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August 7. Early this morning
bade good-bye to the bears and blessed silver fir camp, and moved slowly
eastward along the Mono Trail. At sundown camped for the night on one of the
many small flowery meadows so greatly enjoyed on my excursion to Lake Tenaya.
The dusty, noisy flock seems outrageously foreign and out of place in these
nature gardens, more so than bears among sheep. The harm they do goes to the
heart, but glorious hope lifts above all the dust and din and bids me look
forward to a good time coming, when money enough will be earned to enable me
to go walking where I like in pure wildness, with what I can carry on my
back, and when the bread-sack is empty, run down to the nearest point on the
breadline for more. Nor' will these run-downs be blanks, for, whether up or
down, every step and jump on these blessed mountains is full of fine
lessons.
August 8. Camp at the west
end of Lake Tenaya. Arriving early, I took a walk on the glacier-polished
pavements along the north shore, and climbed the magnificent mountain rock
at the east end of the lake, now shining in the late afternoon light. Almost
every yard of its surface shows the scoring and polishing action of a great
glacier that enveloped it and swept heavily over its summit, though it is
about two thousand feet high above the lake and ten thousand above
sea-level. This majestic, ancient ice-flood came from the eastward, as the
scoring and crushing of the surface shows. Even below the waters of the lake
the rock in some places is still grooved and polished; the lapping of the
waves and their disintegrating action have not as yet obliterated even the
superficial marks of glaciation. In climbing the steepest polished places I
had to take off shoes and stockings. A fine region this for study of glacial
action in mountain-making. I found many charming plants: arctic daisies,
phlox, white spiraea, bryanthus, and rock-ferns, — pella a, cheilanthes,
allosorus, - fringing weathered seams all the way up to the summit; and
sturdy junipers, grand old gray and brown monuments, stood bravely erect on
fissured spots here and there, telling storm and avalanche stories of
hundreds of winters. The view of the lake from the top is, I think, the best
of all. There is another rock, more striking in form than this, standing
isolated at the head of the lake, but it is not more than half as high. It
is a knob or knot of burnished granite, perhaps about a thousand feet high,
apparently as flawless and strong in structure as a wave-worn pebble, and
probably owes its existence to the superior resistance it offered to the
action of the overflowing ice-flood.
Made sketch of the lake, and
sauntered back to camp, my iron-shod shoes clanking on the pavements
disturbing the chipmunks and birds. After dark went out to the shore, — not
a breath of air astir, the lake a perfect mirror reflecting the sky and
mountains with their stars and trees and wonderful sculpture, all their
grandeur refined and doubled, — a marvelously impressive picture, that
seemed to belong more to heaven than earth.
August 9. I went ahead of the
flock, and crossed over the divide between the Merced and Tuolumne Basins.
The gap between the east end of the Hoffman spur and the mass of mountain
rocks about Cathedral Peak, though roughened by ridges and waving folds,
seems to be one of the channels of a broad ancient glacier that came from
the mountains on the summit of the range. In crossing this divide the
ice-river made an ascent of about five hundred feet from the Tuolumne
meadows. This entire region must have been overswept by ice.
From the top of the divide,
and also from the big Tuolumne Meadows, the wonderful mountain called
Cathedral Peak is in sight. From every point of view it shows marked
individuality. It is a majestic temple of one stone, hewn from the living
rock, and adorned wit1 spires and pinnacles in regular cathedral style. The
dwarf pines on the roof look like mosses. I hope some time to climb to it to
say my prayers and hear the stone sermons.
