far outs andins to the head of the Bridal Veil Fall, thence back home, bright andlate, by a brushy, bouldery slope between Cathedral rocks and Cathedralspires and along the level Valley floor. This was one of my long, bright-day and bright-night walks thirty or forty years ago when, likeriver and ocean currents, time flowed undivided, uncounted--a fine free, sauntery, scrambly, botanical, beauty-filled ramble. The walk up theValley was made glorious by the marvelous brightness of the morningstar. So great was her light, she made every tree cast a well-definedshadow on the smooth sandy ground. 

Everybody who visits Yosemite wants to see the famous Big Trees. Beforethe railroad was constructed, all three of the stage-roads that enteredthe Valley passed through a grove of these trees by the way; namely, theTuolumne, Merced and Mariposa groves. The Tuolumne grove was passed onthe Big Oak Flat road, the Merced grove by the Coulterville road and theMariposa grove by the Raymond and Wawona road. Now, to see any one ofthese groves, a special trip has to be made. Most visitors go to theMariposa grove, the largest of the three. On this Sequoia trip you seenot only the giant Big Trees but magnificent forests of silver fir, sugar pine, yellow pine, libocedrus and Douglas spruce. The trip neednot require more than two days, spending a night in a good hotel atWawona, a beautiful place on the south fork of the Merced River, andreturning to the Valley or to El Portal, the terminus of the railroad. This extra trip by stage costs fifteen dollars. All the High Sierraexcursions that I have sketched cost from a dollar a week to anythingyou like. None of mine when I was exploring the Sierra cost over adollar a week, most of them less. 

Chapter 13

Early History Of The Valley

In the wild gold years of 1849 and '50, the Indian tribes along thuswestern Sierra foothills became alarmed at the sudden invasion of theiracorn orchard and game fields by miners, and soon began to make war uponthem, in their usual murdering, plundering style. This continued untilthe United States Indian Commissioners succeeded in gathering them intoreservations, some peacefully, others by burning their villages andstores of food. The Yosemite or Grizzly Bear tribe, fancying themselvessecure in their deep mountain stronghold, were the most troublesome anddefiant of all, and it was while the Mariposa battalion, under commandof Major Savage, was trying to capture this warlike tribe and conductthem to the Fresno reservation that their deep mountain home, theYosemite Valley, was discovered. From a camp on the south fork of theMerced, Major Savage sent Indian runners to the bands who were supposedto be hiding in the mountains, instructing them to tell the Indians thatif they would come in and make treaty with the Commissioners they wouldbe furnished with food and clothing and be protected, but if they didnot come in he would make war upon them and kill them all. None of theYosemite Indians responded to this general message, but when a specialmessenger was sent to the chief he appeared the next day. He cameentirely alone and stood in dignified silence before one of the guardsuntil invited to enter the camp. He was recognized by one of thefriendly Indians as Tenaya, the old chief of the Grizzlies, and, afterhe had been supplied with food, Major Savage, with the aid of Indianinterpreters, informed him of the wishes of the Commissioners. But theold chief was very suspicious of Savage and feared that he was takingthis method of getting the tribe into his power for the purpose ofrevenging his personal wrong. Savage told him if he would go to theCommissioners and make peace with them as the other tribes had donethere would be no more war. Tenaya inquired what was the object oftaking all the Indians to the San Joaquin plain. "My people, " said he, "do not want anything from the Great Father you tell me about. The GreatSpirit is our father and he has always supplied us with all we need. Wedo not want anything from white men. Our women are able to do our work. Go, then. Let us remain in the mountains where we were born, where theashes of our fathers have been given to the wind. I have said enough. "

To this the Major answered abruptly in Indian style: "If you and yourpeople have all you desire, why do you steal our horses and mules? Whydo you rob the miners' camps? Why do you murder the white men andplunder and burn their houses?"

Tenaya was silent for some time. He evidently understood what the Majorhad said, for he replied, "My young men have sometimes taken horsesand mules from the whites. This was wrong. It is not wrong to take theproperty of enemies who have wronged my people. My young men believedthat the gold diggers were our enemies. We now know they are not andwe shall be glad to live in peace with them. We will stay here and befriends. My people do not want to go to the plains. Some of the tribeswho have gone there are very bad. We cannot live with them. Here wecan defend ourselves. "

To the Major Savage firmly said, "Your people must go to theCommissioners. If they do not your young men will again steal horses andkill and plunder the whites. It was your people who robbed my stores, burned my houses and murdered my men. It they do not make a treaty, yourwhole tribe will be destroyed. Not one of them will be left alive. "

To this the old chief replied, "It is useless to talk to you about whodestroyed your property and killed your people. I am old and you cankill me if you will, but it is useless to lie to you who know more thanall the Indians. Therefore I will not lie to you but if you will let mereturn to my people I will bring them in. " He was allowed to go. Thenext day he came back and said his people were on the way to our camp togo with the men sent by the Great Father, who was so good and rich. 

Another day passed but no Indians from the deep Valley appeared. The oldchief said that the snow was so deep and his village was so far downthat it took a long time to climb out of it. After waiting still anotherday the expedition started for the Valley. When Tenaya was questionedas to the route and distance he said that the snow was so deep that thehorses could not go through it. Old Tenaya was taken along as guide. When the party had gone about half-way to the Valley they met theYosemites on their way to the camp on the south fork. There were onlyseventy-two of them and when the old chief was asked what had become ofthe rest of his band, he replied, "This is all of my people that arewilling to go with me to the plains. All the rest have gone with theirwives end children over the mountains to the Mono and Tuolumne tribes. "Savage told Tenaya that he was not telling the truth, for Indians couldnot cross the mountains in the deep snow, and that he knew they muststill be at his village or hiding somewhere near it. The tribe had beenestimated to number over two hundred. Major Savage then said to him, "You may return to camp with your people and I will take one of youryoung men with me to your village to see your people who will not come. They will come if I find them. " "You will not find any of my peoplethere, " said Tenaya; "I do not know where they are. My tribe is small. Many of the people of my tribe have come from other tribes and if theygo to the plains and are seen they will be killed by the friends ofthose with whom they have quarreled. I was told that I was growing oldand it was well that I should go, but that young and strong men can findplenty in the mountains: therefore, why should they go to the hot plainsto be penned up like horses and cattle? My heart has been sore sincethat talk but I am now willing to go, for it is best for my people. "

Pushing ahead, taking turns in breaking a way through the snow, theyarrived in sight of the great Valley early in the afternoon and, guidedby one of Tenaya's Indians, descended by the same route as that followedby the Mariposa trail, and the weary party went into camp on the riverbank opposite El Capitan. After supper, seated around a big fire, the wonderful Valley became the topic of conversation and Dr. Bunellsuggested giving it a name. Many were proposed, but after a vote hadbeen taken the name Yosemite, proposed by Dr. Bunell, was adopted almostunanimously to perpetuate the name of the tribe who so long had madetheir home there. The Indian name of the Valley, however, is Ahwahnee. The Indians had names for all the different rocks and streams of theValley, but very few of them are now in use by the whites, Pohono, theBridal Veil, being the principal one. The expedition remained only oneday and two nights in the Valley, hurrying out on the approach of astorm and reached the south-fork headquarters on the evening of thethird day after starting out. Thus, in three days the round trip hadbeen made to the Valley, most of it had been explored in a general wayand some of its principal features had been named. But the Indians hadfled up the Tenaya Canyon trail and none of them were seen, except anold woman unable to follow the fugitives. 

