UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 *
 
 THE WRITINGS OF JOHN MUIR 
 
 &ierra tuition 
 VOLUME II 
 
 8532 4
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN 
 THE SIERRA 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN MUIB 
 
 42803 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 1917
 
 COPYRIGHT, I9II, BY JOHN MUIR 
 COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 4580
 
 TO 
 
 THE SIEERA CLUB OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 FAITHFUL DEFENDER OF THE 
 
 PEOPLE'S PLAYGROUNDS
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS WITH A FLOCK OF 
 SHEEP 3 
 
 II. IN CAMP ON THE NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 32 
 
 III. A BREAD FAMINE 75 
 
 IV. To THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 86 
 
 V. THE YOSEMITE 115 
 
 
 
 VI. MOUNT HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENATA . . 149 
 
 VII. A STRANGE EXPERIENCED 178 
 
 VIII. THE MONO TRAIL ....'... 195 
 IX. BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE . . . 214 
 
 X. THE TUOLUMNE CAMP .232 
 
 XI. BACK TO THE LOWLANDS 254 
 
 INDEX . 265
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THE YOSEMITE FALLS, YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 The total height of the three falls is 2600 feet. 
 The upper fall is about 1600 feet, and the lower 
 about 400 feet. Mr. Muir was probably the only 
 man who ever looked down into the heart of the 
 fall from the narrow ledge of rocks near the top. 
 From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott 
 
 SHEEP IN THE MOUNTAINS 8 
 
 Since the establishment of the Yosemite Na 
 tional Park the pasturing of sheep has not been 
 allowed within its boundaries, and as a result the 
 grasses and wild flowers have recovered very 
 much of their former luxuriance. The flock of 
 sheep here photographed were feeding near Al- 
 ger Lake on the slope of Blacktop Mountain, at 
 an altitude of about 10,000 feet and just beyond 
 the eastern boundary of the Park. 
 
 From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason 
 
 A SILVER FIR, OR RED FIR (Abies magnified) . . 90 
 This tree was found in an extensive forest of red 
 fir above the Middle Fork of King's River. It was 
 estimated to be about 250 feet high. Mr. Muir, 
 on being shown the photograph, remarked that 
 it was one of the finest and most mature speci 
 mens of the red fir that he had ever seen. 
 From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason 
 
 THE NORTH AND SOUTH DOMES 122 
 
 The great rock on the right is the South Dome, 
 commonly called the Half-Dome, according to 
 Mr. Muir "the most beautiful and most sublime 
 
 ix
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 of all the Yosemite rocks." The one on the left is 
 the North Dome, while in the center is the Wash 
 ington Column. 
 
 From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott 
 
 THE VERNAL FALLS, YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK. 182 
 From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott 
 
 THE HAPPY ISLES, YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK . 190 
 This is the main stream of the Merced River 
 after passing over the Nevada and Vernal Falls 
 and receiving the Illilouette tributary. 
 From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott 
 
 CATHEDRAL PEAK . ...... . . .154 
 
 This view was taken from a point on the Sunrise 
 Trail just south of the Peak, on a day when the 
 "cloud mountains" so inspiring to Mr. Muir 
 were much in evidence. 
 
 From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason 
 
 THE THREE BROTHERS, YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK 208 
 The highest rock, called Eagle Point, is 7900 feet 
 above the sea, and 3900 feet above the floor of 
 the valley. 
 
 From a photograph by Charles S. Olcott 
 
 MAP OF THE YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK . . . 264 
 From the United States Geological Survey 
 
 FROM SKETCHES MADE BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 IN 1869 
 
 HORSESHOE BEND, MERCED RIVER .... 14 
 
 ON SECOND BENCH. EDGE OF THE MAIN FOREST 
 BELT, ABOVE COULTERVILLE, NEAR GREELEY'S 
 MILL 14 
 
 CAMP, NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED ... 38 
 
 MOUNTAIN LIVE OAK (Quercus chrysolepis) , EIGHT 
 FEET IN DIAMETER 38
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 SUGAR PINE 50 
 
 DOUGLAS SQUIRREL OBSERVING BROTHER MAN . 68 
 
 DIVIDE BETWEEN THE TUOLUMNE AND THE MERCED, 
 BELOW HAZEL GREEN 86 
 
 TRACK OF SINGING DANCING GRASSHOPPER IN THE 
 AIR OVER NORTH DOME 140 
 
 ABIES MAGNIFICA (MOUNT CLARK, TOP OF SOUTH 
 DOME, MOUNT STARR KING) 142 
 
 ILLUSTRATING GROWTH OF NEW PINE FROM BRANCH 
 BELOW THE BREAK OF AXIS OF SNOW-CRUSHED 
 TREE 144 
 
 APPROACH OF DOME CREEK TO YOSEMITE . .150 
 
 JUNIPERS IN TENAYA CANON 164 
 
 VIEW OF TENAYA LAKE SHOWING CATHEDRAL PEAK 196 
 
 ONE OF THE TRIBUTARY FOUNTAINS OF THE TUO 
 LUMNE CANON WATERS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF 
 THE HOFFMAN RANGE 196 
 
 GLACIER MEADOW, ON THE HEADWATERS OF THE 
 TUOLUMNE, 9500 FEET ABOVE THE SEA . . . 204 
 
 MONO LAKE AND VOLCANIC CONES, LOOKING SOUTH 228 
 HIGHEST MONO VOLCANIC CONES (NEAR VIEW) . 228 
 
 ONE OF THE HIGHEST MOUNT HITTER FOUNTAINS . 240 
 
 
 
 GLACIER MEADOW STREWN WITH MORAINE BOUL 
 DERS, 10,000 FEET ABOVE THE SEA (NEAR MOUNT 
 
 DANA) 248 
 
 FRONT OF CATHEDRAL PEAK 248 
 
 VIEW OF UPPER TUOLUMNE VALLEY . 252
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE 
 SIERRA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS WITH A FLOCK OF 
 SHEEP 
 
 IN the great Central Valley of California 
 there are only two seasons spring and sum 
 mer. The spring begins with the first rain 
 storm, which usually falls in November. In a 
 few months the wonderful flowery vegetation 
 is in full bloom, and by the end of May it is 
 dead and dry and crisp, as if every plant had 
 been roasted in an oven. 
 
 Then the lolling, panting flocks and herds 
 are driven to the high, cool, green pastures of 
 the Sierra. I was longing for the mountains 
 about this time, but money was scarce and I 
 could n't see how a bread supply was to be kept 
 up. While I was anxiously brooding on the 
 bread problem, so troublesome to wanderers, 
 and trying to believe that I might learn to live 
 like the wild animals, gleaning nourishment 
 here and there from seeds, berries, etc., saun 
 tering and climbing in joyful independence 
 3
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 of money or baggage, Mr. Delaney, a sheep- 
 owner, for whom I had worked a few weeks, 
 called on me, and offered to engage me to go 
 with his shepherd and flock to the headwaters 
 of the Merced and Tuolumne Rivers the 
 very region I had most in mind. I was in the 
 mood to accept work of any kind that would 
 take me into the mountains whose treasures I 
 had tasted last summer in the Yosemite region. 
 The flock, he explained, would be moved grad 
 ually higher through the successive forest belts 
 as the snow melted, stopping for a few weeks 
 at the best places we came to. These I thought 
 would be good centers of observation from 
 which I might be able to make many telling 
 excursions within a radius of eight or ten miles 
 of the camps to learn something of the plants, 
 animals, and rocks; for he assured me that I 
 should be left perfectly free to follow my studies. 
 I judged, however, that I was in no way the 
 right man for the place, and freely explained 
 my shortcomings, confessing that I was wholly 
 unacquainted with the topography of the upper 
 mountains, the streams that would have to be 
 crossed, and the wild sheep-eating animals, 
 etc.; in short that, what with bears, coyotes, 
 rivers, canons, and thorny, bewildering chap 
 arral, I feared that half or more of his flock 
 would be lost. Fortunately these shortcom- 
 
 4
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 ings seemed insignificant to Mr. Delaney. The 
 main thing, he said, was to have a man about 
 the camp whom he could trust to see that the 
 shepherd did his duty, and he assured me that 
 the difficulties that seemed so formidable at a 
 distance would vanish as we went on; encourag 
 ing me further by saying that the shepherd 
 would do all the herding, that I could study 
 plants and rocks and scenery as much as I liked, 
 and that he would himself accompany us to the 
 first main camp and make occasional visits to 
 our higher ones to replenish our store of pro 
 visions and see how we prospered. Therefore 
 I concluded to go, though still fearing, when 
 I saw the silly sheep bouncing one by one 
 through the narrow gate of the home corral to 
 be counted, that of the two thousand and fifty 
 many would nevtreturn. 
 
 I was fortunate in getting a fine St. Bernard 
 dog for a companion. His master, a hunter 
 with whom I was slightly acquainted, came to 
 me as soon as he heard that I was going to 
 spend the summer in the Sierra and begged me 
 to take his favorite dog, Carlo, with. me, for he 
 feared that if he were compelled to stay all 
 summer on the plains the fierce heat might be 
 the death of him. "I think I can trust you to 
 be kind to him," he said, " and I am sure he will 
 be good to you. He knows all about the moun- 
 5
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 tain animals, will guard the camp, assist in 
 managing the sheep, and in every way be found 
 able and faithful." Carlo knew we were talk 
 ing about him, watched our faces, and listened 
 so attentively that I fancied he understood us. 
 Calling him by name, I asked him if he was 
 willing to go with me. He looked me in the face 
 with eyes expressing wonderful intelligence, 
 then turned to his master, and after permis 
 sion was given by a wave of the hand toward 
 me and a farewell patting caress, he quietly 
 followed me as if he perfectly understood all 
 that had been said and had known me always. 
 
 JuneS, 1869. This morning provisions, camp- 
 kettles, blankets, plant-press, etc., were packed 
 on two horses, the flock headed for the tawny 
 foothills, and away we sauntered in a cloud of 
 dust: Mr. Delaney, bony and tall, with sharply 
 hacked profile like Don Quixote, leading the 
 pack-horses, Billy, the proud shepherd, a Chi 
 naman and a Digger Indian to assist in driving 
 for the first few days in the brushy foothills, and 
 myself with notebook tied to my belt. 
 
 The home ranch from which we set out is 
 on the south side of the Tuolumne River near 
 French Bar, where the foothills of metamorphic 
 gold-bearing slates dip below the stratified de 
 posits of the Central Valley. We had not gone 
 6
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 more than a mile before some of the old lead 
 ers of the flock showed by the eager, inquiring 
 way they ran and looked ahead that they were 
 thinking of the high pastures they had enjoyed 
 last summer. Soon the whole flock seemed to 
 be hopefully excited, the mothers calling their 
 lambs, the lambs replying in tones wonderfully 
 human, their fondly quavering calls interrupted 
 now and then by hastily snatched mouthfuls 
 of withered grass. Amid all this seeming babel 
 of baas as they streamed over the hills every 
 mother and child recognized each other's voice. 
 In case a tired lamb, half asleep in the smother 
 ing dust, should fail to answer, its mother would 
 come running back through the flock toward 
 the spot whence its last response was heard, 
 and refused to be comforted until she found it, 
 the one of a thousand, though to our eyes and 
 ears all seemed alike. 
 
 The flock traveled at the rate of about a 
 mile an hour, outspread in the form of an ir 
 regular triangle, about a hundred yards wide 
 at the base, and a hundred and fifty yards long, 
 with a crooked, ever-changing point made up 
 of the strongest foragers, called the "leaders," 
 which, with the most active of those scattered 
 along the ragged sides of the "main body," 
 hastily explored nooks in the rocks and bushes 
 for grass and leaves; the lambs and feeble old 
 
 7
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 mothers dawdling in the rear were called the 
 "tail end." 
 
 About noon the heat was hard to bear; the 
 poor sheep panted pitifully and tried to stop in 
 the shade of every tree they came to, while we 
 gazed with eager longing through the dim burn 
 ing glare toward the snowy mountains and 
 streams, though not one was in sight. The 
 landscape is only wavering foothills roughened 
 here and there with bushes and trees and out 
 cropping masses of slate. The trees,' mostly 
 the blue oak (Quercus Douglasii), are about 
 thirty to forty feet high, with pale blue-green 
 leaves and white bark, sparsely planted on the 
 thinnest soil or in crevices of rocks beyond the 
 reach of grass fires. The slates in many places 
 rise abruptly through the tawny grass in sharp 
 lichen-covered slabs like tombstones in deserted 
 bury ing-grounds. With the exception of the 
 oak and four or five species of manzanita and 
 ceanothus, the vegetation of the foothills is 
 mostly the same as that of the plains. I saw 
 this region in the early spring, when it was a 
 charming landscape garden full of birds and 
 bees and flowers. Now the scorching weather 
 makes everything dreary. The ground is full of 
 cracks, lizards glide about on the rocks, and 
 ants in amazing numbers, whose tiny sparks 
 of life only burn the brighter with the heat, 
 
 8
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 fairly quiver with unquenchable energy as they 
 run in long lines to fight and gather food. How 
 it comes that they do not dry to a crisp in a few 
 seconds' exposure to such sun-fire is marvelous. 
 A few rattlesnakes lie coiled in out-of-the-way 
 places, but are seldom seen. Magpies and 
 crows, usually so noisy, are silent now, stand 
 ing in, mixed flocks on the ground beneath the 
 best shade trees, wrth bills wide open and wings 
 drooped, too breathless to speak ; the quails also 
 are trying to keep in the shade about the few 
 tepid alkaline water-holes; cottontail rabbits 
 are running from shade to shade among the 
 ceanothus brush, and occasionally, the long- 
 eared hare is seen cantering gracefully across 
 the wider openings. 
 
 After a short noon rest in a grove, the poor 
 dust-choked flock was again driven ahead over 
 the brushy hills, but the dim roadway we had 
 been following faded away just where it was 
 most needed, compelling us to stop to look 
 about us and get our bearings. The Chinaman 
 seemed to think we were lost, and chattered 
 in pidgin English concerning the abundance of 
 "litty stick" (chaparral), while the Indian si 
 lently scanned the billowy ridges and gulches 
 for openings. Pushing through the thorny 
 jungle, we at length discovered a road trending 
 toward Coulterville, which we followed until 
 9
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 an hour before sunset, when we reached a dry 
 ranch and camped for the night. 
 
 Camping in the foothills with a flock of 
 sheep is simple and easy, but far from pleasant. 
 The sheep were allowed to pick what they 
 could find in the neighborhood until after sun 
 set, watched by the shepherd, while the others 
 gathered wood, made a fire, cooked, unpacked 
 and fed the horses, etc. About dusk the weary 
 sheep were gathered on the highest open spot 
 near camp, where they willingly bunched close 
 together, and after each mother had found her 
 lamb and suckled it, all lay down and required 
 no attention until morning. 
 
 Supper was announced by the call, "Grub!" 
 Each with a tin plate helped himself direct 
 from the pots and pans while chatting about 
 such camp studies as sheep-feed, mines, coyo 
 tes, bears, or adventures during the memorable 
 gold days of pay dirt. The Indian kept in the 
 background, saying never a word, as if he be 
 longed to another species. The meal finished, 
 the dogs were fed, the smokers smoked by the 
 fire, and under the influences of fullness and 
 tobacco the calm that settled on their faces 
 seemed almost divine, something like the mel 
 low meditative glow portrayed on the counte 
 nances of saints. Then suddenly, as if awaken 
 ing from a dream, each with a sigh or a grunt 
 10
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 knocked the ashes out of his pipe, yawned, 
 gazed at the fire a few moments, said, "Well, 
 I believe I'll turn in," and straightway van 
 ished beneath his blankets. The fire smoul 
 dered and flickered an hour or two longer; the 
 stars shone brighter; coons, coyotes, and owls 
 stirred the silence here and there, while crickets 
 and hylas made a cheerful, continuous music, 
 so fitting and full that it seemed a part of the 
 very body of the night. The only discordance 
 came from a snoring sleeper, and the coughing 
 sheep with dust in their throats. In the star 
 light the flock looked like a big gray blanket. 
 
 June 4. The camp was astir at daybreak; 
 coffee, bacon, and beans formed the breakfast, 
 followed by quick dish-washing and packing. 
 A general bleating began about sunrise. As 
 soon as a mother ewe arose, her lamb came 
 bounding and bunting for its breakfast, and 
 after the thousand youngsters had been suckled 
 the flock began to nibble and spread. The 
 restless wethers with ravenous appetites were 
 the first to move, but dared not go far from the 
 main body. Billy and the Indian and the China 
 man kept them headed along the weary road, 
 and allowed them to pick up what little they 
 could find on a breadth of about a quarter of a 
 mile. But as several flocks had already gone 
 ahead of us, scarce a leaf, green or dry, was 
 11
 
 \ 
 
 left; therefore the starving flock had to be hur 
 ried on over the bare, hot hills to the nearest 
 of the green pastures, about twenty or thirty 
 miles from here. 
 
