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GALEN CLARK was the best
mountaineer I ever met, and one of the kindest and most amiable of all my
mountain friends. I first met him at his Wawona ranch forty-three years ago
on my first visit to Yosemite. I had entered the Valley with one companion
by way of Coultervile, and returned by what was then known as the Mariposa
Trail. Both trails were buried in deep snow where the elevation was from
five to seven thousand feet above sea-level in the sugar pine and silver fir
regions. We had no great difficulty, however, in finding our way by the
trends of the main features of the topography. Botanizing by the way, we
made slow, plodding progress, and were again about out of provisions when we
reached Clark's hospitable cabin at Wawona. He kindly furnished us with
flour and a little sugar and tea, and my companion, who complained of the
benumbing poverty of a strictly vegetarian diet, gladly accepted Mr. Clark's
offer of a piece of a bear that had just been killed. After a 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 in the now famous
Mariposa Grove.
Later, after making my home
in the Yosemite Valley, I became well acquainted with Mr. Clark, while he
was guardian. He was elected again and again to this important office by
different Boards of Commissioners on 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 trip through the Big Tuolumne Caņon from
Hetch Hetchy Valley. The caņon up to that time had not been explored, and
knowing that the difference in the elevation of the river at the head of the
caņon and in Hetch Hetchy was about five thousand feet, we expected to find
some magnificent cataracts or falls; nor were we disappointed. When we were
leaving Yosemite an ambitious young man begged leave to join us. I strongly
advised him not to attempt such a long, hard trip, for it would undoubtedly
prove very trying to an inexperienced climber. He assured us, however, that
he was equal to anything, would gladly meet every difficulty as it came, and
cause us no hindrance or trouble of any sort. So at last, after repeating
our advice that he give up the trip, we consented to his joining us. We
entered the caņon by way of Hetch Hetchy Valley, each carrying 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 what is now known as "Muir Gorge," and
Mr. Clark without hesitation prepared to force a way through it, wading and
jumping from one submerged boulder to another through the torrent, bracing
and steadying himself with a long pole. Though the river was then rather
low, the savage, roaring, surging song it was singing was rather nerve-
trying, especially to our inexperienced companion. With careful assistance,
however, I managed to get him through, but this hard trial, naturally
enough, proved too much, and he informed us, pale and trembling, that he
could go no farther. I gathered some wood at the upper throat of the gorge,
made a fire for him, and advised him to feel at home and make himself
comfortable, hoped he would enjoy the grand scenery and the songs of the
water-ouzels which haunted the gorge, and assured him that we would return
some time in the night, though it might be late, as we wished to go on
through the entire caņon if possible. We pushed our way through the dense
chaparral and over the earthquake taluses with such speed that we reached
the foot of the upper cataract while we had still an hour or so of daylight
for the return trip. It was long after dark when we reached our adventurous
but nerve-shaken companion, who, of course, was anxious and lonely, not
being accustomed to solitude, however kindly and flowery and full of sweet
bird song and stream song. Being tired we simply lay down in restful comfort
on the river-bank beside a good fire, instead of trying to go down the gorge
in the dark or climb over its high shoulder to our blankets and provisions,
which we had left in the morning in a tree at the foot of the gorge. I
remember Mr. Clark remarking that if he had his choice that night between
provisions and blankets, he would choose his blankets.
The next morning in about an
hour we had crossed over the ridge through which the gorge is cut, reached
our provisions, made tea, and had a good breakfast. As soon as we had
returned to Yosemite, I obtained fresh provisions, pushed off alone up to
the head of Yosemite Creek basin, entered the caņon by a side caņon, and
completed the exploration up to the Tuolumne Meadows.
It was on this first trip
from Hetch Hetchy to the upper cataracts that I had convincing proofs of Mr.
Clark's daring and skill as a mountaineer, particularly in fording torrents,
and in forcing his way through thick chaparral. I found it somewhat
difficult to keep up with him in dense, tangled brush, though in jumping on
boulder taluses and slippery cobble-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 in establishing a line of stakes across the
McClure Glacier to measure its rate of flow. On this trip we also climbed
Mount Lyell together, when the snow which covered the glacier was melted
into upleaning, icy blades which were extremely difficult to cross, not
being strong enough to support our weight, nor wide enough apart to enable
us to stride across each blade as it was met. Here again I, being lighter,
had no difficulty in keeping ahead of him. While resting after wearisome
staggering and falling he stared at the marvelous ranks of leaning blades,
and said, "I think I have traveled all sorts of trails and canons, through
all kinds of brush and snow, but this gets me."