A second expedition was made in the same year under command of MajorBoling. When the Valley was entered no Indians were seen, but the manywigwams with smoldering fires showed that they had been hurriedlyabandoned that very day. Later, five young Indians who had been left towatch the movements of the expedition were captured at the foot of theThree Brothers after a lively chase. Three of the five were sons of theold chief and the rock was named for them. All of these captives madegood their escape within a few days, except the youngest son of Tenaya, who was shot by his guard while trying to escape. That same day the oldchief was captured on the cliff on the east side of Indian Canyon bysome of Boling's scouts. As Tenaya walked toward the camp his eye fellupon the dead body of his favorite son. Captain Boling through aninterpreter, expressed his regret at the occurrence, but not a worddid Tenaya utter in reply. Later, he made an attempt to escape but wascaught as he was about to swim across the river. Tenaya expected to beshot for this attempt and when brought into the presence of CaptainBoling he said in great emotion, "Kill me, Sir Captain, yes, kill me asyou killed my son, as you would kill my people if they were to come toyou. You would kill all my tribe if you had the power. Yes, Sir America, you can now tell your warriors to kill the old chief. You have made mylife dark with sorrow. You killed the child of my heart. Why not killthe father? But wait a little and when I am dead I will call my peopleto come and they shall hear me in their sleep and come to avenge thedeath of their chief and his son. Yes, Sir America, my spirit will maketrouble for you and your people, as you have made trouble to me and mypeople. With the wizards I will follow the white people and make themfear me. You may kill me, Sir Captain, but you shall not live in peace. I will follow in your footsteps. I will not leave my home, but be withthe spirits among the rocks, the waterfalls, in the rivers and in thewinds; wherever you go I will be with you. You will not see me but youwill fear the spirit of the old chief and grow cold. The Great Spirithas spoken. I am done. "

This expedition finally captured the remnants of the tribes at the headof Lake Tenaya and took them to the Fresno reservation, together withtheir chief, Tenaya. But after a short stay they were allowed to returnto the Valley under restrictions. Tenaya promised faithfully to conformto everything required, joyfully left the hot and dry reservation, andwith his family returned to his Yosemite home. 

The following year a party of miners was attacked by the Indians inthe Valley and two of them were killed. This led to another Yosemiteexpedition. A detachment of regular soldiers from Fort Miller underLieutenant Moore, U. S. A. , was at once dispatched to capture or punishthe murderers. Lieutenant Moore entered the Valley in the night andsurprised and captured a party of five Indians, but an alarm was givenand Tenaya and his people fled from their huts and escaped to the Monoson the east side of the Range. On examination of the five prisoners inthe morning it was discovered that each of them had some article ofclothing that belonged to the murdered men. The bodies of the two minerswere found and buried on the edge of the Bridal Veil meadow. When thecaptives were accused of the murder of the two white men they admittedthat they had killed them to prevent white men from coming to theirValley, declaring that it was their home and that white men had no rightto come there without their consent. Lieutenant Moore told them throughhis interpreter that they had sold their lands to the Government, thatit belonged to the white men now and that they had agreed to live onthe reservation provided for them. To this they replied that Tenayahad never consented to the sale of their Valley and had never receivedpay for it. The other chief, they said, had no right to sell theirterritory. The lieutenant being fully satisfied that he had captured thereal murderers, promptly pronounced judgment and had them placed in lineand shot. Lieutenant Moore pursued the fugitives to Mono but was notsuccessful in finding any of them. After being hospitably entertainedand protected by the Mono and Paute tribes, they stole a number ofstolen horses from their entertainers and made their way by a long, obscure route by the head of the north fork of the San Joaquin, reachedtheir Yosemite home once more, but early one morning, after a feast ofhorse-flesh, a band of Monos surprised them in their huts, killingTenaya and nearly all his tribe. Only a small remnant escaped down theriver canyon. The Tenaya Canyon and Lake were named for the famous oldchief. 

Very few visits were made to the Valley before the summer or 1855, whenMr. J. M. Hutchings, having heard of its wonderful scenery, collected aparty and made the first regular tourist's visit to the Yosemite and inhis California magazine described it in articles illustrated by a goodartist, who was taken into the Valley by him for that purpose. Thisfirst party was followed by another from Mariposa the same year, consisting of sixteen or eighteen persons. The next year the regularpleasure travel began and a trail on the Mariposa side of the Valley wasopened by Mann Brothers. This trail was afterwards purchased by thecitizens of the county and made free to the public. The first housebuilt in the Yosemite Valley was erected in the autumn of 1856 and waskept as a hotel the next year by G. A. Hite and later by J. H. Neal andS. M. Cunningham. It was situated directly opposite the Yosemite Fall. A little over half a mile farther up the Valley a canvas house was putup in 1858 by G. A. Hite. Next year a frame house was built and kept asa hotel by Mr. Peck, afterward by Mr. Longhurst and since 1864 by Mr. Hutchings. All these hotels have vanished except the frame house builtin 1859, which has been changed beyond recognition. A large hotel builton the brink of the river in front of the old one is now the only hotelin the Valley. A large hotel built by the State and located farther upthe Valley was burned. To provide for the overflow of visitors there arethree camps with board floors, wood frame, and covered with canvas, wellfurnished, some of them with electric light. A large first-class hotelis very much needed. 

Travel of late years has been rapidly increasing, especially after theestablishment, by Act of Congress in 1890, of the Yosemite National Parkand the recession in 1905 of the original reservation to the FederalGovernment by the State. The greatest increase, of course, was causedby the construction of the Yosemite Valley railroad from Merced to theborder of the Park, eight miles below the Valley. 

It is eighty miles long, and the entire distance, except the firsttwenty-four miles from the town of Merced, is built through theprecipitous Merced River Canyon. The roadbed was virtually blasted outof the solid rock for the entire distance in the canyon. Work was begunin September, 1905, and the first train entered El Portal, the terminus, April 15, 1907. Many miles of the road cost as much as $100, 000 permile. Its business has increased from 4000 tourists in the first yearit was operated to 15, 000 in 1910. 

Chapter 14

Lamon

The good old pioneer, Lamon, was the first of all the early Yosemitesettlers who cordially and unreservedly adopted the Valley as his home. 