 The pack-animals were led by Don Quix 
 ote, a heavy rifle over his shoulder intended 
 for bears and wolves. This day has been as 
 hot and dusty as the first, leading over gently 
 sloping brown hills, with mostly the same 
 vegetation, excepting the strange-looking Sa- 
 bine pine (Pinus Sabiniana), which here forms 
 small groves or is scattered among the blue 
 oaks. The trunk divides at a height of fifteen 
 or twenty feet into two or more stems, out- 
 leaning or nearly upright, with many strag 
 gling branches and long gray needles, casting 
 but little shade. In general appearance this 
 tree looks more like a palm than a pine. The 
 cones are about six or seven inches long, about 
 five in diameter, very heavy, and last long 
 after they fall, so that the ground beneath 
 the trees is covered with them. They make 
 fine resiny, light-giving camp-fires, next to 
 ears of Indian corn the most beautiful fuel 
 I've ever seen. The nuts, the Don tells me, 
 are gathered in large quantities by the Digger 
 Indians for food. They are about as large and 
 hard-shelled as hazelnuts food and fire fit 
 for the gods from the same fruit. 
 
 12
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 June 5. This morning a few hours after 
 setting out with the crawling sheep-cloud, 
 we gained the summit of the first well-defined 
 bench on the mountain-flank at Pino Blanco. 
 The Sabine pines interest me greatly. They 
 are so airy and strangely palm-like I was 
 eager to sketch them, and was in a fever of 
 excitement without accomplishing much. I 
 managed to halt long enough, however, to 
 make a tolerably fair sketch of Pino Blanco 
 peak from the southwest side, where there is 
 a small field and vineyard irrigated by a stream 
 that makes a pretty fall on its way down a 
 gorge by the roadside. 
 
 After gaining the open summit of this first 
 bench, feeling the natural exhilaration due 
 to the slight elevation of a thousand feet or 
 so, and the hopes excited concerning the out 
 look to be obtained, a magnificent section 
 of the Merced Valley at what is called Horse 
 shoe Bend came full in sight a glorious 
 wilderness that seemed to be calling with a 
 thousand 'songful voices. Bold, down-sweep 
 ing slopes, feathered with pines and clumps 
 of manzanita with sunny, open spaces be 
 tween them, make up most of the foreground; 
 the middle and background present fold be 
 yond fold of finely modeled hills and ridges 
 rising into mountain-like masses in the dis- 
 
 13
 
 \ 
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 tance, all covered with a shaggy growth of 
 chaparral, mostly adenostoma, planted so 
 marvelously close and even that it looks like 
 soft, rich plush without a single tree or bare 
 spot. As far as the eye can i each it extends, a 
 heaving, swelling sea of green as regular and 
 continuous as that produced by the heaths of 
 Scotland. The sculpture of the landscape is as 
 striking in its main lines as in its lavish rich 
 ness of detail; a gra:id congregation of mas 
 sive heights with tlie river shining between, 
 each carved into smooth, graceful folds with 
 out leaving- a single rocky angle exposed, as 
 if the delicate fluting and ridging fashioned 
 out of Tuetamorphic slates had been carefully 
 sandpapered. The whole landscape showed 
 design, like man's noblest sculptures. How 
 wonderful the power of its beauty ! Gazing awe- 
 stricken, I might have left everything for it. 
 Glad, endless work would then be mine tracing 
 the forces that have brought forth its features, 
 its rocks and plants and animals and glorious 
 weather. Beauty beyond thought everywhere, 
 beneath, above, made and being made for 
 ever. I gazed and gazed and longed and ad 
 mired until the dusty sheep and packs were 
 far out of sight, made hurried notes and a 
 sketch, though there was no need of either, for 
 the colors and lines and expression of this di- 
 
 14
 
 HORSESHOE BEND, MERCED RIVER 
 
 ON SECOND BENCH. EDGE OF THE MAIN FOREST BELT 
 ABOVE COULTERVILLE, NEAR GREELEY'S MILL
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 vine landscape-countenance are so burned into 
 mind and heart they surely can never grow 
 dim. 
 
 The evening of this charmed day is cool, 
 calm, cloudless, and full of a kind of light 
 ning I have never seen before white glow 
 ing cloud-shaped masses down among the 
 trees and bushes, like quick-throbbing fire 
 flies in the Wisconsin meadows rather than 
 the so-called "wild lire." The spreading hairs 
 of the horses' tails and sparks from our blan 
 kets show how highly charged the air is. 
 
 June 6. We are now on what may be called 
 the second bench or plateau of the Range, 
 after making many small ups and downs over 
 belts of hill-waves, with, of course, correspond 
 ing changes in the vegetation. In open spots 
 many of the lowland composite are still to be 
 found, and some of the Mariposa tulips and 
 other conspicuous members of the lily family; 
 but the characteristic blue oak of the foothills 4 
 is left below, and its place is taken by a fine 
 large species (Quercus Californica) with deeply 
 lobed deciduous leaves, picturesquely divided 
 trunk, and broad, massy, finely lobed and 
 modeled head. Here also at a height of about 
 twenty-five hundred feet we come to the edge 
 of the great coniferous forest, made up mostly 
 of yellow pine with just a few sugar pines. We 
 
 15
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 are now in the mountains and they are in 
 us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve 
 quiver, filling every pore and cell of us. Our 
 flesh-and-bone tabernacle seems transparent 
 as glass to the beauty about us, as if truly an 
 inseparable part of it, thrilling with the air 
 and trees, streams and rocks, in the waves of 
 the sun, a part of all nature, neither old 
 nor young, sick nor well, but immortal. Just 
 now I can hardly conceive of any bodily con 
 dition dependent on food or breath any more 
 than the ground or the sky. How glorious a 
 conversion, so complete and wholesome it is, 
 scarce memory enough of old bondage days left 
 as a standpoint to view it from! In this new 
 ness of life we seem to have been so always. 
 Through a meadow opening in the pine 
 woods I see snowy peaks about the head 
 waters of the Merced above Yosemite. How 
 near they seem and how clear their outlines 
 on the blue air, or rather in the blue air; for 
 they seem to be saturated with it. How con 
 suming strong the invitation they extend! 
 Shall I be allowed to go to them? Night and 
 day I '11 pray that I may, but it seems too good 
 to be true. Some one worthy will go, able for 
 the Godful work, yet as far as I can I must drift 
 about these love-monument mountains, glad to 
 Jbe a servant of servants in so holy a wilderness. 
 
 16
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 Found a lovely lily (Calochortus albus) in 
 a shady adenostoma thicket near Coulter- 
 ville, in company with Adiantum Chilense. 
 It is white with a faint purplish tinge inside 
 at the base of the petals, a most impressive 
 plant, pure as a snow crystal, one of the plant 
 saints that all must love and be made so much 
 the purer by it every time it is seen. It puts 
 the roughest mountaineer on his good be 
 havior. With this plant the whole world 
 would seem rich though none other existed. 
 It is not easy to keep on with the camp cloud 
 while such plant people are standing preach 
 ing by the wayside. 
 
 During the afternoon we passed a fine 
 meadow bounded by stately pines, mostly the . 
 arrowy yellow pine, with here and there a 
 noble sugar pine, its feathery arms outspread 
 above the spires of its companion species in 
 marked contrast; a glorious tree, its cones 
 fifteen to twenty inches long, swinging like 
 tassels at the ends of the branches with su 
 perb ornamental effect. Saw some logs of 
 this species at the Greeley Mill. They are 
 round and regular as if turned in a lathe, 
 excepting the butt cuts, which have a few 
 buttressing projections. The fragrance of the 
 sugary sap is delicious and scents the mill and 
 lumber yard. How beautiful the ground be- 
 
 17
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 neath this pine thickly strewn with slender 
 needles and grand cones, and the piles of cone- 
 scales, seed-wings and shells around the in 
 step of each tree where the squirrels have been 
 feasting! They get the seeds by cutting off 
 the scales at the base in regular order, follow 
 ing their spiral arrangement, and the two 
 seeds at the base of each scale, a hundred or 
 two in a cone, must make a good meal. The 
 yellow pine cones and those of most other 
 species and genera are held upside down on 
 the ground by the Douglas squirrel, and 
 turned around gradually until stripped, while 
 he sits usually with his back to a tree, prob 
 ably for safety. Strange to say, he never seems 
 to get himself smeared with gum, not even 
 his paws or whiskers and how cleanly and 
 beautiful in color the cone-litter kitchen- 
 middens he makes. 
 
 We are now approaching the region of 
 clouds and cool streams. Magnificent white 
 cumuli appeared about noon above the Yo- 
 semite region, floating fountains refresh 
 ing the glorious wilderness, sky moun 
 tains in whose pearly hills and dales the 
 streams take their rise^ blessing with cool 
 ing shadows and rain. No rock landscape is 
 more varied in sculpture, none more delicately 
 modeled than these landscapes of the sky; 
 
 18
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 domes and peaks rising, swelling, white as 
 finest marble and firmly outlined, a most im 
 pressive manifestation of world building. 
 Every rain-cloud, however fleeting, leaves its 
 mark, not only on trees and flowers whose 
 pulses are quickened, and on the replenished 
 streams and lakes, but also on the rocks are its 
 marks engraved whether we can see them or 
 not. 
 
 I have been examining the curious and in 
 fluential shrub Adenostoma fasciculata, first 
 noticed about Horseshoe Bend. It is very 
 abundant on the lower slopes of the second 
 plateau near Coulterville, forming a dense, 
 almost impenetrable growth that looks dark 
 in the distance. It belongs to the rose family, 
 is about six or eight feet high, has small white 
 flowers hi racemes eight to twelve inches long, 
 round needle-like leaves, and reddish bark 
 that becomes shreddy when old. It grows on 
 sun-beaten slopes, and like grass is often 
 swept away by running fires, but is quickly 
 renewed from the roots. Any trees that may 
 have established themselves in its midst are 
 at length killed by these fires, and this no 
 doubt is the secret of the unbroken character 
 of its broad belts. A few manzanitas, which 
 also rise again from the root after consuming 
 fires, make out to dwell with it, also a few 
 
 19
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 bush compositse baccharis and linosyris, 
 and some liliaceous plants, mostly calochor- 
 tus and brodisea, with deepset bulbs safe from 
 fire. A multitude of birds and "wee, sleekit, 
 cow'rin', tim'rous beasties" find good homes 
 in its deepest thickets, and the open bays and 
 lanes that fringe the margins of its main belts 
 offer shelter and food to the deer when winter 
 storms drive them down from their high moun 
 tain pastures. A most admirable plant! It is 
 now in bloom, and I like to wear its pretty 
 fragrant racemes in my buttonhole. 
 
 Azalea ocddentalis, another charming shrub, 
 grows beside cool streams hereabouts and much 
 higher in the Yosemite region. We found it this 
 evening in bloom a few miles above Greeley's 
 Mill, where we are camped for the night. It is 
 closely related to the rhododendrons, is very 
 showy and fragrant, and everybody must like 
 it not only for itself but for the shady alders 
 and willows, ferny meadows, and living water 
 
 \ associated with it. 
 
 ~\ Another conifer was met to-day incense 
 cedar (Libocedrus decurrens), a large tree with 
 warm yellow-green foliage in flat plumes like 
 those of arborvitse, bark cinnamon-colored, 
 and as the boles of the old trees are without 
 limbs they make striking pillars in the woods 
 where the sun chances to shine on them a 
 
 20
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 worthy companion of the kingly sugar and 
 yellow pines. I feel strangely attracted to this 
 tree. The brown close-grained wood, as well 
 as the small scale-like leaves, is fragrant, and 
 the flat over-lapping plumes make fine beds, 
 and must shed the rain well. It would be de 
 lightful to be storm-bound beneath one of 
 these noble, hospitable, inviting old trees, its 
 broad sheltering arms bent down like a tent, 
 incense rising from the fire made from its dry 
 fallen branches, and a hearty wind chanting 
 overhead. But the weather is calm to-night, 
 and our camp is only a sheep camp. We are 
 near the North Fork of the Merced. The 
 night wind is telling the wonders of the upper 
 mountains, their snow fountains and gardens, 
 forests and groves; even their topography is 
 in its tones. And the stars, the everlasting 
 sky lilies, how bright they are now that we 
 have climbed above the lowland dust! The 
 horizon is bounded and adorned by a spiry 
 wall of pines, every tree harmoniously related 
 to evry other; definite symbols, divine hiero 
 glyphics written with sunbeams. Would I 
 could understand them! The stream flowing 
 past the camp through ferns and lilies and 
 alders makes sweet music to the ear, but the 
 pines marshaled around the edge of the sky 
 make a yet sweeter music to the eye. Divine 
 21
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 beauty all. Here I could -stay tethered for 
 ever with just bread and water, nor would I 
 be lonely; loved friends and neighbors, as love 
 for everything increased, would seem all the 
 nearer however many the miles and moun 
 tains between us. 
 
 June 7. The sheep were sick last night, and 
 many of them are still far from well, hardly 
 able to leave camp, coughing, groaning, look 
 ing wretched and pitiful, all from eating the 
 leaves of the blessed azalea. So at least say 
 the shepherd and the Don. Having had but 
 little grass since they left the plains, they are 
 starving, and so eat anything green they can 
 get. " Sheep-men" call azalea "sheep-poison," 
 and wonder what the Creator was thinking 
 about when he made it so desperately does 
 sheep business blind and degrade, though 
 supposed to have a refining influence in the 
 good old days we read of. The California sheep 
 owner is in haste to get rich, and often does, 
 now that pasturage costs nothing, while the 
 climate is so favorable that no winter food 
 supply, shelter-pens, or barns are required. 
 Therefore large flocks may be kept at slight 
 expense, and large profits realized, the money 
 invested doubling, it is claimed, every other 
 year. This quickly acquired wealth usually 
 creates desire for more. Then indeed the wool 
 22
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 is drawn close down over the poor fellow's 
 eyes, dimming or shutting out almost every 
 thing worth seeing. 
 
 As for the shepherd, his case is still worse, 
 especially in winter when he lives alone in a 
 cabin. For, though stimulated at times by 
 hopes of one day owning a flock and getting 
 rich like his boss, he at the same time is likely 
 to be degraded by the life he leads, and seldom 
 reaches the dignity or advantage or disad 
 vantage of ownership. The degradation in 
 his case has for cause one not far to seek. 
 He is solitary most of the year, and solitude 
 to most people seems hard to bear. He sel 
 dom has much good mental work or recrea 
 tion in the way of books. Coming into his 
 dingy hovel-cabin at night, stupidly weary, 
 he finds nothing to balance and level his life 
 with the universe. No, after his dull drag all 
 day after the sheep, he must get his supper; 
 he is likely to slight this task and try to satisfy 
 his hunger with whatever comes handy. Per 
 haps no bread is baked; then he just makes 
 a few grimy flapjacks in his unwashed frying- 
 pan, boils a handful of tea, and perhaps fries 
 a few strips of rusty bacon. Usually there 
 are dried peaches or apples in the cabin, but 
 he hates to be bothered with the cooking of 
 them, just swallows the bacon and flapjacks, 
 
 23
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and depends on the genial stupefaction of 
 tobacco for the rest. Then to bed, often with 
 out removing the clothing worn during the 
 day. Of course his health suffers, reacting on his 
 mind; and seeing nobody for weeks or months, 
 he finally becomes semi-insane or wholly so. 
 
 The shepherd in Scotland seldom thinks of 
 being anything but a shepherd. He has prob 
 ably descended from a race of shepherds and 
 inherited a love and aptitude for the business 
 almost as marked as that of his collie. He 
 has but a small flock to look after, sees his 
 family and neighbors, has time for reading in 
 fine weather, and often carries books to the 
 fields with which he may converse with kings. 
 The oriental shepherd, we read, called his sheep 
 by name; they knew his voice and followed him. 
 The flocks must have been small and easily 
 managed, allowing piping on the hills and 
 ample leisure for reading and thinking. But 
 whatever the blessings of sheep-culture in 
 other times and countries, the California shep 
 herd, as far as I 've seen or heard, is never quite 
 sane for any considerable time. Of all Nature's 
 voices baa is about all he hears. Even the 
 howls and ki-yis of coyotes might be blessings 
 if well heard, but he hears them only through 
 a blur of mutton and wool, and they do him 
 no good. 
 
 24
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 The sick sheep are getting well, and the 
 shepherd is discoursing on the various poisons 
 lurking in these high pastures azalea, kal- 
 mia, alkali. After crossing the North Fork of 
 the Merced we turned to the left toward Pilot 
 Peak, and made a considerable ascent on a 
 rocky, brush-covered ridge to Brown's Flat, 
 where for the first time since leaving the 
 plains the flock is enjoying plenty of green 
 grass. Mr. Delaney intends to seek a perma 
 nent camp somewhere in the neighborhood, 
 to last several weeks. 
 
 Before noon we passed Bower Cave, a de 
 lightful marble palace, not dark and dripping, 
 but filled with sunshine, which pours into it 
 through its wide-open mouth facing the south. 
 It has a fine, deep, clear little lake with mossy 
 banks embowered with broad-leaved maples, 
 all under ground, wholly unlike anything I 
 have seen in the cave line even in Kentucky, 
 where a large part of the State is honeycombed 
 with caves. This curious specimen of sub 
 terranean scenery is located on a belt of mar 
 ble that is said to extend from the north end 
 of the Range to the extreme south. Many 
 other caves occur on the belt, but none like 
 this, as far as I have learned, combining as it 
 does sunny outdoor brightness and vegeta 
 tion with the crystalline beauty of the under- 
 
 25
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 world. It is claimed by a Frenchman, who has 
 fenced and locked it, placed a boat on the 
 lakelet and seats on the mossy bank under the 
 maple trees, and charges a dollar admission 
 fee. Being on one of the ways to the Yosemite 
 Valley, a good many tourists visit it during 
 the travel months of summer, regarding it as 
 an interesting addition to flieir Yosemite 
 wonders. 
 