The big Tuolumne Meadows are
flowery lawns, lying along the south fork of the Tuolumne River at a height
of about eighty-five hundred to nine thousand feet above the sea, partially
separated by forests and bars of glaciated granite. Here the mountains seem
to have been cleared away or set back, so that wide-open views may be had in
every direction. The upper end of the series lies at the base of Mount Lyell,
the lower below the east end of the Hoffman Range, so the length must be
about ten or twelve miles. They vary in width from a quarter of a mile to
perhaps three quarters, and a good many branch meadows put out along the
banks of the tributary streams. This is the most spacious and delightful
high pleasure-ground I have yet seen. The air is keen and bracing, yet warm
during the day; and though lying high in the sky, the surrounding mountains
are so much higher, one feels protected as if in a grand hall. Mounts Dana
and Gibbs, massive red mountains, perhaps thirteen thousand feet high or
more, bound the view on the east, the Cathedral and Unicorn Peaks, with many
nameless peaks, on the south, the Hoffman Range on the west, and a number of
peaks unnamed, as far as I know, on the north. One of these last is much
like the Cathedral. The grass of the meadows is mostly fine and silky, with
exceedingly slender leaves, making a close sod, above which the panicles of
minute purple flowers seem to float in airy, misty lightness, while the sod
is enriched with at least three species of gentian and as many or more of
orthocarpus, potentilla, ivesia, solidago, pentstemon, with their gay
colors, — purple, blue, yellow, and red, — all of which I may know better
ere long. A central camp will probably be made in this region, from which I
hope to make long excursions into the surrounding mountains.
On the return trip I met the
flock about three miles east of Lake Tenaya. Here we camped for the night
near a small lake lying on top of the divide in a clump of the two-leaved
pine. We are now about nine thousand feet above the sea. Small lakes abound
in all sorts of situations, — on ridges, along mountain sides, and in piles
of moraine boulders, most of them mere pools. Only in those canons of the
larger streams at the foot of declivities, where the down thrust of the
glaciers was heaviest, do we find lakes of considerable size and depth. How
grateful a task it would be to trace them all and study them! How pure their
waters are, clear as crystal in polished stone basins! None of them, so far
as I have seen, have fishes, I suppose on account of falls making them
inaccessible. Yet one would think their eggs might get into these lakes by
some chance or other; on ducks' feet, for example, or in their mouths, or in
their crops, as some plant seeds are distributed. Nature has so many ways of
doing such things. How did the frogs, found in all the bogs and pools and
lakes, however high, manage to get up these mountains? Surely not by
jumping. Such excursions through miles of dry brush and boulders would be
very hard on frogs. Perhaps their stringy gelatinous spawn is occasionally
entangled or glued on the feet of water birds. Anyhow, they are here and in
hearty health and voice. I like their cheery tronk and crink. They take the
place of songbirds at a pinch.
August 10. Another of those
charming exhilarating days that make the blood dance and excite nerve
currents that render one unweariable and well-nigh immortal. Had another
view of the broad ice-ploughed divide, and gazed again and again at the
Sierra temple and the great red mountains east of the meadows.
We are camped near the Soda
Springs on the north side of the river. A hard time we had getting the sheep
across. They were driven into a horseshoe bend and fairly crowded off the
bank. They seemed willing to suffer death rather than risk getting wet,
though they swim well enough when they have to. Why sheep should be so
unreasonably afraid of water, I don't know, but they do fear it as soon as
they are born and perhaps before. I once saw a lamb only a few hours old
approach a shallow stream about two feet wide and an inch deep, after it had
walked only about a hundred yards on its life journey. All the flock to
which it belonged had crossed this inch-deep stream, and as the mother and
her lamb were the last to cross, I had a good opportunity to observe them.
As soon as the flock was out of the way, the anxious mother crossed over and
called the youngster. It walked cautiously to the brink, gazed at the water,
bleated piteously, and refused to venture. The patient mother went back to
it again and again to encourage it, but long without avail. Like the pilgrim
on Jordan's stormy bank it feared to launch away. At length, gathering its
trembling inexperienced legs for the mighty effort, throwing up its head as
if it knew all about drowning, and was anxious to keep its nose above water,
it made the tremendous leap, and landed in the middle of the inch-deep
stream. It seemed astonished to find that, instead of sinking over head and
ears, only its toes were wet, gazed at the shining water a few seconds, and
then sprang to the shore safe and dry through the dreadful adventure. All
kinds of wild sheep are mountain animals, and their descendants' dread of
water is not easily accounted for.