He was born in the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, May 10, 1817, emigratedto Illinois with his father, John Lamon, at the age of nineteen;afterwards went to Texas and settled on the Brazos, where he raisedmelons and hunted alligators for a living. "Right interestin' business, "he said; "especially the alligator part of it. " From the Brazos he wentto the Comanche Indian country between Gonzales and Austin, twenty milesfrom his nearest neighbor. During the first summer, the only bread hehad was the breast meat of wild turkeys. When the formidable ComancheIndians were on the war-path he left his cabin after dark and slept inthe woods. From Texas he crossed the plains to California and worked Inthe Calaveras and Mariposa gold-fields. 

He first heard Yosemite spoken of as a very beautiful mountain valleyand after making two excursions in the summers of 1857 and 1858 to seethe wonderful place, he made up his mind to quit roving and make apermanent home in it. In April, 1859, he moved into it, located a gardenopposite the Half Dome, set out a lot of apple, pear and peach trees, planted potatoes, etc. , that he had packed in on a "contrary old mule, "and worked for his board in building a hotel which was afterwardspurchased by Mr. Hutchings. His neighbors thought he was very foolish inattempting to raise crops in so high and cold a valley, and warned himthat he could raise nothing and sell nothing, and would surely starve. 

For the first year or two lack of provisions compelled him to move outon the approach of winter, but in 1862 after he had succeeded in raisingsome fruit and vegetables he began to winter in the Valley. 

The first winter he had no companions, not even a dog or cat, and oneevening was greatly surprised to see two men coming up the Valley. Theywere very glad to see him, for they had come from Mariposa in search ofhim, a report having been spread that he had been killed by Indians. Heassured his visitors that he felt safer in his Yosemite home, lyingsnug and squirrel-like in his 10 x 12 cabin, than in Mariposa. When theavalanches began to slip, he wondered where all the wild roaring andbooming came from, the flying snow preventing them from being seen. But, upon the whole, he wondered most at the brightness, gentleness, andsunniness of the weather, and hopefully employed the calm days intearing ground for an orchard and vegetable garden. 

In the second winter he built a winter cabin under the Royal Arches, where he enjoyed more sunshine. But no matter how he praised the weatherhe could not induce any one to winter with him until 1864. 

He liked to describe the great flood of 1867, the year before I reachedCalifornia, when all the walls were striped with thundering waterfalls. 

He was a fine, erect, whole-souled man, between six and seven feet high, with a broad, open face, bland and guileless as his pet oxen. Nostranger to hunger and weariness, he knew well how to appreciatesuffering of a like kind in others, and many there be, myself among thenumber, who can testify to his simple, unostentatious kindness thatfound expression in a thousand small deeds. 

After gaining sufficient means to enjoy a long afternoon of life incomparative affluence and ease, he died in the autumn of 1876. He sleepsin a beautiful spot near Galen Clark and a monument hewn from a block ofYosemite granite marks his grave. 

Chapter 15

Galen Clark

Galen Clark was the best mountaineer I ever met, and one of the kindestand most amiable of all my mountain friends. I first met him at hisWawona ranch forty-three years ago on my first visit to Yosemite. I hadentered the Valley with one companion by way of Coulterville, andreturned by what was then known as the Mariposa trail. Both trails wereburied in deep snow where the elevation was from 5000 to 7000 feetabove sea level in the sugar pine and silver fir regions. We had nogreat difficulty, however, in finding our way by the trends of themain features of the topography. Botanizing by the way, we made slow, plodding progress, and were again about out of provisions when wereached Clark's hospitable cabin at Wawona. He kindly furnished us withflour and a little sugar and tea, and my companion, who complained ofthe be-numbing poverty of a strictly vegetarian diet, gladly acceptedMr. Clark's offer of a piece of a bear that had just been killed. Aftera short talk about bears and the forests and the way to the Big Trees, we pushed on up through the Wawona firs and sugar pines, and camped inthe now-famous Mariposa grove. 

Later, after making my home in the Yosemite Valley, I became wellacquainted with Mr. Clark, while he was guardian. He was elected againand again to this important office by different Boards of Commissionerson account of his efficiency and his real love of the Valley. 

Although nearly all my mountaineering has been done without companions, I had the pleasure of having Galen Clark with me on three excursions. About thirty-five years ago I invited him to accompany me on a tripthrough the Big Tuolumne Canyon from Hetch Hetchy Valley. The canyon upto that time had not been explored, and knowing that the difference inthe elevation of the river at the head of the canyon and in Hetch Hetchywas about 5000 feet, we expected to find some magnificent cataractsor falls; nor were we disappointed. When we were leaving Yosemite anambitious young man begged leave to join us. I strongly advised him notto attempt such a long, hard trip, for it would undoubtedly prove verytrying to an inexperienced climber. He assured us, however, that hewas equal to anything, would gladly meet every difficulty as it came, and cause us no hindrance or trouble of any sort. So at last, afterrepeating our advice that he give up the trip, we consented to hisjoining us. We entered the canyon by way of Hetch Hetchy Valley, eachcarrying his own provisions, and making his own tea, porridge, bed, etc. 

In the morning of the second day out from Hetch Hetchy we came to whatis now known as "Muir Gorge, " and Mr. Clark without hesitation preparedto force a way through it, wading and jumping from one submerged boulderto another through the torrent, bracing and steadying himself with along pole. Though the river was then rather low, the savage, roaring, surging song it was ringing was rather nerve-trying, especially to ourinexperienced companion. With careful assistance, however, I managed toget him through, but this hard trial, naturally enough, proved too muchand he informed us, pale and trembling, that he could go no farther. Igathered some wood at the upper throat of the gorge, made a fire for himand advised him to feel at home and make himself comfortable, hoped hewould enjoy the grand scenery and the songs of the water-ouzels whichhaunted the gorge, and assured him that we would return some time in thenight, though it might be late, as we wished to go on through the entirecanyon if possible. We pushed our way through the dense chaparral andover the earthquake taluses with such speed that we reached the foot ofthe upper cataract while we had still an hour or so of daylight for thereturn trip. It was long after dark when we reached our adventurous, butnerve-shaken companion who, of course, was anxious and lonely, not beingaccustomed to solitude, however kindly and flowery and full of sweetbird-song and stream-song. Being tired we simply lay down in restfulcomfort on the river bank beside a good fire, instead of trying togo down the gorge in the dark or climb over its high shoulder to ourblankets and provisions, which we had left in the morning in a tree atthe foot of the gorge. I remember Mr. Clark remarking that if he hadhis choice that night between provisions and blankets he would choosehis blankets. 

The next morning in about an hour we had crossed over the ridge throughwhich the gorge is cut, reached our provisions, made tea, and had a goodbreakfast. As soon as we had returned to Yosemite I obtained freshprovisions, pushed off alone up to the head of Yosemite Creek basin, entered the canyon by a side canyon, and completed the exploration up tothe Tuolumne Meadows. 