 Poison oak or poison ivy (Rhus diversiloba) , 
 both as a bush and a scrambler up trees and 
 rocks, is common throughout the foothill re 
 gion up to a height of at least three thousand 
 feet above the sea. It is somewhat trouble 
 some to most travelers, inflaming the skin and 
 eyes, but blends harmoniously with its com 
 panion plants, and many a charming flower 
 leans confidingly upon it for protection and 
 shade. I have oftentimes found the curious 
 twining lily (Stropholirion Calif ornicum) climb 
 ing its branches, showing no fear but rather 
 congenial companionship. Sheep eat it with 
 out apparent ill effects; so do horses to some 
 extent, though not fond of it, and to many 
 persons it is harmless. Like most other things 
 not apparently useful to man, it has few friends, 
 and the blind question, "Why was it made?" 
 goes on and on with never a guess that first 
 of all it might have been made for itself. 
 
 26
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 Brown's Flat is a shallow fertile valley on 
 the top of the divide between the North Fork 
 of the Merced and Bull Creek, commanding 
 magnificent views in every direction. Here 
 the adventurous pioneer David Brown made 
 his headquarters for many years, dividing his 
 time between gold-hunting and bear-hunting. 
 Where could lonely hunter find a better soli 
 tude? Game in the woods, gold in the rocks, 
 health and exhilaration in the air, while the 
 colors and cloud furniture of the sky are ever 
 inspiring through all sorts of weather. Though 
 sternly practical, like most pioneers, old David 
 seems to have been uncommonly fond of scen 
 ery. Mr. Delaney, who knew him well, tells 
 me that he dearly loved to climb to the sum 
 mit of a commanding ridge to gaze abroad 
 over the forest to the snow-clad peaks and 
 sources of the rivers, and over the foreground 
 valleys and gulches to note where miners were 
 at work or claims were abandoned, judging 
 by smoke from cabins and camp-fires, the 
 sounds of axes, etc.; and when a rifle-shot was 
 heard, to guess who was the hunter, whether 
 Indian or some poacher on his wide domain. 
 His dog Sandy accompanied him everywhere, 
 and well the little hairy mountaineer knew 
 and loved his master and his master's aims. 
 In deer-hunting he had but little to do, trot-
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ting behind his master as he slowly made his 
 way through the wood, careful not to step 
 heavily on dry twigs, scanning open spots in 
 the chaparral, where the game loves to feed 
 in the early morning and towards sunset; peer 
 ing cautiously over ridges as new outlooks 
 were reached, and along the meadowy borders 
 of streams. But when bears were hunted, little 
 Sandy became more important, and it was 
 as a bear-hunter that Brown became famous. 
 His hunting method, as described by Mr. De- 
 laney, who had passed many a night with him 
 in his lonely cabin and learned his stories, was 
 simply to go slowly and silently through the 
 best bear pastures, with his dog and rifle and 
 a few pounds of flour, until he found a fresh 
 track and then follow it to the death, paying 
 no heed to the time required. Wherever the 
 bear went he followed, led by little Sandy, 
 who had a keen nose and never lost the track, 
 however rocky the ground. When high open 
 points were reached, the likeliest places were 
 carefully scanned. The time of year enabled 
 the hunter to determine approximately where 
 the bear would be found, in the spring and 
 early summer on open spots about the banks 
 of streams and springy places eating grass and 
 clover and lupines, or in dry meadows feasting 
 on strawberries; toward the end of summer, on 
 
 28
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 dry ridges, feasting on manzanita berries, sit 
 ting on his haunches, pulling down the laden 
 branches with his paws, and pressing them 
 together so as to get good compact mouthfuls 
 however much mixed with twigs and leaves; in 
 the Indian summer, beneath the pines, chewing 
 the cones cut off by the squirrels, or occasion 
 ally climbing a tree to gnaw and break off the 
 fruitful branches. In late autumn, when acorns 
 are ripe, Bruin's favorite feeding-grounds are 
 groves of the California oak in park-like canon 
 flats. Always the cunning hunter knew where 
 to look, and seldom came upon Bruin una 
 wares. When the hot scent showed the dan 
 gerous game was nigh, a long halt was made, 
 and the intricacies of the topography and veg 
 etation leisurely scanned to catch a glimpse of 
 the shaggy wanderer, or to at least determine 
 where he was most likely to be. 
 
 "Whenever," said the hunter, "I saw a 
 bear before it saw me I had no trouble in kill 
 ing it. I just studied the lay of the land and 
 got to leeward of it no matter how far around 
 I had to go, and then worked up to within a 
 few hundred yards or so, at the foot of a tree 
 that I could easily climb, but too small for 
 the bear to climb. Then I looked well to the 
 condition of my rifle, took off my boots so as 
 to climb well if necessary, and waited until 
 
 29
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 the bear turned its side in clear view when 
 I could make a sure or at least a good shot. 
 In case it showed fight I climbed out of reach. 
 But bears are slow and awkward with their 
 eyes, and being to leeward of them they could 
 not scent me, and I often got in a second shot 
 before they noticed the smoke. Usually, how 
 ever, they run when wounded and hide in the 
 brush. I let them run a good safe time before 
 I ventured to follow them, and Sandy was 
 pretty sure to find them dead. If not, he 
 barked and drew their attention, and occa 
 sionally rushed in for a distracting bite, so that 
 I was able to get to a safe distance for a final 
 shot. Oh, yes, bear-hunting is safe enough when 
 followed in a safe way, though like every other 
 business it has its accidents, and little doggie 
 and I have had some close calls. Bears like 
 to keep out of the way of men as a general 
 thing, but if an old, lean, hungry mother with 
 cubs met a man on her own ground she would, 
 in my opinion, try to catch and eat him. This 
 would be only fair play anyhow, for we eat 
 them, but nobody hereabout has been used 
 for bear grub that I know of." 
 
 Brown had left his mountain home ere we 
 arrived, but a considerable number of. Digger 
 Indians still linger in their cedar-bark huts 
 on the edge of the flat. They were attracted
 
 THROUGH THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 in the first place by the white hunter whom 
 they had learned to respect, and to whom 
 they looked for guidance and protection 
 against their enemies the Pah Utes, who some 
 times made raids across from the east side of 
 the Range to plunder the stores of the com 
 paratively feeble Diggers and steal their wives.
 
 . 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IN CAMP ON THE NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 June 8. The sheep, now grassy and good- 
 natured, slowly nibbled their way down into 
 the valley of the North Fork of the Merced 
 at the foot of Pilot Peak Ridge to the place 
 selected by the Don for our first central camp, 
 a picturesque hopper-shaped hollow formed 
 by converging hill slopes at a bend of the 
 river. Here racks for dishes and provisions 
 were made in the shade of the river-bank trees, 
 and beds of fern fronds, cedar plumes, and 
 various flowers, each to the taste of its owner, 
 and a corral back on the open flat for the wool. 
 
 June 9. How deep our sleep last night in 
 the mountain's heart, beneath the trees and 
 stars, hushed by solemn-sounding waterfalls 
 and many small soothing voices in sweet ac 
 cord whispering peace! And our first pure 
 mountain day, warm, calm, cloudless, how 
 immeasurable it seems, how serenely wild! I 
 can scarcely remember its beginning. Along 
 the river, over the hills, in the ground, in the 
 s}cy, spring work is going on with joyful ,en- 
 thusiasm, new life, new beauty, unfolding, 
 unrolling in glorious exuberant extravagance, 
 
 32
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 new birds in their nests, new winged crea 
 tures in the air, and new leaves, new flowers, 
 spreading, shining, rejoicing everywhere. 
 
 The trees about the camp stand close, giving 
 ample shade for ferns and lilies, while back 
 from the bank most of the sunshine reaches 
 the ground, calling up the grasses and flowers 
 in glorious array, tall bromus waving like 
 bamboos, starry compositse, monardella, Mari- 
 posa tulips, lupines, gilias, violets, glad chil 
 dren of light. Soon every fern frond will be 
 unrolled, great beds of common pteris and 
 woodwardia along the river, wreaths and ro 
 settes of pellsea and cheilanthes on sunny rocks. 
 Some of the woodwardia fronds are already 
 six feet high. 
 
 A handsome little shrub, Chamcebatia fo- 
 liolosa, belonging to the rose family, spreads 
 a yellow-green mantle beneath the sugar pines 
 for miles without a break, not mixed or rough 
 ened with other plants. Only here and there 
 a Washington lily may be seen nodding above 
 its even surface, or a bunch or two of tall bro 
 mus as if for ornament. This fine carpet shrub 
 begins to appear at, say, twenty-five hundred 
 or three thousand feet above sea level, is about 
 knee high or less, has brown branches, and the 
 largest stems are only about half an inch in 
 diameter. The leaves, light yellow green, 
 
 33
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 thrice pinnate and finely cut, give them a rich 
 ferny appearance, and they are dotted with 
 minute glands that secrete wax with a pecu 
 liar pleasant odor that blends finely with the 
 spicy fragrance of the pines. The flowers are 
 white, five eighths of an inch in diameter, and 
 look like those of the strawberry. Am de 
 lighted with this little bush. It is the only 
 true carpet shrub of this part of the Sierra. 
 The manzanita, rhamnus, and most of the 
 species of ceanothus make shaggy rugs and 
 border fringes rather than carpets or mantles. 
 
 The sheep do not take kindly to their new 
 pastures, perhaps from being too closely 
 hemmed in by the hills. They are never fully 
 at rest. Last night they were frightened, 
 probably by bears or coyotes prowling and 
 planning for a share of the grand mass of 
 mutton. 
 
 June 10. Very warm. We get water for the 
 camp from a rock basin at the foot of a pictur 
 esque cascading reach of the river where it is 
 well stirred and made lively without being 
 beaten into dusty foam. The rock here is black 
 metamorphic slate, worn into smooth knobs in 
 the stream channels, contrasting with the fine 
 gray and white cascading water as it glides and 
 glances and falls in lace-like sheets and braided 
 overfolding currents. Tufts of sedge growing 
 
 34
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 on the rock knobs that rise above the surface 
 produce a charming effect, the long elastic 
 leaves arching over in every direction, the tips 
 of the longest drooping into the current, which 
 dividing against the projecting rocks makes 
 still finer lines, uniting with the sedges to see 
 how beautiful the happy stream can be made. 
 Nor is this all, for the giant saxifrage also is 
 growing on some of the knob rock islets, firmly 
 anchored and displaying their broad, round, 
 umbrella-like leaves in showy groups by them 
 selves, or above the sedge tufts. The flowers 
 of this species (Saxifraga peltata) are purple, 
 and form tall glandular racemes that are in 
 bloom before the appearance of the leaves. The 
 fleshy root-stocks grip the rock in cracks and 
 hollows, and thus enable the plant to hold on 
 against occasional floods, a marked species 
 employed by Nature to make yet more beauti 
 ful the most interesting portions of these cool 
 clear streams. Near camp the trees arch over 
 from bank to bank, making a leafy tunnel full 
 of soft subdued light, through which the young 
 river sings and shines like a happy living crea 
 ture. 
 
 Heard a few peals of thunder from the upper 
 Sierra, and saw firm white bossy cumuli rising 
 back of the pines. This was about noon. 
 
 June 11. On one of the eastern branches of 
 
 35
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 the river discovered some charming cascades 
 with a pool at the foot of each of them. White 
 dashing water, a few bushes and tufts of carex 
 on ledges leaning over with fine effect, and 
 large orange lilies assembled in superb groups 
 on fertile soil-beds beside the pools. 
 
 There are no large meadows or grassy plains 
 near camp to supply lasting pasture for our 
 thousands of busy nibblers. The main depend 
 ence is ceanothus brush on the hills and tufted 
 grass patches here and there, with lupines and 
 pea-vines among the flowers on sunny open 
 spaces. Large areas have already been stripped 
 bare, or nearly so, compelling the poor hungry 
 wool bundles to scatter far and wide, keeping 
 the shepherds and dogs at the top of their speed 
 to hold them within bounds. Mr. Delaney has 
 gone back to the plains, taking the Indian and 
 Chinaman with him, leaving instruction to 
 keep the flock here or hereabouts until his re 
 turn, which he promised would not be long d 
 layed. 
 
 How fine the weather is! Nothing more 
 celestial can I conceive. How gently the winds 
 blow! Scarce can these tranquil air-currents 
 be called winds. They seem the very breath of 
 Nature, whispering peace to every living thing. 
 Down in the camp dell there is no swaying 
 of tree-tops; most of the time not a leaf moves. 
 
 36 
 
 re\
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 I don't remember having seen a single lily 
 swinging on its stalk, though they are so 
 tall the least breeze would rock them. What 
 grand bells these lilies have ! Some of them big 
 enough for children's bonnets. I have been 
 sketching them, and would fain draw every leaf 
 of their wide shining whorls and every curved 
 and spotted petal. More beautiful, better 
 kept gardens cannot be imagined. The species > 
 is Lilium pardalinum, five to six feet high, 
 leaf-whorls a foot wide, flowers about six 
 inches wide, bright orange, purple spotted 
 in the throat, segments re volute a majestic 
 plant. 
 
 June 12. A slight sprinkle of rain large 
 drops far apart, falling with hearty pat and 
 plash on leaves and stones and into the mouths' 
 of the flowers. Cumuli rising to the eastward. 
 How beautiful their pearly bosses! How well 
 they harmonize with the upswelling rocks be 
 neath them. Mountains of the sky, solid-look 
 ing, finely sculptured, their richly varied to 
 pography wonderfully defined. Never before 
 have I seen clouds so substantial looking in 
 form and texture. Nearly every day toward 
 noon they rise with visible swelling motign as 
 if new worlds were being created. And how 
 fondly they brood and hover over the gardens 
 and forests with their cooling shadows and 
 
 "I&803
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 showers, keeping every petal and leaf in glad 
 health and heart. One may fancy the clouds 
 themselves are plants, springing up in the sky- 
 fields at the call of the sun, growing in beauty 
 until they reach their prime, scattering rain 
 and hail like berries and seeds, then wilting and 
 dying. 
 
 The mountain live oak, common here and a 
 thousand feet or so higher, is like the live oak 
 of Florida, not only in general appearance, 
 foliage, bark, and wide-branching habit, but in 
 its tough, knotty, unwedgeable wood. Stand 
 ing alone with plenty of elbow room, the largest 
 trees are about seven to eight feet in diameter 
 near the ground, sixty feet high, and as wide or 
 wider across the head. The leaves are small 
 and undivided, mostly without teeth or wavy 
 edging, though on young shoots some are 
 sharply serrated, both kinds being found on 
 the same tree. The cups of the medium-sized 
 acorns are shallow, thick walled, and covered 
 with a golden dust of minute hairs. Some of 
 the trees have hardly any main trunk, divid 
 ing near the ground into large wide-spreading 
 limbs, and these, dividing again and again, 
 terminate in long, drooping, cord-like branch- 
 lets, many of which reach nearly to the ground, 
 while a dense canopy of short, shining, leafy 
 branchlets forms a round head which looks 
 38
 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 ' 
 
 CAMl', NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 ' 
 
 -if 
 
 MOUNTAIN LIVE OAK (Quercus chrysolepis), EIGHT FEET 
 IN DIAMETER
 
 J- 
 
 <T
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 something like a cumulus cloud when the sun 
 shine is pouring over it. 
 
 A marked plant is the bush poppy (Den* 
 dromecon rigidum), found on the hot hillsides 
 near camp, the only woody member of the 
 order I have y r met in all my walks. Its 
 flowers are bright orange yellow, an inch to 
 two inches wide, fruit-pods three or four inches 
 long, slender an curving, height of bushes 
 about four feet, j ^de up of many slim, straight 
 branches, radial ; j from the root, a com 
 panion of the manz-inita and other sun-loving 
 chaparral shrubs. 
 
 June 13. Anothsr glorious Sierra day in 
 which one seems to be dissolved and absorbed 
 and sent pulsing onward we know not where. 
 Life seems neither long nor short, and we take 
 no more heed to save time or make haste than 
 do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a 
 good practical sort of immortality. Yonder 
 rises another white skyland. How sharply the 
 yellow pine spires and the palm-like crowns of 
 the sugar pines are outlined on its smooth white 
 domes. And hark! the grand thunder billows 
 booming, rolling from ridge to ridge, followed 
 by the faithful shower. 
 
 A good many herbaceous plants come thus 
 far up the mountains from the plains, and are 
 now in flower, two months later than their low- 
 
 39
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 land relatives. Saw a few columbines to-day. 
 Most of the ferns are in their prime, rock 
 'ferns on the sunny hillsides, cheilanthes, pellsea, . 
 gymnogramme; woodwardia, aspidium, wood- 
 sia along the stream banks, and the common 
 Pteris aquilina on sandy flats. This last, how 
 ever common, is here making shows of strong, 
 exuberant, abounding beauty to set the botan 
 ist wild with admiration. I measured some 
 scarce full grown that are more than seven feet 
 high. Though the commonest and most widely 
 distributed of all the ferns, I might almost say 
 that I never saw it before. The broad-shoul 
 dered fronds held high on smooth stout stalks 
 growing close together, overleaning and over 
 lapping, make a complete ceiling, beneath 
 which one may walk erect over several acres 
 without being seen, as if beneath a roof. And 
 how soft and lovely the light streaming through 
 this living ceiling, revealing the arching branch 
 ing ribs and veins of the fronds as the frame 
 work of countless panes of pale green and 
 yellow plant-glass nicely fitted together a 
 fairyland created out of the commonest fern- 
 stuff. 
 