Mr. Clark at my urgent
request joined my small party on a trip to the King's River Yosemite by way
of the high mountains, most of the way without a trail. He joined us at the
Mariposa Big Tree Grove and intended to go all the way, but finding that, on
account of the difficulties encountered, the time required was much greater
than he expected, he turned back near the head of the north fork of the
King's River.
In cooking his mess of
oatmeal porridge and making tea; his pot was always the first to boil, and I
used to wonder why, with all his skill in scrambling through brush in the
easiest way, and preparing his meals, he was so utterly careless about his
beds. He would lie down anywhere on any ground, rough or smooth, without
taking pains even to remove cobbles or sharp- angled rocks protruding
through the grass or gravel, saying that his own bones were as hard as any
stones and could do him no harm.
His kindness to all Yosemite
visitors and mountaineers was marvelously constant and uniform. He was not a
good business man, and in building an extensive hotel and barns at Wawona,
before the travel to Yosemite had been greatly developed, he borrowed money,
mortgaged his property and lost it all.
Though not the first to see
the Mariposa Big Tree Grove, he was the first to explore it, after he had
heard from a prospector, who had passed through the grove and who gave him
the indefinite information, that there were some wonderful big trees up
there on the top of the Wawona Hill and that he believed they must be of the
same kind that had become so famous and well known in the Calaveras Grove
farther north. On this information, Galen Clark told me, he went up and
thoroughly explored the grove, counting the trees and measuring the largest,
and becoming familiar with it. He stated also that he had explored the
forest to the southward and had discovered the much larger Fresno Grove of
about two square miles, six or seven miles distant from the Mariposa Grove.
Unfortunately most of the Fresno Grove has been cut and fiumed down to the
railroad near Madera.
Mr. Clark was truly and
literally a gentleman. I never heard him utter a hasty, angry, fault-finding
word. His voice was uniformly pitched at a rather low tone, perfectly even,
although glances of his eyes and slight intonations of his voice often
indicated that something funny or mildly sarcastic was coming, but upon the
whole he was serious and industrious, and, however deep and fun-provoking a
story might be, he never indulged in boisterous laughter.
He was very fond of scenery
and once told me after I became acquainted with him that he liked "nothing
in the world better than climbing to the top of a high ridge or mountain and
looking off." He preferred the mountain ridges and domes in the Yosemite
regions on account of the wealth and beauty of the forests. Oftentimes he
would take his rifle, a few pounds of bacon, a few pounds of flour, and a
single blanket and go off hunting, for no other reason than to explore and
get acquainted with the most beautiful points of view within a journey of a
week or two from his Wawona home. On these trips he was always alone and
could indulge in tranquil enjoyment of Nature to his heart's content. He
said that on those trips, when he was a sufficient distance from home in a
neighborhood where he wished to linger, he always shot a deer, sometimes a
grouse, and occasionally a bear. After diminishing the weight of a deer or
bear by eating part of it, he carried as much as possible of the best of the
meat to Wawona, and from his hospitable well- supplied cabin no weary
wanderer ever went away hungry or unrested.
The value of the mountain air
in prolonging life is well exemplified in Mr. Clark's case. While working in
the mines he contracted a severe cold that settled on his lungs and finally
caused severe inflammation and bleeding, and none of his friends thought he
would ever recover. The physicians told him he had but a short time to live.
It was then that he repaired to the beautiful sugar pine woods at Wawona and
took up a claim, including the fine meadows there, and building his cabin,
began his life of wandering and exploring in the glorious mountains about
him, usually going bareheaded. In a remarkably short time his lungs were
healed.
He was one of the most
sincere tree-lovers I ever knew. About twenty years before his death he made
choice of a plot in the Yosemite cemetery on the north side of the Valley,
not far from the Yosemite Fall, and selecting a dozen or so of seedling
sequoias in the Mariposa Grove he brought them to the Valley and planted
them around the spot he had chosen for his last rest. The ground there is
gravelly and dry; by careful watering he finally nursed most of the
seedlings into good, thrifty trees, and doubtless they will long shade the
grave of their blessed lover and friend. |