It was on this first trip from Hetch Hetchy to the upper cataracts thatI had convincing proofs of Mr. Clark's daring and skill as mountaineer, particularly in fording torrents, and in forcing his way through thickchaparral. I found it somewhat difficult to keep up with him in dense, tangled brush, though in jumping on boulder taluses and slipperycobble-beds I had no difficulty in leaving him behind. 

After I had discovered the glaciers on Mount Lyell and Mount McClure, Mr. Clark kindly made a second excursion with me to assist inestablishing a line of stakes across the McClure glacier to measure itsrate of flow. On this trip we also climbed Mount Lyell together, whenthe snow which covered the glacier was melted into upleaning, icy bladeswhich were extremely difficult to cross, not being strong enough tosupport our weight, nor wide enough apart to enable us to stride acrosseach blade as it was met. Here again I, being lighter, had no difficultyin keeping ahead of him. While resting after wearisome staggering andfalling he stared at the marvelous ranks of leaning blades, and said, "Ithink I have traveled all sorts of trails and canyons, through all kindsof brush and snow, but this gets me. "

Mr. Clark at my urgent request joined my small party on a trip to theKings River yosemite by way of the high mountains, most of the waywithout a trail. He joined us at the Mariposa Big Tree grove andintended to go all the way, but finding that, on account of thedifficulties encountered, the time required was much greater than heexpected, he turned back near the head of the north fork of the KingsRiver. 

In cooking his mess of oatmeal porridge and making tea, his pot wasalways the first to boil, and I used to wonder why, with all his skillin scrambling through brush in the easiest way, and preparing his meals, he was so utterly careless about his beds. He would lie down anywhere onany ground, rough or smooth, without taking pains even to remove cobblesor sharp-angled rocks protruding through the grass or gravel, sayingthat his own bones were as hard as any stones and could do him no harm. 

His kindness to all Yosemite visitors and mountaineers was marvelouslyconstant and uniform. He was not a good business man, and in building anextensive hotel and barns at Wawona, before the travel to Yosemite hadbeen greatly developed, he borrowed money, mortgaged his property andlost it all. 

Though not the first to see the Mariposa Big Tree grove, he was thefirst to explore it, after he had heard from a prospector, who hadpassed through the grove and who gave him the indefinite information, that there were some wonderful big trees up there on the top of theWawona hill and that he believed they must be of the same kind that hadbecome so famous and well-known in the Calaveras grove farther north. On this information, Galen Clark told me, he went up and thoroughlyexplored the grove, counting the trees and measuring the largest, andbecoming familiar with it. He stated also that he had explored theforest to the southward and had discovered the much larger Fresno groveof about two square miles, six or seven miles distant from the Mariposagrove. Unfortunately most of the Fresno grove has been cut and flumeddown to the railroad near Madera. 

Mr. Clark was truly and literally a gentle-man. I never heard him uttera hasty, angry, fault-finding word. His voice was uniformly pitched at arather low tone, perfectly even, although lances of his eyes and slightintonations of his voice often indicated that something funny or mildlysarcastic was coming, but upon the whole he was serious and industrious, and, however deep and fun-provoking a story might be, he never indulgedin boisterous laughter. 

He was very fond of scenery and once told me after I became acquaintedwith him that he liked "nothing in the world better than climbing to thetop of a high ridge or mountain and looking off. " He preferred themountain ridges and domes in the Yosemite regions on account of thewealth and beauty of the forests. Often times he would take his rifle, afew pounds of bacon, a few pound of flour, and a single blanket and gooff hunting, for no other reason than to explore and get acquainted withthe most beautiful points of view within a journey of a week or two fromhis Wawona home. On these trips he was always alone and could indulgein tranquil enjoyment of Nature to his heart's content. He said thaton those trips, when he was a sufficient distance from home in aneighborhood where he wished to linger, he always shot a deer, sometimesa grouse, and occasionally a bear. After diminishing the weight of adeer or bear by eating part of it, he carried as much as possible of thebest of the meat to Wawona, and from his hospitable well-supplied cabinno weary wanderer ever went away hungry or unrested. 

The value of the mountain air in prolonging life is well examplified inMr. Clark's case. While working in the mines he contracted a severe coldthat settled on his lungs and finally caused severe inflammation andbleeding, and none of his friends thought he would ever recover. Thephysicians told him he had but a short time to live. It was then thathe repaired to the beautiful sugar pine woods at Wawona and took up aclaim, including the fine meadows there, and building his cabin, beganhis life of wandering and exploring in the glorious mountains about him, usually going bare-headed. In a remarkably short time his lungs werehealed. 

He was one of the most sincere tree-lovers I ever knew. About twentyyears before his death he made choice of a plot in the Yosemite cemeteryon the north side of the Valley, not far from the Yosemite Fall, andselecting a dozen or so of seedling sequoias in the Mariposa grove hebrought them to the Valley and planted them around the spot he hadchosen for his last rest. The ground there is gravelly and dry; bycareful watering he finally nursed most of the seedlings into good, thrifty trees, and doubtless they will long shade the grave of theirblessed lover and friend. 

Chapter 16

Hetch Hetchy Valley

Yosemite is so wonderful that we are apt to regard it as an exceptionalcreation, the only valley of its kind in the world; but Nature is notso poor as to have only one of anything. Several other yosemites havebeen discovered in the Sierra that occupy the same relative positionson the Range and were formed by the same forces in the same kind ofgranite. One of these, the Hetch Hetchy Valley, is in the YosemiteNational Park about twenty miles from Yosemite and is easily accessibleto all sorts of travelers by a road and trail that leaves the Big OakFlat road at Bronson Meadows a few miles below Crane Flat, and tomountaineers by way of Yosemite Creek basin and the head of the middlefork of the Tuolumne. 

It is said to have been discovered by Joseph Screech, a hunter, in 1850, a year before the discovery of the great Yosemite. After my first visitto it in the autumn of 1871, I have always called it the "TuolumneYosemite, " for it is a wonderfully exact counterpart of the MercedYosemite, not only in its sublime rocks and waterfalls but in thegardens, groves and meadows of its flowery park-like floor. The floor ofYosemite is about 4000 feet above the sea; the Hetch Hetchy floor about3700 feet. And as the Merced River flows through Yosemite, so does theTuolumne through Hetch Hetchy. The walls of both are of gray granite, rise abruptly from the floor, are sculptured in the same style and inboth every rock is a glacier monument. 