 The smaller animals wander about as if hi a 
 
 tropical forest. I saw the entire flock of sheep 
 
 vanish at one side of a patch and reappear a 
 
 hundred yards farther on at the other, their 
 
 40
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 * 
 
 progress betrayed only by the jerking and 
 trembling of the fronds; and strange to say 
 very few of the stout woody stalks were broken. 
 I sat a long time beneath the tallest fronds, 
 and never enjoyed anything in the way of a 
 bower of wild leaves more strangely impressive. 
 Only spread a fern frond over a man's head and 
 worldly cares are cast out, and freedom and 
 beauty and peace come in. The waving of a 
 pine tree on the top of a mountain, a magic 
 wand in Nature's hand, every devout moun 
 taineer knows its power; but the marvelous 
 beauty value of what the Scotch call a breckan 
 in a still dell, what poet has sung this? It 
 would seem impossible that any one, however 
 in crusted with care, could escape the Godful 
 influence of these sacred fern forests. Yet this 
 very day I saw a shepherd pass through one 
 of the finest of them without betraying more 
 feeling than his sheep. "What do you think 
 of these grand ferns?" I asked. "Oh, they're 
 
 only d d big brakes," he replied. 
 
 ' Lizards of every temper, style, and color 
 dwell here, seemingly as happy and compan 
 ionable as the birds and squirrels. Lowly, 
 gentle fellow mortals, enjoying God's sunshine, 
 and doing the best they can in getting a living, 
 I like to watch them at their work and play. 
 They bear acquaintance well, and one likes 
 
 41
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 them the better the longer one looks into their 
 beautiful, innocent eyes. They are easily 
 tamed, and one soon learns to love them, as 
 they, dart about on the hot rocks, swift as 
 dragon-flies. The eye can hardly follow, them; 
 but they never make long-sustained runs, usu 
 ally only about ten or twelve feet, then a sud 
 den stop, and as sudden a start again; going 
 all their journeys by quick, jerking impulses. 
 These many stops I find are necessary as rests, 
 for they are short-winded, and when pursued 
 steadily are soon out of breath, pant pitifully, 
 and are easily caught. Their bodies are more 
 than half tail, but these tails are well managed, 
 never heavily dragged nor curved up as if hard 
 to carry; on^the contrary, they seem to follow 
 the body lightly of their own will. Some are 
 colored like the sky, bright as bluebirds, others 
 gray like the lichened rocks on which they hunt 
 and bask. Even the horned toad of the plains 
 is a mild, harmless creature, and so are the 
 snake-like species which glide in curves with 
 true snake motion, while their small, undevel 
 oped limbs drag as useless appendages. One 
 specimen fourteen inches long which I observed 
 closely made no use whatever of its tender, 
 sprouting limbs, but glided with all the soft, 
 sly ease and grace of a snake, v Here comes a 
 little, gray, dusty fellow who seems to know 
 42
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 and trust me, .running about my feet, and look 
 ing up cunningly into my face. Carlo is watch 
 ing, makes a quick pounce on him, for the fun 
 of the thing I suppose; but Liz has shot away 
 from his paws like an arrow, and is safe in the 
 recesses of a clump of chaparral. Gentle sau- 
 rians, dragons, descendants of .an ancient and 
 mighty race, Heaven bless you all and make 
 your virtues known ! for few of us know as yet 
 that scales may cover fellow creatures as gentle 
 and lovable as feathers, or hair, or cloth. 
 
 Mastodons and elephants used to live here 
 no great geological time ago, as shown by their 
 bones, often discovered by miners in washing 
 gold-gravel. And bears of at least two species 
 are here now, besides the California lion or 
 panther, and wild cats, wolves, foxes, snakes, 
 scorpions, wasps, tarantulas ; but one is almost 
 tempted at times to regard a small savage black 
 ant as the master existence of this vast moun 
 tain world. These fearless, restless, wandering 
 imps, though only about a quarter of an inch 
 long, are fonder of fighting and biting than any 
 beast I know. They attack every living thing 
 around their homes, often without cause as far 
 as I can see. Their bodies are mostly jaws 
 curved like ice-hooks, and to get work for these 
 weapons seems to be their chief aim and pleas 
 ure. Most of their colonies are established in 
 43
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 living oaks somewhat decayed or hollowed, in 
 which they can conveniently build their cells. 
 These are chosen probably because of their 
 strength as opposed to the attacks of animals 
 and storms. They work both day and night, 
 creep into dark caves, climb the highest trees, 
 wander and hunt through cool ravines as well 
 as on hot, unshaded ridges, 'and extend their 
 highways and byways over everything but 
 water and sky. From the foothills to a mile 
 above the level of the sea nothing can stir with 
 out their knowledge; and alarms are spread in 
 an incredibly short time, without any howl or 
 cry that we can hear. I can't understand 
 the need of their ferocious courage; there seems 
 to be no common sense in it. Sometimes, no 
 doubt, they fight in defense of their homes, 
 but they fight anywhere and always wher 
 ever they can find anything to bite. As soon 
 as a vulnerable spot is discovered on man or 
 beast, they stand on their heads and sink their 
 jaws, and though torn limb from limb, they 
 will yet hold on and die biting deeper. When 
 I contemplate this fierce creature so widely dis 
 tributed and strongly intrenched, I see that 
 much remains to be done ere" the world is 
 brought under the rule of universal peace and 
 love. 
 On my way to camp a few minutes ago, I 
 
 44
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 passed a dead pine nearly ten feet in diameter. 
 It has been enveloped in fire from top to bottom 
 so that now it looks like a grand black pillar set 
 up as a monument. In this noble shaft a colony 
 of large jet-black ants have established them 
 selves, laboriously cutting tunnels and cells 
 through the wood, whether sound or decayed. 
 The entire trunk seems to have been honey 
 combed, judging by the size of the talus of 
 gnawed chips like sawdust piled up around its 
 base. They are more intelligent looking than 
 their small, belligerent, strong-scented breth 
 ren, and have better manners, though quick to 
 fight when required. Their towns are carved in 
 fallen trunks as well as in those left standing, 
 but never in sound, living trees or in the ground. 
 When you happen to sit down to rest or take 
 notes near a colony, some wandering hunter is 
 sure to find you and come cautiously forward 
 to discover the nature of the intruder and what 
 ought to be done. If you are not too near the 
 town and keep perfectly still he may run across 
 your feet a few times, over your legs and hands 
 and face, up your trousers, as if taking your 
 measure and getting comprehensive views, then 
 go in peace without raising an alarm. If, how 
 ever, a tempting spot is offered or some sus 
 picious movement excites him, a bite follows, 
 and such a bite! I fancy that a bear or wolf 
 
 45
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 bite is not to be compared with it. A quick 
 electric flame of pain flashes along the out 
 raged nerves, and you discover for the first 
 time how great is the capacity for sensation 
 you are possessed of. A shriek, a grab for the 
 animal, and a bewildered stare follow this bite 
 of bites as one comes back to consciousness 
 from sudden eclipse. Fortunately, if careful, 
 one need not be bitten oftener than once or 
 twice in a lifetime. This wonderful electric 
 species is about three fourths of an inch long. 
 Bears are fond of them, and tear and gnaw 
 their home-logs to pieces, and roughly devour ' 
 the eggs, larvae, parent ants, and the rotten or 
 sound wood of the cells, all in one spicy acid 
 hash. The Digger Indians also are fond of the 
 larvse and even of the perfect ants, so I have 
 been told by old mountaineers. They bite off 
 and reject the head, and eat the tickly acid 
 body with keen relish. Thus are the poor biters 
 bitten, like every other biter, big or little, in 
 the world's great family. 
 
 There is also a fine, active, intelligent-look 
 ing red species, intermediate in size between 
 the above. They dwell in the ground, and 
 build large piles of seed husks, leaves, straw, 
 etc., over their nests. Their food seems to be 
 mostly insects and plant leaves, seeds and sap. 
 How many mouths Nature has to fill, how 
 
 46
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 many neighbors we have, how little we know 
 about them, and how seldom we get in each 
 other's way! Then to think of the infinite 
 numbers of smaller fellow mortals, invisibly 
 small, compared with which the smallest ants 
 are as mastodons. 
 
 June 14. The pool-basins below the falls and 
 cascades hereabouts, formed by the heavy 
 down-plunging currents, are kept nicely clean 
 and clear of detritus. The heavier parts of the 
 material swept over the falls are heaped up a 
 short distance in front of the basins in the form 
 of a dam, thus tending, together with erosion, 
 to increase their size. Sudden changes, how 
 ever, are effected during the spring floods, 
 when the snow is melting and the upper tribu 
 taries are roaring loud from "bank to brae." 
 Then boulders that have fallen into the chan 
 nels, and which the ordinary summer and win 
 ter currents were unable to move, are suddenly 
 swept forward as by a mighty besom, hurled 
 over the falls into these pools, and piled up in 
 a new dam together with part of the old one, 
 while some of the smaller boulders are carried 
 farther down stream and variously lodged ac 
 cording to size and shape, all seeking rest 
 where the force of the current is less than the 
 resistance they are able to offer. But the great 
 est changes made in these relations of fall, pool, 
 47
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and dam are caused, not by the ordinary spring 
 floods, but by extraordinary ones that occur 
 at irregular intervals. The testimony of trees 
 growing on flood boulder deposits shows that 
 a century or more has passed since the last 
 master flood came to awaken everything mov 
 able to go swirling and dancing on wonderful 
 journeys. These floods may occur during the 
 summer, when heavy thunder-showers, called 
 "cloud-bursts," fall on wide, steeply inclined 
 stream basins furrowed by converging chan 
 nels, which suddenly gather the waters together 
 into the main trunk in booming torrents of 
 enormous transporting power, though short 
 lived. 
 
 One of these ancient flood boulders stands 
 firm in the middle of the stream channel, just 
 below the lower edge of the pool dam at the 
 foot of the fall nearest our camp. It is a nearly 
 cubical mass of granite about eight feet high, 
 plushed with mosses over the top and down 
 the sides to ordinary high-water mark. When 
 I climbed on top of it to-day and lay down to 
 rest, it seemed the most romantic spot I had 
 yet found the one big stone with its mossy 
 level top and smooth sides standing square and 
 firm and solitary, like an altar, the fall in front 
 of it bathing it lightly with the finest of the 
 spray, just enough to keep its moss cover fresh; 
 48
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 the clear green pool beneath, with its foam- 
 bells and its half circle of lilies leaning forward 
 like a band of admirers, and flowering dogwood 
 and alder trees leaning over all in sun-sifted 
 arches. How soothingly, restfully cool it is be 
 neath that leafy, translucent ceiling, and how 
 delightful the water music the deep bass 
 tones of the fall, the clashing, ringing spray, and 
 infinite variety of small low tones of the current 
 gliding past the side of the boulder-island, and 
 glinting against a thousand smaller stones 
 down the ferny channel! All this shut in; every 
 one of these influences acting at short range 
 as if in a quiet room. The__place seemed holy, 
 where one might hope tcTsee GoctT~~ 
 
 After dark, when the camp was at rest, I 
 groped my way back to the altar boulder and 
 passed the night on it, above the water, 
 beneath the leaves and stars, everything 
 still more impressive than by day, the fall seen 
 dimly white, singing Nature's old love song 
 with solemn enthusiasm, while the stars peer 
 ing through the leaf -roof seemed to join in the 
 white water's song. Precious night, precious 
 day to abide in me forever. Thanks be to God 
 for this immortal gift. \ 
 
 June 15. Another reviving morning. Down\ 
 the long mountain-slopes the sunbeams pour, \ 
 gilding the awakening pines, cheering every 1 
 
 49 /
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 \ 
 needle, filling every living thing with joy. 
 
 Robins are singing in the alder and maple 
 groves, the same old song that has cheered and 
 sweetened countless seasons over almost all of 
 our blessed continent. In this mountain hol 
 low they seem as much at home as in farmers' 
 orchards. Bullock's oriole and the Louisiana 
 tanager are here also, with many warblers and 
 other little mountain troubadours, most of 
 them now busy about their nests. 
 
 Discovered another magnificent specimen 
 of the goldcup oak six feet in diameter, a Doug 
 las spruce seven feet, and a twining lily (Stro- 
 pholirion), with stem eight feet long, and sixty 
 rose-colored flowers. 
 
 Sugar pine cones are cylindrical, slightly 
 tapered at the end and rounded at the base. 
 Found one to-day nearly twenty-four inches 
 long and six in diameter, the scales being open. 
 Another specimen nineteen inches long; the 
 average length of full-grown cones on trees 
 favorably situated is nearly eighteen inches. 
 On the lower edge of the belt at a height of 
 about twenty-five hundred feet above the sea 
 they are smaller, say a foot to fifteen inches 
 long, and at a height of seven thousand feet or 
 more near the upper limits of its growth in the 
 Yosemite region they are about the same size. 
 This noble tree is an inexhaustible study and 
 
 50
 
 "*. 
 
 SUGAR PINE
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 source of pleasure. I never weary of gazing at 
 its grand tassel cones, its perfectly round bole 
 one hundred feet or more without a limb, the 
 fine purplish color of its bark, and its magnifi 
 cent outsweeping, down-curving feathery arms 
 forming a crown always bold and striking and 
 exhilarating. In habit and general port it looks 
 somewhat like a palm, but no palm that I have 
 yet seen displays such majesty of form and 
 behavior either when poised silent and thought 
 ful in sunshine, or wide-awake waving in storm 
 winds with every needle quivering. When 
 young it is very straight and regular in form 
 like most other conifers; but at the age of fifty 
 to one hundred years it begins to acquire in 
 dividuality, so that no two are alike in their 
 prime or old age. Every tree calls for spe 
 cial admiration. I have been making many 
 sketches, and regret that I cannot draw every 
 needle. It is said to reach a height of three 
 hundred feet, though the tallest I have meas 
 ured falls short of this stature sixty feet or more. 
 The diameter of the largest near the ground 
 is about ten feet, though I Ve heard of some 
 twelve feet thick or even fifteen. The diameter 
 is held to a great height, the taper being al 
 most imperceptibly gradual. Its companion, 
 the yellow pine, is almost as large. The long 
 silvery foliage of the younger specimens forms 
 51
 
 \ 
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 magnificent cylindrical brushes on the top 
 shoots and the ends of the upturned branches, 
 and when the wind sways the needles all one 
 way at a certain angle every tree becomes a 
 tower of white quivering sun-fire. Well may 
 this shining species be called the silver pine. The 
 needles are sometimes more than a foot long, 
 almost as long as those of the long-leaf pine of 
 Florida. But though in size the yellow pine al 
 most equals the sugar pine, and in rugged en 
 during strength seems to surpass it, it is far less 
 marked in general habit and expression, with 
 its regular conventional spire and its compara 
 tively small cones clustered stiffly among the 
 needles. Were there no sugar pine, then would 
 this be the king of the world's eighty or ninety 
 species, the brightest of the bright, waving, 
 worshiping multitude. Were they mere me 
 chanical sculptures, what noble objects they 
 would still be! How much more throbbing, 
 thrilling, overflowing, full of life in every fiber 
 and cell, grand glowing silver-rods the very 
 gods of the plant kingdom, living their sublime 
 century lives in sight of Heaven, watched and 
 loved and admired from generation to genera 
 tion ! And how many other radiant resiny sun 
 I trees are here and higher up, libocedrus, 
 Douglas spruce, silver fir, sequoia. How rich 
 our inheritance in these .blessed mountains, 
 52
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 the tree pastures into which our eyes are 
 turned! 
 
 Now comes sundown. The west is all a glory 
 of color transfiguring everything. Far up the 
 Pilot Peak Ridge the radiant host of trees stand 
 hushed and thoughtful, receiving the Sun's 
 good-night, as solemn and impressive a leave- 
 taking as if sun and trees were to meet no more. 
 The daylight fades, the color spell is broken, 
 and the forest breathes free in the night breeze 
 beneath the stars. 
 
 June 16. One of the Indians from Brown's 
 Flat got right into the middle of the camp this 
 morning, unobserved. I was seated on a stone, 
 looking over my notes and sketches, and hap 
 pening to look up, was startled to see him stand 
 ing grim and silent within a few steps of me, as 
 motionless and weather-stained as an old tree- 
 stump that had stood there for centuries. All 
 Indians seem to have learned this wonderful 
 way of walking unseen, making themselves 
 invisible like certain spiders I have been observ 
 ing here, which, in case of alarm, caused, for 
 example, by a bird alighting on the bush their 
 webs are spread upon, immediately bounce 
 themselves up and down on their elastic threads 
 so rapidly that only a blur is visible. The wild 
 Indian power of escaping observation, even 
 where there is little or no cover to hide in, was 
 53 

 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 probably slowly acquired in hard hunting and 
 fighting lessons while trying to approach game, 
 take enemies by surprise, or get safely away 
 when compelled to retreat. And this experi 
 ence transmitted through many generations 
 seems at length to have become what is vaguely 
 called instinct. 
 