August 11. Fine shining
weather, with a ten minutes' noon thunderstorm and rain. Rambling all day
getting acquainted with the region north of the river. Found a small lake
and many charming glacier meadows embosomed in an extensive forest of the
two-leaved pine. The forest is growing on broad, almost continuous deposits
of moraine material, is remarkably even in its growth, and the trees are
much closer together than in any of the fir or pine woods farther down the
range. The evenness of the growth would seem to indicate that the trees are
all of the same age or nearly so. This regularity has probably been in great
part the result of fire. I saw several large patches and strips of dead
bleached spars, the ground beneath them covered with a young even growth.
Fire can run in these woods, not only because the thin bark of the trees is
dripping with resin, but because the growth is close, and the comparatively
rich soil produces good crops of tall broad-leaved grasses on which fire can
travel, even when the weather is calm. Besides these fire-killed patches
there are a good many fallen uprooted trees here and there, some with the
bark and needles still on, as if they had lately been blown down in some
thunderstorm blast. Saw a large black-tailed deer, a buck with antlers like
the upturned roots of a fallen pine.
After a long ramble through
the dense encumbered woods I emerged upon a smooth meadow full of sunshine
like a lake of light, about a mile and a half long, a quarter to half a mile
wide, and bounded by tall arrowy pines. The sod, like that of all the
glacier meadows hereabouts, is made of silky agrostis and calamagrostis
chiefly; their panicles of purple flowers and purple stems, exceedingly
light and airy, seem to float above the green plush of leaves like a thin
misty cloud, while the sod is brightened by several species of gentian,
potentilla, ivesia, orthocarpus, and their corresponding bees and
butterflies. All the glacier meadows are beautiful, but few are so perfect
as this one. Compared with it the most carefully leveled, licked, snipped
artificial lawns of pleasure-grounds are coarse things. I should like to
live here always. It is so calm and withdrawn while open to the universe in
full communion with everything good. To the north of this glorious meadow I
discovered the camp of some Indian hunters. Their fire was still burning,
but they had not yet returned from the chase.
From meadow to meadow, every
one beautiful beyond telling, and from lake to lake through groves and belts
of arrowy trees, I held my way northward toward Mount Conness, finding
telling beauty everywhere, while the encompassing mountains were calling
"Come." Hope I may climb them all.
August 12. The sky-scenery
has changed but little so far with the change in elevation. Clouds about
.05. Glorious pearly cumuli tinted with purple of ineffable fineness of
tone. Moved camp to the side of the glacier meadow mentioned above. To let
sheep trample so divinely fine a place seems barbarous. Fortunately they
prefer the succulent broad-leaved triticum and other woodland grasses to the
silky species of the meadows, and therefore seldom bite them or set foot on
them.
The shepherd and the Don
cannot agree about methods of herding. Billy sets his dog Jack on the sheep
far too often, so the Don thinks; and after some dispute to-day, in which
the shepherd loudly claimed the right to dog the sheep as often as he
pleased, he started for the plains. Now I suppose the care of the sheep will
fall on me, though Mr. Delaney promises to do the herding himself for a
while, then return to the lowlands and bring another shepherd, so as to
leave me free to rove as I like.
Had another rich ramble.
Pushed northward beyond the forests to the head of the general basin, where
traces of glacial action are strikingly clear and interesting. The recesses
among the peaks look like quarries, so raw and fresh are the moraine chips
and boulders that strew the ground in Nature's glacial workshops.
Soon after my return to camp
we received a visit from an Indian, probably one of the hunters whose camp I
had discovered. He came from Mono, he said, with others of his tribe, to
hunt deer. One that he had killed a short distance from here he was carrying
on his back, its legs tied together in an ornamental bunch on his forehead.