Standing boldly out from the south wall is a strikingly picturesque rockcalled by the Indians, Kolana, the outermost of a group 2300 feet high, corresponding with the Cathedral Rocks of Yosemite both in relativeposition and form. On the opposite side of the Valley, facing Kolana, there is a counterpart of the El Capitan that rises sheer and plain toa height of 1800 feet, and over its massive brow flows a stream whichmakes the most graceful fall I have ever seen. From the edge of thecliff to the top of an earthquake talus it is perfectly free in the airfor a thousand feet before it is broken into cascades among talusboulders. It is in all its glory in June, when the snow is melting fast, but fades and vanishes toward the end of summer. The only fall I knowwith which it may fairly be compared is the Yosemite Bridal Veil; but itexcels even that favorite fall both in height and airy-fairy beauty andbehavior. Lowlanders are apt to suppose that mountain streams in theirwild career over cliffs lose control of themselves and tumble in a noisychaos of mist and spray. On the contrary, on no part of their travelsare they more harmonious and self-controlled. Imagine yourself in HetchHetchy on a sunny day in June, standing waist-deep in grass and flowers(as I have often stood), while the great pines sway dreamily withscarcely perceptible motion. Looking northward across the Valley yousee a plain, gray granite cliff rising abruptly out of the gardens andgroves to a height of 1800 feet, and in front of it Tueeulala's silveryscarf burning with irised sun-fire. In the first white outburst at thehead there is abundance of visible energy, but it is speedily hushed andconcealed in divine repose, and its tranquil progress to the base of thecliff is like that of a downy feather in a still room. Now observe thefineness and marvelous distinctness of the various sun-illumined fabricsinto which the water is woven; they sift and float from form to formdown the face of that grand gray rock in so leisurely and unconfused amanner that you can examine their texture, and patterns and tones ofcolor as you would a piece of embroidery held in the hand. Toward thetop of the fall you see groups of booming, comet-like masses, theirsolid, white heads separate, their tails like combed silk interlacingamong delicate gray and purple shadows, ever forming and dissolving, worn out by friction in their rush through the air. Most of these vanisha few hundred feet below the summit, changing to varied forms ofcloud-like drapery. Near the bottom the width of the fall has increasedfrom about twenty-five feet to a hundred feet. Here it is composed ofyet finer tissues, and is still without a trace of disorder--air, waterand sunlight woven into stuff that spirits might wear. 

So fine a fall might well seem sufficient to glorify any valley; buthere, as in Yosemite, Nature seems in nowise moderate, for a shortdistance to the eastward of Tueeulala booms and thunders the great HetchHetchy Fall, Wapama, so near that you have both of them in full viewfrom the same standpoint. It is the counterpart of the Yosemite Fall, but has a much greater volume of water, is about 1700 feet in height, and appears to be nearly vertical, though considerably inclined, and isdashed into huge outbounding bosses of foam on projecting shelves andknobs. No two falls could be more unlike--Tueeulala out in the opensunshine descending like thistledown; Wapama in a jagged, shadowy gorgeroaring and plundering, pounding its way like an earthquake avalanche. 

Besides this glorious pair there is a broad, massive fall on the mainriver a short distance above the head of the Valley. Its position issomething like that of the Vernal in Yosemite, and its roar as itplunges into a surging trout-pool may be heard a long way, though itis only about twenty feet high. On Rancheria Creek, a large stream, corresponding in position with the Yosemite Tenaya Creek, there is achain of cascades joined here and there with swift flashing plumes likethe one between the Vernal and Nevada Falls, making magnificent showsas they go their glacier-sculptured way, sliding, leaping, hurrahing, covered with crisp clashing spray made glorious with sifting sunshine. And besides all these a few small streams come over the walls at wideintervals, leaping from ledge to ledge with birdlike song and wateringmany a hidden cliff-garden and fernery, but they are too unshowy to benoticed in so grand a place. 

The correspondence between the Hetch Hetchy walls in their trends, sculpture, physical structure, and general arrangement of the mainrock-masses and those of the Yosemite Valley has excited the wonderingadmiration of every observer. We have seen that the El Capitan andCathedral rocks occupy the same relative positions In both valleys; soalso do their Yosemite points and North Domes. Again, that part of theYosemite north wall immediately to the east of the Yosemite Fall has twohorizontal benches, about 500 and 1500 feet above the floor, timberedwith golden-cup oak. Two benches similarly situated and timbered occuron the same relative portion of the Hetch Hetchy north wall, to the eastof Wapama Fall, and on no other. The Yosemite is bounded at the head bythe great Half Dome. Hetch Hetchy is bounded in the same way though itshead rock is incomparably less wonderful and sublime in form. 

The floor of the Valley is about three and a half miles long, and from afourth to half a mile wide. The lower portion is mostly a level meadowabout a mile long, with the trees restricted to the sides and the riverbanks, and partially separated from the main, upper, forested portion bya low bar of glacier-polished granite across which the river breaks inrapids. 

The principal trees are the yellow and sugar pines, digger pine, incensecedar, Douglas spruce, silver fir, the California and golden-cup oaks, balsam cottonwood, Nuttall's flowering dogwood, alder, maple, laurel, tumion, etc. The most abundant and influential are the great yellow orsilver pines like those of Yosemite, the tallest over two hundred feetin height, and the oaks assembled in magnificent groves with massiverugged trunks four to six feet in diameter, and broad, shady, wide-spreading heads. The shrubs forming conspicuous flowery clumps andtangles are manzanita, azalea, spiraea, brier-rose, several species ofceanothus, calycanthus, philadelphus, wild cherry, etc. ; with abundanceof showy and fragrant herbaceous plants growing about them or out in theopen in beds by themselves--lilies, Mariposa tulips, brodiaeas, orchids, iris, spraguea, draperia, collomia, collinsia, castilleja, nemophila, larkspur, columbine, goldenrods, sunflowers, mints of many species, honeysuckle, etc. Many fine ferns dwell here also, especially thebeautiful and interesting rock-ferns--pellaea, and cheilanthes ofseveral species--fringing and rosetting dry rock-piles and ledges;woodwardia and asplenium on damp spots with fronds six or seven feethigh; the delicate maiden-hair in mossy nooks by the falls, and thesturdy, broad-shouldered pteris covering nearly all the dry groundbeneath the oaks and pines. 

It appears, therefore, that Hetch Hetchy Valley, far from being a plain, common, rock-bound meadow, as many who have not seen it seem to suppose, is a grand landscape garden, one of Nature's rarest and most preciousmountain temples. As in Yosemite, the sublime rocks of its walls seemto glow with life, whether leaning back in repose or standing erect inthoughtful attitudes, giving welcome to storms and calms alike, theirbrows in the sky, their feet set in the groves and gay flowery meadows, while birds, bees, and butterflies help the river and waterfalls tostir all the air into music--things frail and fleeting and types ofpermanence meeting here and blending, just as they do in Yosemite, todraw her lovers into close and confiding communion with her. 

Sad to say, this most precious and sublime feature of the YosemiteNational Park, one of the greatest of all our natural resources for theuplifting joy and peace and health of the people, is in danger of beingdammed and made into a reservoir to help supply San Francisco with waterand light, thus flooding it from wall to wall and burying its gardensand groves one or two hundred feet deep. This grossly destructivecommercial scheme has long been planned and urged (though water as pureand abundant can be got from outside of the people's park, in a dozendifferent places), because of the comparative cheapness of the dam andof the territory which it is sought to divert from the great uses towhich it was dedicated in the Act of 1890 establishing the YosemiteNational Park. 