 How smooth and changeless seems the surface 
 of the mountains about us ! Scarce a track is to 
 be found beyond the range of the sheep except 
 on small open spots on the sides of the streams, 
 or where the forest carpets are thin or wanting. 
 On the smoothest of these open strips and 
 patches deer tracks may be seen, and the great 
 suggestive footprints of bears, which, with 
 those of the many small animals, are scarce 
 enough to answer as a kind of light ornamental 
 stitching or embroidery. Along the main ridges 
 and larger branches of the river Indian trails 
 may be traced, but they are not nearly as dis 
 tinct as one would expect to find them. How 
 many centuries Indians have roamed these 
 woods nobody knows, probably a great many, 
 extending far beyond the time that Columbus 
 touched our shores, and it seems strange that 
 heavier marks have not been made. Indians 
 walk softly and hurt the landscape hardly more 
 than the birds and squirrels, and their brush 
 and bark huts last hardly longer than those of 
 54
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 wood rats, while their more enduring monu 
 ments, excepting those wrought on the forests 
 by the fires they made to improve their hunting 
 grounds, vanish in a few centuries. 
 
 How different are most of those of the white 
 man, especially on the lower gold region 
 roads blasted in the solid rock, wild streams 
 dammed and tamed and turned out of their 
 channels and led along the sides of canons and 
 valleys to work in mines like slaves. Crossing 
 from ridge to ridge, high in the air, on long 
 straddling trestles as if flowing on stilts, or 
 down and up across valleys and hills, impris 
 oned in iron pipes to strike and wash away 
 hills and miles of the skin of the mountain's 
 face, riddling, stripping every gold gully and 
 flat. These are the white man's marks made 
 in a few feverish years, to say nothing of mills, 
 fields, villages, scattered hundreds of miles 
 along the flank of the Range. Long will it be 
 ere these marks are effaced, though Nature is 
 doing what she can, replanting, gardening, 
 sweeping- away old dams and flumes, leveling 
 gravel and boulder piles, patiently trying to 
 heal every raw scar. The main gold storm is 
 over. Calm enough are the gray old miners 
 scratching a bare living in waste diggings here 
 and there. Thundering underground blasting 
 is still going on to feed the pounding quartz 
 
 55
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 mills, but their influence on the landscape is 
 light as compared with that of the pick-and- 
 shovel storms waged a few years ago. For 
 tunately for Sierra scenery the gold-bearing 
 slates are mostly restricted to the foothills. 
 The region about our camp is still wild, and 
 higher lies the snow about as trackless as the 
 sky. 
 
 Only a few hills and domes of cloudland 
 were built yesterday and none at all to-day. 
 The light is peculiarly white and thin, though 
 pleasantly warm. The serenity of this moun 
 tain weather in the spring, just when Nature's 
 pulses are beating highest, is one of its great 
 est charms. There is only a moderate breeze 
 from the summits of the Range at night, and 
 a slight breathing from the sea and the low 
 land hills and plains during the day, or still 
 ness so complete no leaf stirs. The trees here 
 abouts have but little wind history to tell. 
 
 Sheep, like people, are ungovernable when 
 hungry. Excepting my guarded lily gardens, 
 almost every leaf that these hoofed locusts 
 can reach within a radius of a mile or two from 
 camp has been devoured. Even the bushes 
 are stripped bare, and in spite of dogs and 
 shepherds the sheep scatter to all points of the 
 compass and vanish in dust. I fear some are 
 lost, for one of the sixteen black ones is missing. 
 
 56
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 June 17. Counted the wool bundles this 
 morning as they bounced through the narrow 
 corral gate. About three hundred are missing, 
 and as the shepherd could not go to seek them, 
 I had to go. I tied a crust of bread to my belt, 
 and with Carlo set out for the upper slopes 
 of the Pilot Peak Ridge, and had a good day, 
 notwithstanding the care of seeking the silly 
 runaways. I went out for wool, and did not 
 come back shorn. A peculiar light circled 
 around the horizon, white and thin like that 
 often seen over the auroral corona, blending 
 into the blue of the upper sky. The only clouds 
 were a few faint flossy pencilings like combed 
 silk. I pushed direct to the boundary of the 
 usual range of the flock, and around it until I 
 found the outgoing trail of the wanderers. It 
 led far up the ridge into an open place sur 
 rounded by a hedge-like growth of ceanothus 
 chaparral. Carlo knew what I was about, and 
 eagerly followed the scent until we came up to 
 them, huddled in a timid, silent bunch. They 
 had evidently been here all night and all the 
 forenoon, afraid to go out to feed. Having 
 escaped restraint, they were, like some peo 
 ple we know of, afraid of their freedom, did 
 not know what to do with it, and seemed glad 
 to get back into the old familiar bondage. 
 
 June 18. Another inspiring morning, noth- 
 57
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ing better in any world can be conceived. No 
 description of Heaven that I have ever heard 
 or read of seems half so fine. At noon the 
 clouds occupied about .05 of the sky, whit( 
 filmy touches drawn delicately on the azure. 
 
 The high ridges and hilltops beyond the 
 woolly locusts are now gay with monardella, 
 clarkia, coreopsis, and tall tufted grasses, some 
 of them tall enough to wave like pines. The 
 lupines, of which there are many ill-defined 
 species, are now mostly out of flower, and 
 many of the composite are beginning to fade, 
 their radiant corollas vanishing in fluffy pap 
 pus like stars in mist. 
 
 We had another visitor from Brown's Flat 
 to-day, an old Indian woman with a basket on 
 her back. Like our first caller from the village, 
 she got fairly into camp and was standing in 
 plain view when discovered. How long she 
 had been quietly looking on, I cannot say. 
 Even the dogs failed to notice her stealthy 
 approach. She was on her way, I suppose, to 
 some wild garden, probably for lupine and 
 starchy saxifrage leaves and rootstocks. Her 
 dress was calico rags, far from clean. In every 
 way she seemed sadly unlike Nature's neat 
 well-dressed animals, though living like them 
 on the bounty of the wilderness. Strange that 
 mankind alone is dirty. Had she been 
 
 inge tnat 
 eencIaoT
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 in fur, or cloth woven of grass or shreddy bark, 
 like the juniper and libocedrus mats, she 
 might then have seemed a rightful part of the 
 wilderness; like a good wolf at least, or bear. 
 But from no point of view that I have found 
 are such debased fellow beings a whit more 
 natural than the glaring tailored tourists we 
 saw that frightened the birds and squirrels. 
 
 June 19. Pure sunshine all day. How beau 
 tiful a rock is made by leaf shadows! Those 
 of the live oak are particularly clear and dis 
 tinct, and beyond all art in grace and delicacy, 
 now still as if painted on stone, now gliding 
 softly as if afraid of noise, now dancing, waltz 
 ing in swift, merry swirls, or jumping on and 
 off sunny rocks in quick dashes like wave em 
 broidery on seashore cliffs. How true and 
 substantial is this shadow beauty, 'and with 
 what sublime extravagance is beauty thus 
 multiplied! The big orange lilies are now 
 arrayed in all their glory of leaf and flower. 
 Noble plants, in perfect health, Nature's dar 
 lings. 
 
 June 20. Some of the silly sheep got 'caught 
 fast in a tangle of chaparral this morning, like 
 flies in a spider's web, and had to be helped 
 out. Carlo found them and tried to drive 
 them from the trap by the easiest way. How 
 far above sheep are intelligent dogs! No friend 
 
 59
 
 " 
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and helper can be more affectionate and con 
 stant than Carlo. The noble St. Bernard is 
 an honor to his race. 
 
 The air is distinctly fragrant with balsam 
 and resin and mint, every breath of it a 
 gift we may well thank God for. Who could 
 ever guess that so rough a wilderness should 
 yet be so fine, so full of good things. One 
 seems to be in a majestic domed pavilion in 
 which a grand play is being acted with scenery 
 and music and incense, all the furniture 
 and action so interesting we are in no danger 
 of being called on to* endure one dull moment. 
 God himself seems to be always doing his best 
 here, working like a man in a glow of enthu 
 siasm, r 
 
 June 21. Sauntered along the river-bank to \ 
 my lily gardens. The perfection of beauty in \ 
 these lilies of the wilderness is a never-ending \ 
 source of admiration and wonder. Their rhi- \ 
 zomes are set in black mould accumulated in 
 hollows of the metamorphic slates beside the 
 pools, where they are well watered without 
 being subjected to flood action. Every leaf 
 in the level whorls around the tall polished 
 stalks is as finely finished as the petals, and the 
 light and heat required are measured for them 
 and tempered in passing through the branches 
 of over-leaning trees. However strong the 
 
 60
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 winds from the noon rainstorms, they are se 
 curely sheltered. Beautiful hypnum carpets 
 bordered with ferns are spread beneath them, 
 violets too, .said a few daisies. Everything 
 around them sweet and fresh like themselves. 
 
 Cloudland to-day is only a solitary white 
 mountain; but it is so enriched with sunshine 
 and shade, the tones of color on its big domed 
 head and bossy outbulging ridges, and in the 
 hollows and ravines between them, are inef 
 fably fine. 
 
 June 22. Unusually cloudy. Besides the 
 periodical shower-bearing cumuli there is a 
 thin, diffused, fog-like cloud overhead. About 
 .75 in all. 
 
 June 23. Oh, these vast, calm, measureless 
 mountain days, inciting at once to work and 
 rest! Days in whose light everything seems 
 equally divine, opening a thousand windows 
 to show us God. Nevermore, howeypr weary, 
 should one faint by the way who gains the 
 blessings of one mountain day; whatever his 
 fate, long life, short life, stormy or calm, he is 
 rich forever. 
 
 June 24. Our regular allowance of clouds 
 and thunder. Shepherd Billy is in a peck of 
 trouble about the sheep; he declares that 
 they are possessed with more of the evil one 
 than any other flock from the beginning of the 
 
 61
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 invention of mutton and wool to the last batch 
 of it. No matter how many are missing, he 
 will not, he says, go a step to seek them, be 
 cause, as he reasons, while getting back one 
 wanderer he would probably lose ten. There 
 fore runaway hunting must be Carlo's and 
 mine. Billy's little dog Jack is also giving 
 trouble by leaving camp every night to visit 
 his neighbors up the mountain at Brown's 
 Flat. He is a common-looking cur of no par 
 ticular breed, but tremendously enterprising 
 in love and war. He has cut all the ropes and 
 leather straps he has been tied with, until 
 his master in desperation, after climbing the 
 brushy mountain again and again to drag him 
 back, fastened him with a pole attached to his 
 collar under his chin at one end, and to a stout 
 sapling at the other. But the pole gave good 
 leverage, and by constant twisting during the 
 night, the fastening at the sapling end was 
 chafed off, and he set out on his usual jour 
 ney, dragging the pole through the brush, and 
 reached the Indian settlement in safety. His 
 master followed, and making no allowance, 
 gave him a beating, and swore in bad terms 
 that next evening he would "fix that infatu 
 ated pup" by anchoring him unmercifully to 
 the heavy cast-iron lid of our Dutch oven, 
 weighing about as much as the dog. It was 
 
 62
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 linked directly to his collar close up under the 
 chin, so that the poor fellow seemed unable 
 to stir. He stood quite discouraged until after 
 dark, unable to look about him, or even to lie 
 down unless he stretched himself out with his 
 front feet across the lid, and his head close 
 down between his paws. Before morning, 
 however, Jack was heard far up the height 
 howling Excelsior, cast-iron anchor to the 
 contrary notwithstanding. He must have 
 walked, or rather climbed, erect on his hind 
 legs, clasping the heavy lid like a shield against 
 his breast, a formidable ironclad condition in 
 which to meet his rivals. Next night, dog, 
 pot-lid, and all, were tied up in an old bean- 
 sack, and thus at last angry Billy gained the 
 victory. Just before leaving home, Jack was 
 bitten in the lower jaw by a rattlesnake, and 
 for a week or so his head and neck were swollen 
 to more than double the normal size; never 
 theless he ran about as brisk and lively as 
 ever, and is now completely recovered. The 
 only treatment he got was fresh milk a 
 gallon or two at a time forcibly poured down 
 his sore, poisoned throat. 
 
 June 25. Though only a sheep-camp, this 
 grand mountain hollow is home, sweet home, 
 every day growing sweeter, and I shall be 
 sorry to leave it. The lily gardens are safe as 
 
 63
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 yet from the trampling flock. Poor, dusty, 
 raggedy, famishing creatures, I heartily pity 
 them. Many a mile they must go every day 
 to gather their fifteen or twenty tons of chap 
 arral and grass. 
 
 June 26. NuttalPs flowering dogwood makes 
 a fine show. when in bloom. The whole tree is 
 then snowy white. The involucres are six to 
 eight inches wide. Along the streams it is a 
 good-sized tree thirty to fifty feet high, with 
 a broad head when not crowded by compan 
 ions. Its showy involucres attract a crowd of 
 moths, butterflies, and other winged people 
 about it for their own, and, I suppose, the 
 tree's advantage. It likes plenty of cool water, 
 and is a great drinker like the alder, willow, 
 and cottonwood, and flourishes best on stream 
 banks, though it often wanders far from 
 streams in damp shady glens beneath the 
 pines, where it is much smaller. When the 
 leaves ripen in the fall, they become more 
 beautiful than the flowers, displaying charm 
 ing tones of red, purple, and lavender. An 
 other species grows in abundance as a chap 
 arral shrub on the shady sides of the hills, 
 probably Cornus sessilis. The leaves are eaten 
 by the sheep. Heard a few lightning strokes 
 in the distance, with rumbling, mumbling re 
 verberations. 
 
 64
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 June 27. The beaked hazel (Corylus rostrata, 
 var. Calif ornica) is- common on cool slopes 
 up toward the summit of the Pilot Peak 
 Ridge. There is something peculiarly attrac 
 tive in the hazel, like the oaks and heaths 
 of the cool countries of our forefathers, and 
 through them our love for these plants has, I 
 suppose, been transmitted. This species is 
 four or five feet high, leaves soft and hairy, 
 grateful to the touch, and the delicious nuts 
 are eagerly gathered by Indians and squirrels. 
 The sky as usual adorned with white nooj 
 clouds. 
 
 June 28. Warm, mellow summer. The 
 glowing sunbeams make every nerve tingle. 
 The new needles of the pines and firs are 
 nearly full grown and shine gloriously. Lizards 
 are glinting about on the hot rocks ; some that 
 live near the camp are more than half tame. 
 They seem attentive to every movement on 
 our part, as if curious to simply look on with 
 out suspicion of harm, turning their heads to 
 look back, and making a variety of pretty 
 gestures. Gentle, guileless creatures with 
 beautiful eyes, I shall be sorry to leave them 
 when we leave camp. 
 
 June 29. I have been making the acquaint 
 ance of a very interesting little bird that flits 
 about the falls and rapids of the main branches 
 
 65
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 of the river. It is not a water-bird in struc 
 ture, though it gets its living in the water, and 
 never leaves the streams. It is not web-footed, 
 yet it dives fearlessly into deep swirling rapids, 
 evidently to feed at the bottom, using its 
 wings to swim with under water just as ducks 
 and loons do. Sometimes \ wades about in 
 shallow places, thrusting it d under from 
 time to time in a jerking, K. .g, frisky way 
 that is sure to attract atte- It is about 
 
 the size of a robin, has shr D wings ser 
 
 viceable for flying either ir r air, and a 
 
 tail of moderate size sla ward, giving 
 
 it, with its nodding, bobb: Jiers, a wren- 
 
 nish look. Its color is plai oluish ash, with a 
 tinge of brown on the head and shoulders. It 
 flies from fall to fall, rapid to rapid, with a 
 solid whir of wing-beats like those of a quail, 
 follows the windings of the stream, and usu 
 ally alights on some rock jutting up out of the 
 current, or on some stranded snag, or rarely 
 on the dry limb of an overhanging tree, perch 
 ing like regular tree birds when it-suits its con 
 venience. It has the oddest, daintiest mincing 
 manners imaginable; and the little fellow can 
 sing too, a sweet, thrushy, fluty song, rather 
 low, not the least boisterous, and much less 
 keen and accentuated than from its vigorous 
 briskness one would be led to look for. What 
 
 66
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 a romantic life this little bird leads on the 
 most beautiful portions of the streams, in a 
 genial climate with shade and cool water and 
 spray to temper the summer heat. No wonder 
 it is a fine singer, considering the stream songs 
 it hears day and night. Every breath the little 
 poet draws is part^of a song, for all the air 
 about the rapid? ,, d falls is beaten into music, 
 and its first lesso^ f ust begin before it is born 
 by the thrilling L\ 1 quivering of the eggs in 
 unison with the tonee of the falls. I have not 
 yet found its nes* "put it must be near the 
 streams, for it ne\ t. ^aves them. 
 