Throwing down his burden, he gazed stolidly for a few minutes in silent
Indian fashion, then cut off eight or ten pounds of venison for us, and
begged a "lill" (little) of everything he saw or could think of — flour,
bread, sugar, tobacco, whiskey, needles, etc. We gave a fair price for the
meat in flour and sugar and added a few needles. A strangely dirty and
irregular life these dark-eyed, dark-haired, half-happy savages lead in this
clean wilderness, — starvation and abundance, deathlike calm, indolence, and
admirable, indefatigable action succeeding each other in stormy rhythm like
winter and summer. Two things they have that civilized toilers might well
envy them — pure air and pure water. These go far to cover and cure the
grossness of their lives. Their food is mostly good berries, pine nuts,
clover, lily bulbs, wild sheep, antelope, deer, grouse, sage hens, and the
larvae of ants, wasps, bees, and other insects.
August 13. Day all sunshine,
dawn and evening purple, noon gold, no clouds, air motionless. Mr. Delaney
arrived with two shepherds, one of them an Indian. On his way up from the
plains he left some provisions at the Portuguese camp on Porcupine Creek
near our old Yosemite camp, and I set out this morning with one of the pack
animals to fetch them. Arrived at the Porcupine camp at noon, and might have
returned to the Tuolumne late in the evening, but concluded to stay over
night with the Portuguese shepherds at their pressing invitation. They had
sad stories to tell of losses from the Yosemite bears, and were so
discouraged they seemed on the point of leaving the mountains; for the bears
came every night and helped themselves to one or several of the flock in
spite of all their efforts to keep them off.
I spent the afternoon in a
grand ramble along the Yosemite walls. From the highest of the rocks called
the Three Brothers, I enjoyed a magnificent view comprehending all the upper
half of the floor of the valley and nearly all the rocks of the walls on
both sides and at the head, with snowy peaks in the background. Saw also the
Vernal and Nevada Falls, a truly glorious picture, — rocky strength and
permanence combined with beauty of plants frail and fine and evanescent;
water descending in thunder, and the same water gliding through meadows and
groves in gentlest beauty. This standpoint is about eight thousand feet
above the sea, or four thousand feet above the floor of the valley, and
every tree, though looking small and feathery, stands in admirable
clearness, and the shadows they cast are as distinct in outline as if seen
at a distance of a few yards. They appeared even more so. No words will ever
describe the exquisite beauty and charm of this mountain park — Nature's
landscape garden at once tenderly beautiful and sublime. No wonder it draws
nature-lovers from all over the world.
Glacial action even on this
lofty summit is plainly displayed. Not only has all the lovely valley now
smiling in sunshine been filled to the brim with ice, but it has been deeply
overflowed.
I visited our old Yosemite
camp-ground on the head of Indian Creek, and found it fairly patted and
smoothed down with bear-tracks. The bears had eaten all the sheep that were
smothered in the corral, and some of the grand animals must have died, for
Mr. Delaney, before leaving camp, put a large quantity of poison in the
carcasses. All sheep-men carry strychnine to kill coyotes, bears, and
panthers, though neither coyotes nor panthers are at all numerous in the
upper mountains. The little dog-like wolves are far more numerous in the
foothill region and on the plains, where they find a better supply of food,
— saw only one panther-track above eight thousand feet.
On my return after sunset to
the Portuguese camp I found the shepherds greatly excited over the behavior
of the bears that have learned to like mutton. "They are getting worse and
worse," they lamented. Not willing to wait decently until after dark for
their suppers, they come and kill and eat their fill in broad daylight. The
evening before my arrival, when the two shepherds were leisurely driving the
flock toward camp half an hour before sunset, a hungry bear came out of the
chaparral within a few yards of them and shuffled deliberately toward the
flock. "Portuguese Joe," who always carried a gun loaded with buckshot,
fired excitedly, threw down his gun, fled to the nearest suitable tree, and
climbed to a safe height without waiting to see the effect of his shot. His
companion also ran, but said that he saw the bear rise on its hind legs and
throw out its arms as if feeling for somebody, and then go into the brush as
if wounded.