The making of gardens and parks goes on with civilization all over theworld, and they increase both in size and number as their value isrecognized. Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play inand pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to bodyand soul alike. This natural beauty-hunger is made manifest in thelittle window-sill gardens of the poor, though perhaps only a geraniumslip in a broken cup, as well as in the carefully tended rose and lilygardens of the rich, the thousands of spacious city parks and botanicalgardens, and in our magnificent National parks--the Yellowstone, Yosemite, Sequoia, etc. --Nature's sublime wonderlands, the admirationand joy of the world. Nevertheless, like anything else worth while, fromthe very beginning, however well guarded, they have always been subjectto attack by despoiling gainseekers and mischief-makers of every degreefrom Satan to Senators, eagerly trying to make everything immediatelyand selfishly commercial, with schemes disguised in smug-smilingphilanthropy, industriously, shampiously crying, "Conservation, conservation, panutilization, " that man and beast may be fed and thedear Nation made great. Thus long ago a few enterprising merchantsutilized the Jerusalem temple as a place of business instead of a placeof prayer, changing money, buying and selling cattle and sheep anddoves; and earlier still, the first forest reservation, including onlyone tree, was likewise despoiled. Ever since the establishment of theYosemite National Park, strife has been going on around its borders andI suppose this will go on as part of the universal battle between rightand wrong, however much its boundaries may be shorn, or its wild beautydestroyed. 

The first application to the Government by the San Francisco Supervisorsfor the commercial use of Lake Eleanor and the Hetch Hetchy Valley wasmade in 1903, and on December 22nd of that year it was denied by theSecretary of the Interior, Mr. Hitchcock, who truthfully said:

Presumably the Yosemite National Park was created such by law becausewithin its boundaries, inclusive alike of its beautiful small lakes, like Eleanor, and its majestic wonders, like Hetch Hetchy and YosemiteValley. It is the aggregation of such natural scenic features that makesthe Yosemite Park a wonderland which the Congress of the United Statessought by law to reserve for all coming time as nearly as practicablein the condition fashioned by the hand of the Creator--a worthy objectof national pride and a source of healthful pleasure and rest for thethousands of people who may annually sojourn there during the heatedmonths. 

In 1907 when Mr. Garfield became Secretary of the Interior theapplication was renewed and granted; but under his successor, Mr. Fisher, the matter has been referred to a Commission, which as thisvolume goes to press still has it under consideration. 

The most delightful and wonderful camp grounds in the Park are its threegreat valleys--Yosemite, Hetch Hetchy, and Upper Tuolumne; and they arealso the most important places with reference to their positionsrelative to the other great features--the Merced and Tuolumne Canyons, and the High Sierra peaks and glaciers, etc. , at the head of the rivers. The main part of the Tuolumne Valley is a spacious flowery lawn four orfive miles long, surrounded by magnificent snowy mountains, slightlyseparated from other beautiful meadows, which together make a seriesabout twelve miles in length, the highest reaching to the feet of MountDana, Mount Gibbs, Mount Lyell and Mount McClure. It is about 8500 feetabove the sea, and forms the grand central High Sierra camp ground fromwhich excursions are made to the noble mountains, domes, glaciers, etc. ;across the Range to the Mono Lake and volcanoes and down the TuolumneCanyon to Hetch Hetchy. Should Hetch Hetchy be submerged for areservoir, as proposed, not only would it be utterly destroyed, but thesublime canyon way to the heart of the High Sierra would be hopelesslyblocked and the great camping ground, as the watershed of a citydrinking system, virtually would be closed to the public. So far as Ihave learned, few of all the thousands who have seen the park and seekrest and peace in it are in favor of this outrageous scheme. 

One of my later visits to the Valley was made in the autumn of 1907 withthe late William Keith, the artist. The leaf-colors were then ripe, andthe great godlike rocks in repose seemed to glow with life. The artist, under their spell, wandered day after day along the river and throughthe groves and gardens, studying the wonderful scenery; and, aftermaking about forty sketches, declared with enthusiasm that although itswalls were less sublime in height, in picturesque beauty and charm HetchHetchy surpassed even Yosemite. 

That any one would try to destroy such a place seems incredible; but sadexperience shows that there are people good enough and bad enough foranything. The proponents of the dam scheme bring forward a lot of badarguments to prove that the only righteous thing to do with the people'sparks is to destroy them bit by bit as they are able. Their argumentsare curiously like those of the devil, devised for the destruction ofthe first garden--so much of the very best Eden fruit going to waste; somuch of the best Tuolumne water and Tuolumne scenery going to waste. Fewof their statements are even partly true, and all are misleading. 

Thus, Hetch Hetchy, they say, is a "low-lying meadow. " On the contrary, it is a high-lying natural landscape garden, as the photographicillustrations show. 

"It is a common minor feature, like thousands of others. " On thecontrary it is a very uncommon feature; after Yosemite, the rarest andin many ways the most important in the National Park. 

"Damming and submerging it 175 feet deep would enhance its beauty byforming a crystal-clear lake. " Landscape gardens, places of recreationand worship, are never made beautiful by destroying and burying them. The beautiful sham lake, forsooth, should be only an eyesore, a dismalblot on the landscape, like many others to be seen in the Sierra. For, instead of keeping it at the same level all the year, allowing Naturecenturies of time to make new shores, it would, of course, be full onlya month or two in the spring, when the snow is melting fast; then itwould be gradually drained, exposing the slimy sides of the basin andshallower parts of the bottom, with the gathered drift and waste, deathand decay of the upper basins, caught here instead of being swept on todecent natural burial along the banks of the river or in the sea. Thusthe Hetch Hetchy dam-lake would be only a rough imitation of a naturallake for a few of the spring months, an open sepulcher for the others. 

"Hetch Hetchy water is the purest of all to be found in the Sierra, unpolluted, and forever unpollutable. " On the contrary, excepting thatof the Merced below Yosemite, it is less pure than that of most of theother Sierra streams, because of the sewerage of camp grounds draininginto it, especially of the Big Tuolumne Meadows camp ground, occupied byhundreds of tourists and mountaineers, with their animals, for monthsevery summer, soon to be followed by thousands from all the world. 

These temple destroyers, devotees of ravaging commercialism, seem tohave a perfect contempt for Nature, and, instead of lifting their eyesto the God of the mountains, lift them to the Almighty Dollar. 

Dam Hetch Hetchy! As well dam for water-tanks the people's cathedralsand churches, for no holier temple has ever been consecrated by theheart of man. 

Appendix A

Legislation About the Yosemite

In the year 1864, Congress passed the following act:--

ACT OF JUNE 30, 1864 (13 STAT. , 325). 