 June 30. Half r |dy, half sunny, clouds 
 lustrous white. TVe ^.a pines crowded along 
 the top of the Pilot Peak Ridge look like six- 
 inch miniatures exquisitely outlined on the 
 satiny sky. Average cloudiness for the day 
 about .25. No rain. And so this memorable 
 month ends, a stream of beauty unmeasured, 
 no more to be sectioned off by almanac arith 
 metic than sun-radiance or the currents of 
 seas and rivers a peaceful, joyful stream 
 Df beauty. Every morning, arising from the 
 death of sleep, the happy plants and all our 
 'ellow animal creatures great and small, and 
 rven the rocks, seemed to be shouting, "Awake, 
 iwake, rejoice, rejoice, come love us and join 
 n our song. Come! Come!" Looking back 
 67
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 through the stillness and romantic enchanting 
 beauty and peace of the camp grove, this June 
 seems the greatest of all the months of my life, 
 the most truly, divinely free, boundless like 
 eternity, immortal. Everything in it seems 
 equally divine one smooth, pure, wild glow 
 of Heaven's love, never to be blotted or blurred 
 by anything past or to come. 
 
 July 1. Summer is ripe. Flocks of seeds are 
 already out of their cups and pods seeking 
 their predestined places. Some will strike root 
 and grow up beside their parents, others fly 
 ing on the wings of the wind far from them, 
 among strangers. Most of the young birds 
 are full feathered and out of their nests, though 
 still looked after by both father and mother, 
 protected and fed and to some extent edu 
 cated. How beautiful the home life of birds! 
 No wonder we all love them. 
 
 I like to watch the squirrels. There are two 
 species here, the large California gray and the 
 Douglas. The latter is the brightest of all 
 the squirrels I have ever seen, a hot spark of 
 life, making every tree tingle with his prickly 
 toes, a condensed nugget of fresh mountain 
 vigor and valor, as free from disease as a sun 
 beam. One cannot think of such an animal 
 ever being -weary or sick. He seems to think 
 the mountains belong to him, and at first tried 
 
 68
 
 V 
 
 DOUGLAS SQUIRREL OBSERVING BROTHER MAN
 
 to drive away the whole flock of sheep as well 
 as the shepherd and dogs. How he scolds, and 
 what faces he makes, all eyes, teeth, and whis 
 kers! If not so comically small, he would in 
 deed be a dreadful fellow. I should like to 
 know more about his bringing up, his life in 
 the home knot-hole, as well as in the tree- 
 tops, throughout all seasons. Strange that I 
 have not yet found a nest full of young ones. 
 The Douglas is nearly allied to the red squirrel 
 of the Atlantic slope, and may have been dis 
 tributed to this side of the continent by way 
 of the great unbroken forests of the north. 
 The California gray is one of the most beau 
 tiful, and, next to the Douglas, the most in 
 teresting of our hairy neighbors. Compared 
 with the Douglas he is twice as large, but far 
 less lively and influential as a worker in the 
 woods and he manages to make his way 
 through leaves and branches with Jess stir 
 than his small brother. I have never heard 
 him bark at anything except our dogs. When 
 in search of food he glides silently from branch 
 to branch, examining last year's cones, to see 
 whether some few seeds may not be left be 
 tween the scales, or gleans fallen ones among 
 the leaves on the ground, since none of the 
 present season's crop is yet available. His tail 
 floats now behind him, now above him, level 
 
 69
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 or gracefully curled like a wisp of cirrus cloud, 
 every hair in its place, clean and shining and 
 radiant as thistle-down in spite of rough, 
 gummy work. His whole body seems about as 
 unsubstantial as his tail. The little Douglas is 
 fiery, peppery, full of brag and fight and show, 
 with movements so quick and keen they almost 
 sting the onlooker, and the harlequin gyrating 
 show he makes of himself turns one giddy to 
 see. The gray is shy, and oftentimes stealthy 
 in his movements, as if half expecting an enemy 
 in every tree and bush, and back of every log, 
 wishing only to be let alone apparently, and 
 manifesting no desire to be seen or admired or 
 feared. The Indians hunt this species for food, 
 a good cause for caution, not to mention 
 other enemies hawks, snakes, wild cats. In 
 woods where food is abundant they wear paths 
 through sheltering thickets and over prostrate 
 trees to some favorite pool where in hot and 
 dry weather they drink at nearly the same 
 hour every day. These pools are said to be 
 narrowly watched, especially by the boys, 
 who lie in ambush with bow and arrow, and 
 kill without noise. But, in pite of enemies, 
 squirrels are happy fellows, forest favorites, 
 types of tireless life. Of all Nature's wild 
 beasts, they seem to me the wildest. May we 
 come to know each other better. 
 
 70
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 The chaparral-covered hill-slope to the 
 south of the camp, besides furnishing nesting- 
 places for countless merry birds, is the homo 
 and hiding-place of the curious wood rat (Neo- 
 toma), a handsome, interesting animal, always 
 attracting attention wherever seen. It is more 
 like a squirrel than a rat, is much larger, has 
 delicate, thick, soft fur of a bluish slate color, 
 white on the belly; ears large, thin, and trans 
 lucent; eyes soft, full, and liquid; claws slender, 
 sharp as needles; and as his limbs are strong, he 
 can climb about as well as a squirrel. No rat or 
 squirrel has so innocent a look, is so easily ap 
 proached, or expresses such confidence in one's 
 good intentions. He seems too fine for the 
 thorny thickets he inhabits, and his hut also is 
 as unlike himself as may be, though softly fur 
 nished inside. No other animal inhabitant of 
 these mountains builds houses so large and 
 striking in appearance. The traveler coming 
 suddenly upon a group of them for the first 
 time will not be likely to forget them. They are 
 built of all kinds of sticks, old rotten pieces 
 picked up anywhere, and green prickly twigs 
 bitten from the nearest bushes, the whole mixed 
 with miscellaneous odds and ends of everything 
 movable, such as bits of cloddy earth, stones, 
 bones, deerhorn, etc., piled up in a conical mass 
 as if it were got ready for burning. Some of 
 71
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 these curious cabins are six feet high and as 
 wide at the base, and a dozen or more of them 
 are occasionally grouped together, less per 
 haps for the sake of society than for advan 
 tages of food and shelter. Coming through the 
 dense shaggy thickets of some lonely hillside, 
 the solitary explorer happening into one of 
 these strange villages is startled at the sight, 
 and may fancy himself in an Indian settlement, 
 and begin to wonder what kind of reception he 
 is likely to get. But no savage face will he see, 
 perhaps not a single inhabitant, or at most two 
 or three seated on top of their wigwams, look 
 ing at the stranger with the mildest of wild 
 eyes, and allowing a near approach. In the 
 center of the rough spiky hut a soft nest is 
 made of the inner fibers of bark chewed to tow, 
 and lined with feathers and the down of various 
 seeds, such as willow and milkweed. The deli 
 cate creature in its prickly, thick-walled home 
 suggests a tender flower in a thorny involucre. 
 Some of the nests are built in trees thirty or 
 forty feet from the ground, and even in garrets, 
 as if seeking the company and protection of 
 man, like swallows and linnets, though accus 
 tomed to the wildest solitude. Among house 
 keepers Neotoma has the reputation of a thief, 
 because he carries away everything transport 
 able to his queer hut, knives, forks, combs, 
 
 72
 
 
 NORTH FORK OF THE MERCED 
 
 nails, tin cups, spectacles, etc., merely, how 
 ever, to strengthen his fortifications, I guess. 
 His foo^ at home, as far as I have learned, is 
 nearly the same as that of the squirrels nuts, 
 berries, seeds, and sometimes the bark and 
 tender shoots of the various species of ceano- 
 thus. 
 
 July 2. Warm, sunny day, thrilling plant 
 and animals and rocks alike, making sap and 
 blood flow fast, and making every particle of 
 the crystal mountains throb and swirl and 
 dance in glad accord like star-dust. No dull 
 ness anywhere visible or thinkable. No stagna 
 tion, no death. Everything kept in joyful 
 rhythmic motion in the pulses of Nature's big 
 heart. 
 
 Pearl cumuli over the higher mountains 
 clouds, not with a silver lining, but all silver. 
 The brightest, crispest, rockiest-looking clouds, 
 most varied in features and keenest in outline I 
 ever saw at any time of year hi any country. 
 The daily building and unbuilding of these 
 snowy cloud-ranges the highest Sierra is 
 a prime marvel to me, and I gaze at the stupen 
 dous white domes, miles high, with ever fresh 
 admiration. But in the midst of these sky and 
 mountain affairs a change of diet is pulling us 
 down. We have been out of bread a few days, 
 and begin to miss it more than seems reason- 
 73
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 able, for we have plenty of meat and sugar and 
 tea. Strange we should feel food-poor in so 
 rich a wilderness. The Indians put us to shame, 
 so do the squirrels, starchy roots and seeds 
 and bark in abundance, yet the failure of the 
 meal sack disturbs our bodily balance, and 
 threatens our best enjoyments. 
 
 July 3. Warm. Breeze just enough to sift 
 through the woods and waft fragrance from 
 their thousand fountains. The pine and fir 
 cones are growing well, resin and balsam drip 
 ping from every tree, and seeds are ripening 
 fast, promising a fine harvest. The squirrels 
 will have bread. They eat all kinds of nuts 
 long before they are ripe, and yet never seem to 
 suffer in stomach.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A BREAD FAMINE 
 
 July 4. The air beyond the flock range, full 
 of the essences of the woods, is growing sweeter 
 and more fragrant from day to day, like ripen 
 ing fruit. 
 
 Mr. Delaney is expected to arrive soon from 
 the lowlands with a new stock of provisions, 
 and as the flock is to be moved to fresh pastures 
 we shall all be well fed. In the mean time our 
 stock of beans as well as flour has failed - 
 everything but mutton, sugar, and tea. The 
 shepherd is somewhat demoralized, and seems 
 to care but little what becomes of his flock. He 
 says that since the boss has failed to feed him 
 he is not rightly bound to feed the sheep, and 
 swears that no decent white man can climb 
 these steep mountains on mutton alone. "It's 
 not fittin' grub for a white man really white. 
 For dogs and coyotes and Indians it's different. 
 Good grub, good sheep. That's what I say." 
 Such was Billy's Fourth of July oration. 
 
 July 5. The clouds of noon on the high 
 Sierra seem yet more marvelously, indescrib 
 ably beautiful from day to day as one becomes 
 
 75
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 more wakeful to see them. The smoke of the 
 gunpowder burned yesterday on the lowlands, 
 and the eloquence of the orators has probably 
 settled or been blown away by this time. Here 
 every day is a holiday, a jubilee ever sounding 
 with serene enthusiasm, without wear or waste 
 or cloying weariness. Everything rejoicing. 
 Not a single cell or crystal unvisited or for 
 gotten. 
 
 July 6. Mr. Delaney has not arrived, and 
 the bread famine is sore. We must eat mutton 
 a while longer, though it seems hard to get ac 
 customed to it. I have heard of Texas pioneers 
 living without bread or anything made from the 
 cereals for months without suffering, using the 
 breast-meat of wild turkeys for bread. Of this 
 kind they had plenty in the good old days 
 when life, though considered less safe, was 
 fussed over the less. The trappers and fur trad 
 ers of early days in the Rocky Mountain regions 
 lived on bison and beaver meat for months. 
 Salmon-eaters, too, there are among both 
 Indians and whites who seem to suffer little 
 or not at all from the want of bread. Just at 
 this moment mutton seems the least desirable 
 of food, though of good quality. We pick out 
 the leanest bits, and down they go against 
 heavy disgust, causing nausea and an effort to 
 reject the offensive stuff. Tea makes matters 
 76
 
 A BREAD FAMINE 
 
 worse, if possible. The stomach begins to as 
 sert itself as an independent creature with a will 
 of its own. We should boil lupine leaves, clover, 
 starchy petioles, and saxifrage rootstocks like 
 the Indians. We try to ignore our gastric 
 troubles, rise and gaze about us, turn our eyes 
 to the mountains, and climb doggedly up 
 through brush and rocks into the heart of the 
 scenery. A stifled calm comes on, and the day's 
 duties and even enjoyments are languidly got 
 through with. We chew a few leaves of ceano- 
 thus by way of luncheon, and smell or chew the 
 spicy monardella for the dull headache and 
 stomach-ache that now lightens, now comes 
 muffling down upon us and into us like fog. At 
 night more mutton, flesh to flesh, down with it, 
 not too much, and there are the stars shining 
 through the cedar plumes and branches above 
 our beds. 
 
 July 7. Rather weak and sickish this morn 
 ing, and all about a piece of bread. Can scarce 
 command attention to my best studies, as if one 
 could n't take a few days' saunter in the God- 
 ful woods without maintaining a base on a 
 wheat-field and gristmill. Like caged parrots we 
 want a cracker, any of the hundred kinds the 
 remainder biscuit of a voyage around the world 
 would answer well enough, nor would the whole- 
 someness of saleratus biscuit be questioned. 
 
 77
 
 Bread without flesh is a good diet, as on many 
 botanical excursions I have proved. Tea also 
 may easily be ignored. Just bread and water 
 and delightful toil is all I need, not unreason 
 ably much, yet one ought to be trained and 
 tempered to enjoy life in these brave wilds in full 
 independence of any particular kind of nourish 
 ment. That this may be accomplished is mani 
 fest, as far as bodily welfare is concerned, in the 
 lives of people of other climes. The Eskimo, 
 for example, gets a living far north of the wheat 
 line, from oily seals and whales. Meat, berries, 
 bitter weeds, and blubber, or only the last, for 
 months at a time; and yet these people all 
 around the frozen shores of our continent are 
 said to be hearty, jolly, stout, and brave. We 
 hear, too, of fish-eaters, carnivorous as spiders, 
 yet. well enough as far as stomachs are con 
 cerned, while we are so ridiculously helpless, 
 making wry faces over our fare, looking sheep 
 ish in digestive distress amid rumbling, grum 
 bling sounds that might well pass for smothered 
 baas. We have a large supply of sugar, and this 
 evening it occurred to me that these belliger 
 ent stomachs might possibly, like complaining 
 children, be coaxed with candy. Accordingly 
 the frying-pan was cleansed, and a lot of sugar 
 cooked in it to a sort of wax, but this stuff only 
 made matters worse. 
 
 78
 
 .A BREAD FAMINE 
 
 Man seems to be the only animal whose food 
 soils him, making necessary much washing and 
 shield-like bibs and napkins. Moles living in 
 the earth and eating slimy worms are yet as 
 clean as seals or fishes, whose lives are one 
 perpetual wash. And, as we have seen, the 
 squirrels in these resiny woods keep themselves 
 clean in some mysterious way; not a hair is 
 sticky, though they handle the gummy cones, 
 and glide about apparently without care. The 
 birds, too, are clean, though they seem to make 
 a good deal of fuss washing and cleaning their 
 feathers. Certain flies and ants I see are in a 
 fix, entangled and sealed up in the sugar-wax 
 we threw away, like some of their ancestors in 
 amber. Our stomachs, like tired muscles, are 
 sore with long squirming. Once I was very 
 hungry in the Bonaventure graveyard near 
 Savannah, Georgia, having fasted for several 
 days; then the empty stomach seemed to chafe 
 in much the same way as now, and a some 
 what similar tenderness and aching was pro 
 duced, hard to bear, though the pain was not 
 acute. We dream of bread, a sure sign we need 
 it. Like the Indians, we ought to know how to 
 get the starch out of fern and saxifrage stalks, 
 lily bulbs, pine bark, etc. Our education has 
 been sadly neglected for many generations. 
 Wild rice would be good. I noticed a leersia in 
 
 79
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 wet meadow edges, but the seeds are small. 
 Acorns are not ripe, nor pine nuts, nor filberts. 
 The inner bark of pine or spruce might be tried. 
 Drank tea until half intoxicated. Man seems 
 to crave a stimulant when anything extraordi 
 nary is going on, and this is the only one I use. 
 Billy chews great quantities of tobacco, which 
 I suppose helps to stupefy and moderate his 
 misery. We look and listen for the Don every 
 hour. How beautiful upon the mountains his 
 big feet would be! 
 
 In the warm, hospitable Sierra, shepherds 
 and mountain men in general, as far as I have 
 seen, are easily satisfied as to food supplies and 
 bedding. Most of them are heartily content to 
 "rough it," ignoring Nature's fineness as both 
 ersome or unmanly. The shepherd's bed is 
 often only the bare ground and a pair of blan 
 kets, with a stone, a piece of wood, or a pack- 
 saddle for a pillow. In choosing the spot, he 
 shows less care than the dogs, for they usually 
 deliberate before making up their minds in so 
 important an affair, going from place to place, 
 scraping away loose sticks and pebbles, and 
 trying for comfort by making many changes, 
 while the shepherd casts himself down any 
 where, seemingly the least skilled of all rest 
 seekers. His food, too, even when he has all he 
 wants, is usually far from delicate, either in kind 
 
 80
 
 A BREAD FAMINE 
 
 or cooking. Beans, bread of any sort, bacon, 
 mutton, dried peaches, and sometimes potatoes 
 and onions, make up his bill-of-fare, the two 
 latter articles being regarded as luxuries on 
 account of their weight as compared with the 
 nourishment they contain; a half-sack or so of 
 each may be put into the pack in setting out 
 from the home ranch and in a few days they 
 are done. Beans are the main standby, port 
 able, wholesome, and capable of going far, be 
 sides being easily cooked, although curiously 
 enough a great deal of mystery is supposed to 
 lie about the bean-pot. No two cooks quite 
 agree on the methods of making beans do their 
 best, and, after petting and coaxing and nurs 
 ing the savory mess, well oiled and mellowed 
 with bacon boiled into the heart of it, the 
 proud cook will ask, after dishing out a quart 
 or two for trial, "Well, how do you like my 
 beans?" as if by no possibility could they be 
 like any other beans cooked in the same way, 
 but must needs possess some special virtue of 
 which he alone is master. Molasses, sugar, or 
 pepper may be used to give desired flavors; or 
 the first water may be poured off and a spoon 
 ful or two of ashes or soda added to dissolve or 
 soften the skins more fully, according to vari 
 ous tastes and notions. But, like casks of wine, 
 no two potfuls are exactly alike to every palate. 
 