At another of their camps in
this neighborhood, a bear with two cubs attacked the flock before sunset,
just as they were approaching the corral. Joe promptly climbed a tree out of
danger, while Antone, rebuking his companion for cowardice in abandoning his
charge, said that he was not going to let bears "eat up his sheeps" in
daylight, and rushed towards the bears, shouting and setting his dog on
them. The frightened cubs climbed a tree, but the mother ran to meet the
shepherd and seemed anxious to fight. Antone stood astonished for a moment,
eyeing the oncoming bear, then turned and fled, closely pursued. Unable to
reach a suitable tree for climbing, he ran to the camp and scrambled up to
the roof of the little cabin; the bear followed, but did not climb to the
roof, — only stood glaring up at him for a few minutes, threatening him and
holding him in mortal terror, then went to her cubs, called them down, went
to the flock, caught a sheep for supper, and vanished in the brush. As soon
as the bear left the cabin, the trembling Antone begged Joe to show him a
good safe tree, up which he climbed like a sailor climbing a mast, and
remained as long as he could hold on, the tree being almost branchless.
After these disastrous experiences the two shepherds chopped and gathered
large piles of dry wood and made a ring of fire around the corral every
night, while one with a gun kept watch from a comfortable stage built on a
neighboring pine that commanded a view of the corral. This evening the show
made by the circle of fire was very fine, bringing out the surrounding trees
in most impressive relief, and making the thousands of sheep eyes glow like
a glorious bed of diamonds.
August 14. Up to the time I
went to bed last night all was quiet, though we expected the shaggy
freebooters every minute. They did not come till near midnight, when a pair
walked boldly to the corral between two of the great fires, climbed in,
killed two sheep and smothered ten, while the frightened watcher in the tree
did not fire a single. shot, saying that he was afraid he might kill some of
the sheep, for the bears got into the corral before he got a good clear view
of them. I told the shepherds they should at once move the flock to another
camp. "Oh, no use, no use," they lamented; "where we go, the bears go too.
See my poor dead sheeps — soon all dead. No use try another camp. We go down
to the plains." And as I afterwards learned, they were driven out of the
mountains a month before the usual time. Were bears much more numerous and
destructive, the sheep would be kept away altogether.
It seems strange that bears,
so fond of all sorts of flesh, running the risks of guns and fires and
poison, should never attack men except in defense of their young. How easily
and safely a bear could pick us up as we lie asleep! Only wolves and tigers
seem to have learned to hunt man for food, and perhaps sharks and
crocodiles. Mosquitoes and other insects would, I suppose, devour a helpless
man in some parts of the world, and so might lions, leopards, wolves,
hyenas, and panthers at times if pressed by hunger, — but under ordinary
circumstances, perhaps, only the tiger among land animals may be said to be
a man-eater, — unless we add man himself.
Clouds as usual about .05.
Another glorious Sierra day, warm, crisp, fragrant, and clear. Many of the
flowering plants have gone to seed, but many others are unfolding their
petals every day, and the firs and pines are more fragrant than ever. Their
seeds are nearly ripe, and will soon be flying in the merriest flocks that
ever spread a wing.
On the way back to our
Tuolumne camp, I enjoyed the scenery if possible more than when it first
came to view. Every feature already seems familiar as if I had lived here
always. I never weary gazing at the wonderful Cathedral. It has more
individual character than any other rock or mountain I ever saw, excepting
perhaps the Yosemite South Dome. The forests, too, seem kindly familiar, and
the lakes and meadows and glad singing streams. I should like to dwell with
them f or-ever. Here with bread and water I should be content. Even if not
allowed to roam and climb, tethered to a stake or tree in some meadow or
grove, even then I should be content forever. Bathed in such beauty,
watching the expressions ever varying on the faces of the mountains,
watching the stars, which here have a glory that the lowlander never dreams
of, watching the circling seasons, listening to the songs of the waters and
winds and birds, would be endless pleasure. And what glorious cloudlands I
should see, storms and calms, — a new heaven and a new earth every day, aye
and new inhabitants. And how many visitors I should have. I feel sure I
should not have one dull moment. And why should this appear extravagant? It
is only common sense, a sign of health, genuine, natural, all-awake health.
One would be at an endless Godful play, and what speeches and music and
acting and scenery and lights! — sun, moon, stars, auroras. Creation just
beginning, the morning stars "still singing together and all the sons of God
shouting for joy. |