An Act Authorizing a grant to the State of California of the "Yo-SemiteValley, " and of the land embracing the "Mariposa Big Tree Grove. "

"Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the UnitedStates of America, in Congress assembled, That there shall be, and ishereby, granted to the State of California, the 'Cleft' or 'Gorge' inthe Granite Peak of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, situated in the countyof Mariposa, in the State aforesaid, and the headwaters of the MercedRiver, and known as the Yosemite Valley, with its branches and spurs, inestimated length fifteen miles, and in average width one mile back fromthe main edge of the precipice, on each side of the Valley, with thestipulation, nevertheless, that the said State shall accept this grantupon the express conditions that the premises shall be held for publicuse, resort, and recreation; shall be inalienable for all time; butleases not exceeding ten years may be granted for portions of saidpremises. All incomes derived from leases of privileges to be expendedin the preservation and improvement of the property, or the roadsleading thereto; the boundaries to be established at the cost of saidState by the United States Surveyor-General of California, whoseofficial plat, when affirmed by the Commissioner of the General LandOffice, shall constitute the evidence of the locus, extent, and limitsof the said Cleft or Gorge; the premises to be managed by the Governorof the State, with eight other Commissioners, to be appointed by theExecutive of California, and who shall receive no compensation for theirservices. 

"Sec. 2. And be it further enacted, That there shall likewise be, andthere is hereby, granted to the said State of California, the tractsembracing what is known as the 'Mariposa Big Tree Grove, ' not to exceedthe area of four sections, and to be taken in legal subdivisions ofone-quarter section each, with the like stipulations as expressed inthe first section of this Act as to the State's acceptance, with likeconditions as in the first section of this Act as to inalienability, yet with the same lease privileges; the income to be expended in thepreservation, improvement, and protection of the property, the premisesto be managed by Commissioners, as stipulated in the first section ofthis Act, and to be taken in legal subdivisions as aforesaid; and theofficial plat of the United States Surveyor-General, when affirmed bythe Commissioner of the General Land Office, to be the evidence of thelocus of the said Mariposa Big Tree Grove. "

This important act was approved by the President, June 30, 1864, and shortly after the Governor of California, F. F. Low, issued aproclamation taking possession of the Yosemite Valley and Mariposagrove of Big Trees, in the name and on behalf of the State, appointingcommissioners to manage them, and warning all persons againsttrespassing or settling there without authority, and especiallyforbidding the cutting of timber and other injurious acts. 

The first Board of Commissioners were F. Law Olmsted, J. D. Whitney, William Ashburner, I. W. Raymond, E. S. Holden, Alexander Deering, George W. Coulter, and Galen Clark. 

ACT OF OCTOBER 1, 1890 (26 STAT. , 650). 

[Footnote: Sections 1 and 2 of this act pertain to the Yosemite NationalPark, while section 3 sets apart General Grant National Park, and also aportion of Sequoia National Park. ]

An Act To set apart certain tracts of land in the State of California asforest reservations. 

"Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the UnitedStates of America in Congress assembled, That the tracts of land in theState of California known as described as follows: Commencing at thenorthwest corner of township two north, range nineteen east Mount Diablomeridian, thence eastwardly on the line between townships two and threenorth, ranges twenty-four and twenty-five east; thence southwardly onthe line between ranges twenty-four and twenty-five east to the MountDiablo base line; thence eastwardly on said base line to the cornerto township one south, ranges twenty-five and twenty-six east; thencesouthwardly on the line between ranges twenty-five and twenty-six eastto the southeast corner of township two south, range twenty-five east;thence eastwardly on the line between townships two and three south, range twenty-six east to the corner to townships two and three south, ranges twenty-six and twenty-seven east; thence southwardly on the linebetween ranges twenty-six and twenty-seven east to the first standardparallel south; thence westwardly on the first standard parallel southto the southwest corner of township four south, range nineteen east;thence northwardly on the line between ranges eighteen and nineteen eastto the northwest corner of township two south, range nineteen east;thence westwardly on the line between townships one and two south tothe southwest corner of township one south, range nineteen east; thencenorthwardly on the line between ranges eighteen and nineteen east tothe northwest corner of township two north, range nineteen east, theplace of beginning, are hereby reserved and withdrawn from settlement, occupancy, or sale under the laws of the United States, and set apart asreserved forest lands; and all persons who shall locate or settle upon, or occupy the same or any part thereof, except as hereinafter provided, shall be considered trespassers and removed therefrom: Provided, however, That nothing in this act shall be construed as in anywiseaffecting the grant of lands made to the State of California by virtueof the act entitled, 'An act authorizing a grant to the State ofCalifornia of the Yosemite Valley, and of the land embracing theMariposa Big-Tree Grove, ' appeared June thirtieth, eighteen hundred andsixty-four; or as affecting any bona-fide entry of land made within thelimits above described under any law of the United States prior to theapproval of this act. 

"Sec. 2. That said reservation shall be under the exclusive controlof the Secretary of the Interior, whose duty it shall be, as soon aspracticable, to make and publish such rules and regulations as he maydeem necessary or proper for the care and management of the same. Suchregulations shall provide for the preservation from injury of alltimber, mineral deposits, natural curiosities, or wonders within saidreservation, and their retention in their natural condition. TheSecretary may, in his discretion, grant leases for building purposes forterms not exceeding ten years of small parcels of ground not exceedingfive acres; at such places in said reservation as shall require theerection of buildings for the accommodation of visitors; all of theproceeds of said leases and other revenues that may be derived fromany source connected with said reservation to be expended under hisdirection in the management of the same and the construction of roadsand paths therein. He shall provide against the wanton destruction ofthe fish, and game found within said reservation, and against theircapture or destruction, for the purposes of merchandise or profit. Heshall also cause all persons trespassing upon the same after the passageof this act to be removed therefrom, and, generally, shall be authorizedto take all such measures as shall be necessary or proper to fully carryout the objects and purposes of this act. 

"Sec. 3. There shall also be and is hereby reserved and withdrawn fromsettlement, occupancy, or sale under the laws of the United States, andshall be set apart as reserved forest lands, as herein before provided, and subject to all the limitations and provisions herein contained, thefollowing additional lands, to wit: Township seventeen south, rangethirty east of the Mount Diablo meridian, excepting sections thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, and thirty-four of said township, includedin a previous bill. And there is also reserved and withdrawn fromsettlement, occupancy, or sale under the laws of the United States, andset apart as forest lands, subject to like limitations, conditions, and provisions, all of townships fifteen and sixteen south, of rangestwenty-nine and thirty east of the Mount Diablo meridian. And there isalso hereby reserved and withdrawn from settlement, occupancy, or saleunder the laws of the United states, and set apart as reserved forestlands under like limitations, restrictions, and provisions, sectionsfive and six in township fourteen south, range twenty-eight east ofMount Diablo meridian, and also sections thirty-one and thirty-two oftownship thirteen south, range twenty-eight east of the same meridian. Nothing in this act shall authorize rules or contracts touching theprotection and improvement of said reservations, beyond the sums thatmay be received by the Secretary of the Interior under the foregoingprovisions, or authorize any charge against the Treasury of the UnitedStates. "

ACT OF THE LEGISLATURE OF THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA, APPROVEDMARCH 3, 1905. 