 81
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Some are supposed to be spoiled by the moon, 
 by some unlucky day, by the beans having been 
 grown on soil not suitable; or the whole year 
 may be to blame as not favorable for beans. 
 
 Coffee, too, has its marvels in the camp 
 kitchen, but not so many, and not so inscru 
 table as those that beset the bean-pot. A low, 
 complacent grunt follows a mouthful drawn in 
 with a gurgle, and the remark cast forth aim 
 lessly, "That's good coffee." Then another 
 gurgling sip and repetition of the judgment, 
 " Yes, sir, that is good coffee." As to tea, there 
 are but two kinds, weak and strong, the stronger 
 the better. The only remark heard is, "That 
 tea's weak," otherwise it is good enough and 
 not worth mentioning. If it has been boiled an 
 hour or two or smoked on a pitchy fire, no 
 matter, who cares for a little tannin or creo 
 sote? they make the black beverage all the 
 stronger and more attractive to tobacco-tanned 
 palates. 
 
 Sheep-camp bread, like most California 
 camp bread, is baked in Dutch ovens, some of 
 it in the form of yeast powder biscuit, an un* 
 wholesome sticky compound leading straight 
 to dyspepsia. The greater part, however, is 
 fermented with sour dough, a handful from 
 each batch being saved and put away in the 
 mouth of the flour sack to inoculate the next. 
 
 82
 
 A BREAD FAMINE 
 
 The oven is simply a cast-iron pot, about five 
 inches deep and from twelve to eighteen inches 
 wide. After the batch has been mixed and 
 kneaded in a tin pan the oven is slightly 
 heated and rubbed with a piece of tallow or 
 pork rind. The dough is then placed in it, 
 pressed out against the sides, and left to rise. 
 When ready for baking a shovelful of coals is 
 spread out by the side of the fire and the oven 
 set upon them, while another shovelful is placed 
 on top of the lid, which is raised from time to 
 time to see that the requisite amount of heat 
 is being kept up. With care good bread may 
 be made in this way, though it is liable to be 
 burned or to be sour, or raised too much, and 
 the weight of the oven is a serious objection. 
 
 At last Don Delaney comes doon the lang 
 glen hunger vanishes, we turn our eyes to 
 the mountains, and to-morrow we go climbing 
 toward cloudland. 
 
 Never while anything is left of me shall this 
 first camp be forgotten. It has fairly grown 
 into me, not merely as memory pictures, but 
 as part and parcel of mind and body alike. 
 The deep hopper-like hollow, with its majestic 
 trees through which all the wonderful nights 
 the stars poured their beauty. The flowery 
 wildness of the high steep slope toward Brown's 
 Flat, and its bloom-fragrance descending at 
 
 83
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 the close of the still days. The embowered 
 river-reaches with their multitude of voices 
 making melody, the stately flow and rush 
 and glad exulting onsweeping currents caress 
 ing the dipping sedge-leaves and bushes and 
 mossy stones, swirling in pools, dividing against 
 little flowery islands, breaking gray and white 
 here and there, ever rejoicing, yet with deep 
 solemn undertones recalling the ocean the 
 brave little bird ever beside them, singing with 
 sweet human tones among the waltzing foam- 
 bells, and like a blessed evangel explaining 
 God's love. And the Pilot Peak Ridge, its 
 long withdrawing slopes gracefully modeled 
 and braided, reaching from climate to climate, 
 feathered with trees that are the kings of their 
 race, their ranks nobly marshaled to view, 
 spire above spire, crown above crown, waving 
 their long, leafy arms, tossing their cones like 
 ringing bells blessed sun-fed mountaineers 
 rejoicing in their strength, every tree tuneful, 
 a harp for the winds and the sun. The hazel 
 and buckthorn pastures of the deer, the sun- 
 beaten brows purple and yellow with mint and 
 golden-rods, carpeted with chamoebatia, hum 
 ming with bees. And the dawns and sunrises 
 and sundowns of these mountain days, the 
 rose light creeping higher among the stars, 
 changing to daffodil yellow, the level beams 
 
 84
 
 A BREAD FAMINE 
 
 bursting forth, streaming across the ridges, 
 touching pine after pine, awakening and warm 
 ing all the mighty host to do gladly their 
 shining day's work. The great sun-gold noons, 
 the alabaster cloud-mountains, the landscape 
 beaming with consciousness like the face of a 
 god. The sunsets, when the trees stood hushed 
 awaiting their good-night blessings. Divine, 
 enduring, unwastable wealth.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 July 8. Now away we go toward the top 
 most mountains. Many still, small voices, as 
 well as the noon thunder, are calling, "Come 
 higher." Farewell, blessed dell, woods, gar 
 dens, streams, birds, squirrels, lizards, and a 
 thousand others. Farewell. Farewell. 
 
 Up through the woods the hoofed locusts 
 streamed beneath a cloud of brown dust. 
 Scarcely were they driven a hundred yards 
 from the old corral ere they seemed to know 
 that at last they were going to new pastures, 
 and rushed wildly ahead, crowding through 
 gaps in the brush, jumping, tumbling like ex 
 ulting hurrahing flood-waters escaping through 
 a broken dam. A man on each flank kept 
 shouting advice to the leaders, who in their 
 famishing condition were behaving like Gad- 
 arene swine; two others drivers were busy with 
 stragglers, helping them out of brush tangles; 
 the Indian, calm, alert, silently watched for 
 wanderers likely to be overlooked; the two 
 dogs ran here and there, at a loss to know 
 what was best to be done, while the Don, 
 86
 
 DIVIDE BETWEEN THE TUOLUMXE AND THE MERCED 
 BELOW HAZEL GREEN
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 soon far in the rear, was trying to keep in 
 sight of his troublesome wealth. 
 
 As soon as the boundary of the old eaten- 
 out range was passed the hungry horde sud 
 denly became calm, like a mountain stream 
 in a meadow. Thenceforward they were al 
 lowed to eat their way as slowly as they wished, 
 care being taken only to keep them headed 
 toward the summit of the Merced and Tuol- 
 umne divide. Soon the two thousand flat 
 tened paunches were bulged out with sweet- 
 pea vines and grass, and the gaunt, desperate 
 creatures, more like wolves than sheep, be 
 came bland and governable, while the howl 
 ing drivers changed to gentle shepherds, and 
 sauntered in peace. 
 
 Toward sundown we reached Hazel Green, 
 a charming spot on the summit of the divid 
 ing ridge between the basins of the Merced and 
 Tuolumne, where there is a small brook flow- 
 ing through hazel and dogwood thickets_be- 
 neath magnificent silver_Jirs and pines. Here, 
 we are camped for the night, our big fire, 
 heaped high with rosiny logs and branches, 
 is blazing like a sunrise, gladly giving back the 
 light slowly sifted from the sunbeams of cen 
 turies of summers; and in the glow of that 
 old sunlight how impressively surrounding ob 
 jects are brought forward in relief against the 
 
 87
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 outer darkness! Grasses, larkspurs, columbines, 
 lilies, hazel bushes, and the great trees form 
 a circle around the fire like thoughtful spec 
 tators, gazing and listening with human-like 
 enthusiasm. The night breeze is cool, for all 
 day we have been climbing into the upper sky, 
 the home of the cloud mountains we so long 
 have admired. How sweet and keen the air! 
 Every breath a blessing.. Here the sugar pine 
 reaches its fullest development in size and 
 beauty and number of individuals, filling every 
 swell and 'hollow and down-plunging ravine 
 almost to the exclusion of other species. A 
 few yellow pines are still to be found as com 
 panions, and in the coolest places silver firs; 
 but noble as these are, the sugar pine is king, 
 and spreads long protecting arms above them 
 while they rock and wave in sign of recogni 
 tion. 
 
 We have now reached a height of six thou 
 sand feet. In the forenoon we passed along a 
 flat part of the dividing ridge that is planted 
 with manzanita (Arctostaphylos) , some speci 
 mens the largest I have seen. I measured one, 
 the bole of which is four feet in diameter and 
 only eighteen inches high from the ground, 
 where it dissolves into many wide-spreading 
 branches forming a broad round head about 
 ten or twelve feet high, covered with clusters
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 of small narrow-throated pink bells. The leaves 
 are pale green, glandular, and set on- edge by a 
 twist of the petiole. The branches seem naked; 
 for the chocolate-colored bark is very smooth 
 and thin, and is shed off in flakes that curl 
 when dry. The wood is red, close-grained, 
 hard, and heavy. I wonder how old these 
 curious tree-bushes are, probably as old as the 
 great pines. Indians and bears and birds and 
 fat grubs feast on the berries, which look like 
 small apples, often rosy on one side, green on 
 the other. The Indians are said to make a kind 
 of beer or cider out of them. There are many 
 species. This one, Arctostaphylos pungens, is 
 common hereabouts. No need have they to 
 fear the wind, so low they are and steadfastly 
 rooted. Even the fires that sweep the woods 
 seldom destroy them utterly, for they rise 
 again from the root, and some of the dry ridges 
 they grow on are seldom touched by fire. I 
 must try to know them better. 
 
 I miss my river songs to-night. Here Hazel 
 Creek at its topmost springs has a voice like a 
 bird. The wind-tones in the great trees over 
 head are strangely impressive, all the more 
 because not a leaf stirs below them. But it 
 grows late, and I must to bed. The camp is 
 silent; everybody asleep. It seems extrava 
 gant to spend hours so precious in sleep. "He 
 
 89
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 giveth his beloved sleep." Pity the poor be 
 loved needs it, weak, weary, forspent; oh, the 
 pity of it, to sleep in the midst of eternal, 
 beautiful motion instead of gazing forever, 
 like the stars. 
 
 July 9. Exhilarated with the mountain air, 
 I feel like shouting this morning with excess 
 of wild animal joy. The Indian lay down 
 away from the fire last night, without blan 
 kets, having nothing on, by way of clothing, 
 but a pair of blue overalls and a calico shirt 
 wet with sweat. The night air is chilly at this 
 elevation, and we gave him some horse-blan 
 kets, but he did n't seem to care for them. A 
 fine thing to be independent of clothing where 
 it is so hard to carry. When food is scarce, he 
 can live on whatever comes in his way a few 
 berries, roots, bird eggs, grasshoppers, black 
 ants, fat wasp or bumblebee larvae, without 
 feeling that he is doing anything worth men 
 tion, so I have been told. 
 
 Our course to-day was along the broad top 
 of the main ridge to a hollow beyond Crane 
 Flat. It is scarce at all rocky, and is covered 
 with the noblest pines and spruces I have yet 
 seen. Sugar pines from six to eight feet in 
 diameter are not uncommon, with a height of 
 two hundred feet or even more. The silver 
 firs (Abies concolor and A. magnified) are ex- 
 
 90
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 ceedingly beautiful, especially the magnified, 
 which becomes more abundant the higher we 
 go. It is of great size, one of the most notable 
 in every way of the giant conifers of the 
 Sierra. I saw ; mens that measured seven 
 feet in diamek ^ d over two hundred feet in 
 height, while tl Average size for what might 
 be called full-gi >wn mature trees can hardly 
 be less than on lundred and eighty or two 
 hundred feet high ' id five or six feet in diam 
 eter; and with tl noble dimensions there 
 is a symmetry anc; perfection of finish not to 
 be seen in any other tree, hereabout at least. 
 The branches are whorled in fives mostly, and 
 stand out from the tall, straight, exquisitely 
 tapered bole in level collars, each branch 
 regularly pinnated like the fronds of ferns, 
 and densely clad with leaves all around the 
 branchlets, thus giving them a singularly rich 
 and sumptuous appearance. The extreme top 
 of the tree is a thick blunt shoot pointing 
 straight to the zenith like an admonishing 
 finger. The cones stand erect like casks on 
 the upper branches. They are about six inches 
 long, three in diameter, blunt, velvety, and 
 cylindrical in form, and very rich and precious 
 looking. The seeds are about three quarters 
 of an inch long, dark reddish brown with bril 
 liant iridescent purple wings, and when ripe, 
 
 91
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 the cone falls to pieces, and the seeds thus set 
 free at a height of one hundred and fifty or 
 two hundred feet have a good send off and 
 may fly considerable distances in a good breeze; 
 and it is when a good breeze is blowing that 
 most of them are shaken free to fly. 
 
 The other species, Abies concolor, attains 
 nearly as great a height and thickness as the 
 magnified, but the branches do not form such 
 regular whorls, nor are they so exactly pin 
 nated or richly leaf-clad. Instead of growing 
 all around the branchlets, the leaves are mostly 
 arranged in two flat horizontal rows. The 
 cones and seeds are like those of the magnified 
 in form but less than half as large. The bark 
 of the magnified is reddish purple and closely 
 furrowed, that of the concolor gray and widely 
 furrowed. A noble pair. 
 
 At Crane Flat we climbed a thousand feet 
 or more in a distance of about two miles, the 
 forest growing more dense and the silvery 
 magnified fir forming a still greater portion of 
 the whole. Crane Flat is a meadow with a 
 wide sandy border lying on the top of the di 
 vide. It is often visited by blue cranes to rest 
 and feed on their long journeys, hence the 
 name. It is about half a mile long, draining 
 into the Merced, sedgy in the middle, with a 
 margin bright with lilies, columbines, lark- 
 
 92
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTIANS 
 
 spurs, lupines, castilleia, then an outer zone 
 of dry, gently sloping ground starred with a 
 multitude of small flowers eunanus, mimu- 
 lus, gilia, with rosettes of spraguea, and tufts 
 of several species of eriogonum and the bril 
 liant zauschneria. The noble forest wall about 
 it is made up of the two silver firs and the 
 yellow and sugar pines, which here seem to 
 reach their highest pitch of beauty and gran 
 deur; for the elevation, six thousand feet or a 
 little more, is not too great for the sugar and 
 yellow pines or too low for the magnified fir, 
 while the concolor seems to find this elevation 
 the best possible. About a mile from the north 
 end of the flat there is a grove of Sequoia gigan- 
 tea, the king of all the conifers. Furthermore, 
 the Douglas spruce (Pseudotsuga Douglasii) 
 and Libocedrus decurrens, and a few two-leaved 
 pines, occur here and there, forming a small 
 part of the forest. Three pines, two silver firs, 
 one Douglas spruce, one sequoia, all of 
 them, except the two-leaved pine, colossal 
 trees, are found here together, an assem 
 blage of conifers unrivaled on the globe. 
 
 We passed a number of charming garden-like 
 meadows lying on top of the divide or hanging 
 like ribbons down its sides, imbedded in the 
 glorious forest. Some are taken up chiefly 
 with the tall white-flowered Verafrum Cali- 
 
 93
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 fornicum, with boat-shaped leaves about a 
 foot long, eight or ten inches wide, and veined 
 like those of cypripedium, a robust, hearty, 
 liliaceous plant, fond of water and determined 
 to be seen. Columbine and larkspur grow on 
 the dryer edges of the meadows, with a tall 
 handsome lupine standing waist-deep in long 
 grasses and sedges. Castilleias, too, of several 
 species make a bright show with beds of vio 
 lets at their feet. But the glory of these forest 
 meadows is a lily (L. parvum). The tallest are 
 from seven to eight feet high with magnificent 
 racemes of ten to twenty or more small orange- 
 colored flowers; they stand out free hi open 
 ground, with just enough grass and other com 
 panion plants about them to fringe their feet, 
 and show them off to best advantage. This is 
 a grand addition to my lily acquaintances, - 
 a true mountaineer, reaching prime vigor and 
 beauty at a height of seven thousand feet or 
 thereabouts. It varies, I find, very much in 
 size even in the same meadow, not only with 
 the soil, but with age. I saw a specimen that 
 had only one flower, and another within a 
 stone's throw had twenty-five. And to think 
 that the sheep should be allowed in these lily 
 meadows! after how many centuries of Na 
 ture's care planting and watering them, tuck 
 ing the bulbs in ' snugly below winter frost, 
 
 94
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 shading the tender shoots with clouds drawn 
 above them like curtains, pouring refreshing 
 rain, making them perfect in beauty, and keep 
 ing them safe by a thousand miracles; yet, 
 strange to say, allowing the trampling of de 
 vastating sheep. One might reasonably look 
 for a wall of fire to fence such gardens. So 
 extravagant is Nature with her choicest treas 
 ures, spending plant beauty as she spends 
 sunshine, pouring it forth into land and sea, 
 garden and desert. And so the beauty of lilies 
 falls on angels and men, bears and squirrels, 
 wolves and sheep, birds and bees, but as far 
 as I have seen, man alone, and the animals he 
 tames, destroy these gardens. Awkward, lum 
 bering bears, the Don tells me, love to wallow 
 in them in hot weather, and deer with their 
 sharp feet cress them again and again, saun 
 tering and feeding, yet never a lily have I seen 
 spoiled by them. Rather, like gardeners, they 
 seem to cultivate them, pressing and dibbling 
 as required. Anyhow not a leaf or petal seems 
 misplaced. 
 