"Sec. 1. The State of California does hereby recede and regrant unto theUnited States of America the 'cleft' or 'gorge' in the granite peak ofthe Sierra Nevada Mountains, situated in the county of Mariposa, Stateof California, and the headwaters of the Merced River, and known as theYosemite Valley, with its branches and spurs, granted unto the Stateof California in trust for public use, resort, and recreation by theact of Congress entitled, 'An act authorizing a grant to the Stateof California of the Yosemite Valley and of the land embracing theMariposa Big Tree Grove, ' approved June thirtieth, eighteen hundred andsixty-four; and the State of California does hereby relinquish unto theUnited States of America and resign the trusts created and granted bythe said act of Congress. 

"Sec. 2. The State of California does hereby recede and regrant untothe United States of America the tracts embracing what is known as the'Mariposa Big Tree Grove, ' planted unto the State of California in trustfor public use, resort, and recreation by the act of Congress referredto in section one of this act, and the State of California does herebyrelinquish unto the United States of America and resign the trustscreated and granted by the said act of Congress. 

"Sec. 3. This act shall take effect from and after acceptance by theUnited States of America of the recessions and regrants herein madethereby forever releasing the State of California from further cost ofmaintaining the said premises, the same to be held for all time by theUnited States of America for public use, resort, and recreation andimposing on the United States of America the cost of maintaining thesame as a national park: Provided, however, That the recession andregrant hereby made shall not affect vested rights and interests ofthird persons. "

Appendix B

Table of Distances

From the Guardian's office, in the village, the distances to variouspoints are in miles as follows:

 Miles. 

 Bridal Veil Fall 4. 04 Cascade Falls 7. 67 Cloud's Rest, Summit 11. 81 Columbia Rock, on Eagle Peak Trail 1. 98 Dana, Mt. , Summit 40. 34 Eagle Peak 6. 59 El Capitan Bridge 3. 63 Glacier Point, direct trail 4. 45 Glacier Point, by Nevada Falls 16. 98 Lyell, Mt. , Summit 38. 20 Merced Bridge 2. 03 Mirror Lake, by Hunt's avenue 2. 91 Nevada Fall (Hotel) 4. 63 Nevada Fall, Bridge above 5. 45 Pohono Bridge 5. 29 Register Rock 3. 24 Ribbon Fall 3. 99 Rocky Point (base of Three Brothers) 1. 45 Tenayah Creek Bridge 2. 26 Tenayah Lake 16. 00 Yosemite Falls, foot 0. 90 Yosemite Falls, foot Upper Fall 2. 67 Yosemite Falls, top 4. 33 Soda Springs (Eagle Peak Trail) 24. 50 Sentinel Dome 5. 57 Union Point, on Glacier Point Trail 3. 13 Vernal Fall 3. 50

Appendix C

Maximum Rates for Transportation

The following rates for transportation in and about the Valley havebeen established by the Board of Commissioners:

SADDLE-HORSES

 From Route to Amount

 Valley Glacier Point and Sentinel Dome, and return, $3. 00 direct, same day Valley Glacier Point, Sentinel Dome, and Fissures, 3. 75 and return, direct, same day Valley Glacier Point, Sentinel Dome, and Fissures, 3. 00 passing night at Glacier Point Valley Glacier Point, Sentinel Dome, Nevada Fall, 3. 00 and Casa Nevada, passing night at Casa Nevada Valley Glacier Point, Sentinel Dome, Nevada Fall, 4. 00 Vernal Fall, and thence to Valley same day Glacier Point Valley direct 2. 00 Glacier Point Sentinel Dome, Nevada Fall, and Casa Nevada, 2. 00 passing night at Casa Nevada Glacier Point Sentinel Dome, Nevada Fall, Vernal Fall, 3. 00 and thence to Valley same day Valley Summits, Vernal and Nevada Falls, direct, 3. 00 and return to Valley same day Valley Glacier Point by Casa Nevada, passing night 3. 00 at Glacier Point Valley Summits, Vernal and Nevada Falls, Sentinel Dome, 4. 00 Glacier Point, and thence to Valley same day Valley Cloud's Rest and return to Casa Nevada 3. 00 Valley Cloud's Rest and return to Valley same day 5. 00 Casa Nevada Cloud's Rest and return to Casa Nevada or 3. 00 Valley same day Casa Nevada Valley direct 2. 00 Casa Nevada Nevada Fall, Sentinel Dome, and Glacier Point, 2. 00 passing night at Glacier Point Valley Nevada Fall, Sentinel Dome, Glacier Point, 3. 00 and Valley same day

 Upper Yosemite Fall, Eagle Peak, and return 3. 00 Charge for guide (including horse), when furnished 3. 00 Saddle-horses, on level of Valley, per day 2. 50

1. The above charges do not include feed for horses when passing nightat Casa Nevada or Glacier Point. 

2. Where Valley is specified as starting-point, the above rates prevailfrom any hotel in Valley, or from the foot of any trail. 

3. Any shortening of above trips, without proportionate reduction ofrates, shall be at the option of those hiring horses. 

4. Trips other than those above specified shall be subject to specialarrangement between letter and hirer. 

CARRIAGES

 From Route to Amount

 Hotels Mirror Lake and return, direct $1. 00 Hotels Mirror Lake and return by Tissiack Avenue 1. 25 Hotels Mirror Lake and return to foot of Trail, to Vernal 1. 00 and Nevada Falls Hotels Bridal Veil Falls and return, direct 1. 00 Hotels Pohono Bridge, down either side of Valley, and return 1. 50 on opposite side, stopping at Yosemite and Bridal Veil Falls Hotels Cascade Falls, down either side of Valley, and return 2. 25 on opposite side, stopping at Yosemite and Bridal Veil Falls Hotels Artist Point and return, direct, stopping at Bridal 2. 00 Veil Falls Hotels New Inspiration Point and return, direct, stopping at 2. 00 Bridal Veil Falls Grand Round Drive, including Yosemite and Bridal Veil 2. 50 Falls, excluding Lake and Cascades Grand Round Drive, including Yosemite and Bridal Veil 3. 50 Falls, Lake, and Cascades

1. When the value of the seats hired in any vehicle shall exceed $15for a two-horse team, or $25 for a four-horse team, for any trip in theabove schedule, the persons hiring the seats shall have the privilegeof paying no more than the aggregate sums of $15 and $25 per trip for atwo-horse and four-horse team, respectively. 

2. If saddle-horses should be substituted for any of the above carriagetrips, carriage rates will apply to each horse. In no case shall theper diem charge of $2. 50 for each saddle-horse, on level of Valley, beexceeded. 

Any excess of the above rates, as well as any extortion, incivility, misrepresentation, or the riding of unsafe animals, should be promptlyreported at the Guardian's office.