 The trees round about them seem as per 
 fect in beauty and form as the lilies, their 
 boughs whorled like lily leaves in exact order. 
 This evening, as usual, the glow of our camp- 
 fire is working enchantment on everything 
 within reach of its rays. Lying beneath the 
 
 95
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 firs, it is glorious to see them dipping their spires 
 in the starry sky, the sky like one vast lily 
 meadow in bloom! How can I close my eyes 
 on so precious a night? 
 
 . July 10. A Douglas squirrel, peppery, pun 
 gent autocrat of the woods, is barking over 
 head this morning, and the small forest birds, 
 so seldom seen when one travels noisily, are 
 out on sunny branches along the edge of the 
 meadow getting warm, taking a sun bath and 
 dew bath a fine sight. How charming the 
 sprightly confident looks and ways of these 
 little feathered people of the trees! They seem 
 sure of dainty, wholesome breakfasts, and 
 where are so many breakfasts to come from? 
 How helpless should we find ourselves should 
 we try to set a table for them of such buds, 
 seeds, insects, etc., as would keep them in the 
 pure wild health they enjoy! Not a headache 
 or any other ache amongst them, I guess. As 
 for the irrepressible Douglas squirrels, one 
 never thinks of their breakfasts or the possi 
 bility of hunger, sickness or death; rather they 
 seem like stars above chance or change, even 
 though we may see them at times busy gather 
 ing burrs, working hard for a living. 
 
 On through the forest ever higher we go, a 
 cloud of dust dimming the way, thousands of 
 feet trampling leaves and flowers, but in this 
 96
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 mighty wilderness they seem but a feeble band, 
 and a thousand gardens will escape their 
 blighting touch. They cannot hurt the trees, 
 though some of the seedlings suffer, and should 
 the woolly locusts be greatly multiplied, as 
 on account of dollar value they are likely to 
 be, then the forests, too,, may in time be 
 destroyed. Only the sky will then be safe, 
 though hid from view by dust and smoke, in 
 cense of a bad sacrifice. Poor, helpless, hun 
 gry sheep, in great part misbegotten, without 
 good right to be, semi-manufactured, made 
 less by God than man, born out of time and 
 place, yet their voices are strangely human 
 and call out one's pity. 
 
 Our way is still along the Merced and Tuol- 
 umne divide, the streams on our right going 
 to swell the songful Yosemite River, those on 
 our left to the songful Tuolumne, slipping 
 through sunny carex and lily meadows, and 
 breaking into song down a thousand ravines 
 almost as soon as they are born. A more tune 
 ful set of streams surely nowhere exists, or 
 more sparkling crystal pure, now gliding with 
 tinkling whisper, now with merry dimpling 
 rush, in and out through sunshine and shade, 
 shimmering in pools, uniting their currents, 
 bouncing, dancing from form to form over 
 cliffs and inclines, ever more beautiful the 
 
 97
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 farther they go until they pour into the main 
 glacial rivers. 
 
 All day I have been gazing in growing ad 
 miration at the noble groups of the magnifi 
 cent silver fir which more and more is taking 
 the ground to itself. The woods above Crane 
 Flat still continue comparatively open, letting 
 in the sunshine on the brown needle-strewn 
 ground. Not only are the individual trees ad 
 mirable in symmetry and superb in foliage 
 and port, but half a dozen or more often form 
 temple groves in which the trees are so nicely 
 graded in size and position as to seem one. 
 Here, indeed, is the tree-lover's paradise. The 
 dullest eye in the world must surely be quick 
 ened by such trees as these. 
 
 Fortunately the sheep need little attention, 
 as they are driven slowly and allowed to nip 
 and nibble as they like. Since leaving Hazel 
 Green we have been following the Yosemite 
 trail; visitors to the famous valley coming by 
 way of Coulterville and Chinese Camp pass 
 this way the two trails uniting at Crane 
 Flat and enter the valley on the north side. 
 Another trail enters on the south side by way 
 of Mariposa. The tourists we saw were in 
 parties of from three or four to fifteen or 
 twenty, mounted on mules or small mustang 
 ponies. A strange show they made, winding 
 98
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 single file through the solemn woods in gaudy 
 attire, scaring the wild creatures, and one 
 might fancy that even the great pines would 
 be disturbed and groan aghast. But what may 
 we say of ourselves and the flock? 
 
 We are now camped at Tamarack Flat, 
 within four or five miles of the lower end of 
 Yosemite. Here is another fine meadow em 
 bosomed in the woods, with a deep, clear 
 stream gliding through it, its banks rounded 
 and beveled with a thatch of dipping sedges. 
 The flat is named after the two-leaved pine 
 (Pinus contorta, var. Murray and), common 
 here, especially around the cool margin of the 
 meadow. On rocky ground it is a rough, thick 
 set tree, about forty to sixty feet high and one to 
 three feet in diameter, bark thin and gummy, 
 branches rather naked, tassels, leaves, and 
 cones small. But in damp, rich soil it grows 
 close and slender, and reaches a height at 
 times of nearly a hundred feet. Specimens 
 only six inches in diameter at the ground are 
 often fifty or sixty feet in height, as slender and 
 sharp in outline as arrows, like the true tama 
 rack (larch) of the Eastern States; hence the 
 name, though it is a pine. 
 
 July 11. The Don has gone ahead on one of 
 the pack animals to spy out the land to the 
 north of Yosemite in search of the best point 
 
 99
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 for a central camp. Much higher than this 
 we cannot now go, for the upper pastures, said 
 to be better than any hereabouts, are still 
 buried in heavy winter snow. Glad I am that 
 camp is to be fixed in the Yosemite region, for 
 many a glorious ramble I'll have along the 
 top of the walls, and then what landscapes I 
 shall find with their new mountains and 
 canons, forests and gardens, lakes and streams 
 and falls. 
 
 We are now about seven thousand feet above 
 the sea, and the nights are so cool we have to 
 pile coats and extra clothing on top of our blan 
 kets. Tamarack Creek is icy cold, delicious, 
 exhilarating champagne water. It is flowing 
 bank-full in the meadow with silent speed, but 
 only a few hundred yards below our camp the 
 ground is bare gray granite strewn with bould 
 ers, large spaces being without a single tree 
 or only a small one here and there anchored 
 in narrow seams and cracks. The boulders, 
 many of them very large, are not in piles or 
 scattered like rubbish among loose crumbling 
 debris as if weathered out of the solid as 
 boulders of disintegration; they mostly occur 
 singly, and are lying on a clean pavement on 
 which the sunshine falls in a glare that con 
 trasts with the shimmer of light and shade we 
 have been accustomed to in the leafy woods. 
 100
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 And, strange to say, these boulders lying so 
 still and deserted, with no moving force near 
 them, no boulder carrier anywhere in sight, 
 were nevertheless brought from a distance, as 
 difference in color and composition shows, 
 quarried and carried and laid down here each 
 in its place; nor have they stirred, most of 
 them, through calm and storm since first they 
 arrived. They look lonely here, strangers in a 
 strange land, huge blocks, angular moun 
 tain chips, the largest twenty or thirty feet 
 in diameter, the chips that Nature has made 
 in modeling her landscapes, fashioning the 
 forms of her mountains and valleys. And with 
 what tool were they quarried and carried? 
 On the pavement we find its marks. The most 
 resisting unweathered portion of the surface 
 is scored and striated in a rigidly parallel way, 
 indicating that the region has been overswept 
 by a glacier from the northeastward, grinding 
 down the general mass of the mountains, scor 
 ing and polishing, producing a strange, raw, 
 wiped appearance, and dropping whatever 
 boulders it chanced to be carrying at the time 
 it was melted at the close of the Glacial Period. 
 A fine discovery this. As for the forests we 
 have been passing through, they are probably 
 growing on deposits of soil most of which has 
 been laid down by this same ice agent in the 
 101
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 form of moraines of different sorts, now in 
 i 
 
 great part disintegrated and outspread by 
 post-glacial weathering. 
 
 Out of the grassy meadow and down over 
 this ice-planed granite runs the glad young 
 Tamarack Creek, rejoicing, exulting, chanting, 
 dancing in white, glowing, irised falls and 
 cascades on its way to the Merced Canon, a 
 few miles below Yosemite, falling more than 
 three thousand feet in a distance of about two 
 miles. 
 
 All the Merced streams are wonderful 
 singers, and Yosemite is the centre where the 
 main tributaries meet. From a point about 
 half a mile from our camp we can see into the 
 lower end of the famous valley, with its won 
 derful cliffs and groves, a grand page of moun 
 tain manuscript that I would gladly give my 
 life to be able to read. How vast it seems, how 
 short human life when we happen to think of 
 it, and how little we may learn, however hard 
 we try! Yet why bewail our poor inevitable 
 ignorance? Some of the external beauty is al 
 ways in sight, enough to keep every fibre of us 
 tingling, and this we are able to gloriously 
 enjoy though the methods of its creation may 
 lie beyond our ken. Sing on, brave Tamarack 
 Creek, fresh from your snowy fountains, 
 plash and swirl and dance to your fate in the 
 102
 
 - 
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 sea; bathing, cheering every living thing along 
 your way. 
 
 Have greatly enjoyed all this huge day, 
 sauntering and seeing, steeping in the moun 
 tain influences, sketching, noting, pressing 
 flowers, drinking ozone and Tamarack water. 
 Found the white fragrant Washington lily, the 
 finest of all the Sierra lilies. Its bulbs are bur 
 ied in shaggy chaparral tangles, I suppose for 
 safety from pawing bears; and its magnificent 
 panicles sway and rock over the top of the 
 rough snow-pressed bushes, while big, bold, 
 blunt-nosed bees drone and mumble in its 
 polleny bells. A lovely flower, worth going 
 hungry and footsore endless miles to see. The 
 whole world seems richer now that I have 
 found this plant in so noble a landscape. 
 
 A log house serves to mark a claim to the 
 Tamarack meadow, which may become val 
 uable as a station in case travel to Yosemite 
 should greatly increase. Belated parties occa 
 sionally stop here. A white man with an In 
 dian woman is holding possession of the place. 
 
 Sauntered up the meadow about sundown, 
 out of sight of camp and sheep and all human 
 mark, into the deep peace of the solemn old 
 woods, everything glowing with Heaven's un 
 quenchable enthusiasm. 
 
 July 12. The Don has returned, and again 
 
 103
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 we go on pilgrimage. " Looking over the Yo- 
 semite Creek country," he said, "from the tops 
 of the hills you see nothing but rocks and 
 patches of trees; but when you go down into 
 the rocky desert you find no end of small grassy 
 banks and meadows, and so the country is not 
 half so lean as it looks. There we '11 go and stay 
 until the snow is melted from the upper country. ' ' 
 
 I was glad to hear that the high snow made 
 a stay in the Yosemite region necessary, for 
 I am anxious to see as much of it as possible. 
 What fine times I shall have sketching, study 
 ing plants and rocks, and scrambling about 
 the brink of the great valley alone, out of sight 
 and sound of camp! 
 
 We saw another party of Yosemite tourists 
 to-day. Somehow most of these travelers seem 
 to care but little for the glorious objects about 
 them, though enough to spend time and money 
 and endure long rides to see the famous val 
 ley. And when they are fairly within the 
 mighty walls of the temple and hear the 
 psalms of the falls, they will forget themselves 
 and become devout. Blessed, indeed, should 
 be every pilgrim in these holy mountains! 
 
 We moved slowly eastward along the Mono 
 Trail, and early in the afternoon unpacked 
 and camped on the bank of Cascade Creek. 
 The Mono Trail crosses the range by the 
 
 104
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 Bloody Canon Pass to gold mines near the 
 north end of Mono Lake. These mines were 
 reported to be rich when first discovered, and 
 a grand rush took place, making a trail neces 
 sary. A few small bridges were built over 
 streams where fording was not practicable 
 on account of the softness of the bottom, sec 
 tions of fallen trees cut out, and lanes made 
 through thickets wide enough to allow the 
 passage of bulky packs; but over the greater 
 part of the way scarce a stone or shovelful of 
 earth has been moved. 
 
 The woods we passed through are composed 
 almost wholly of Abies magnified, the compan 
 ion species, concolor, being mostly left behind 
 on account of altitude, while the increasing 
 elevation seems grateful to the charming mag- 
 nifica. No words can do anything like justice to 
 this noble tree. At one place many had fallen 
 during some heavy wind-storm, owing to the 
 loose sandy character of the soil, which offered 
 no secure anchorage. The soil is mostly decom 
 posed and disintegrated moraine material. 
 
 The sheep are lying down on a bare rocky 
 spot such as they like, chewing the cud in 
 grassy peace. Cooking is going on, appetites 
 growing keener every day. No lowlander can 
 appreciate the mountain appetite, and the 
 facility with which heavy food called "grub" 
 
 105
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 is disposed of. Eating, walking, resting, seem 
 alike delightful, and one feels inclined to shout 
 lustily on rising in the morning like a crowing 
 cock. Sleep and digestion as clear as the air. 
 Fine spicy plush boughs for bedding we shall 
 have to-night, and a glorious lullaby from this 
 cascading creek. Never was stream more fit 
 tingly named, for as far as I have traced it 
 above and below our camp it is one continu 
 ous bouncing, dancing, white bloom of cas 
 cades. And at the very last unwearied it fin 
 ishes its wild course in a grand leap of three 
 hundred feet or more to the bottom of the 
 main Yosemite canon near the fall of Tama 
 rack Creek, a few miles below the foot of the 
 valley. These falls almost rival some of the 
 far-famed Yosemite falls. Never shall I for 
 get these glad cascade songs, the low booming, 
 the roaring, the keen, silvery clashing of the 
 cool water rushing exulting from form to form 
 beneath irised spray; or in the deep still night 
 seen white in the darkness, and its multitude 
 of voices sounding still more impressively sub 
 lime. Here I find the little water ouzel as 
 much at home as any linnet in a leafy grove, 
 seeming to take the greater delight the more 
 boisterous the stream. The dizzy precipices, 
 the swift dashing energy displayed, and the 
 thunder tones of the sheer falls are awe inspir- 
 
 106
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 ing, but there is nothing awful about this little 
 bird. Its song is sweet and low, and all its ges 
 tures, as it flits about amid the loud uproar, 
 bespeak strength and peace and joy. Con 
 templating these darlings of Nature coming 
 forth from spray-sprinkled nests on the brink 
 of savage streams, Samson's riddle comes to 
 mind, "Out of the strong cometh forth sweet 
 ness." A yet finer bloom is this little bird than 
 the foam-bells in eddying pools. Gentle bird, 
 a precious message you bring me. We may 
 miss the meaning of the torrent, but thy sweet 
 voice, only love is in it. 
 
 July 13. Our course all day has been east 
 ward over the rim of Yosemite Creek basin 
 and down about halfway to the bottom, where 
 we have encamped on a sheet of glacier-pol 
 ished granite, a firm foundation for beds. Saw 
 the tracks of a very large bear on the trail, 
 and the Don talked of bears in general. I said 
 I should like to see the maker of these im 
 mense tracks as he marched along, and follow 
 him for days, without disturbing him, to learn 
 something of the life of this master beast of 
 the wilderness. Lambs, the Don told me, born 
 in the lowland, that never saw or heard a bear, 
 snort and run in terror when they catch the 
 scent, showing how fully they have inherited 
 a knowledge of their enemy. Hogs, mules, 
 
 107
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 horses, and cattle are, afraid of bears, and are 
 seized with ungovernable terror when they ap 
 proach, particularly hogs and mules. Hogs 
 are frequently driven to pastures in the foot 
 hills of the Coast Range and Sierra where 
 acorns are abundant, and are herded in droves 
 of hundreds like sheep. When a bear comes 
 to the range they promptly leave it, emigrat 
 ing in a body, usually in the night time, the 
 keepers being powerless to prevent; they thus 
 show more sense than sheep, that simply 
 scatter in the rocks and brush and await their 
 fate. Mules flee like the wind with or without 
 riders when they see a bear, and, if picketed, 
 sometimes break their necks in trying to break 
 their ropes, though I have not heard of bears 
 killing mules or horses. Of hogs they are said 
 to be particularly fond, bolting small ones, 
 bones and all, without choice of parts. In par 
 ticular, Mr. Delaney assured me that all kinds 
 of bears in the Sierra are very shy, and that 
 hunters found far greater difficulty in getting 
 within gunshot of them than of deer or indeed 
 any other animal in the Sierra, and if I was 
 anxious to see much of them I should have to 
 wait and watch with endless Indian patience 
 and pay no attention to anything else. 
 
 Night is coming on, the gray rock waves 
 are growing dim in the twilight. How raw and 
 
 108
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 young this region appears! Had the ice sheet 
 that swept over it vanished but yesterday, its 
 traces on the more resisting portions about 
 our camp could hardly be more distinct than 
 they now are. The horses and sheep and all of 
 us, indeed, slipped on the smoothest places. 
 
 July 14. How deathlike is sleep in this 
 mountain air, and quick the awakening into 
 newness of life! A calm dawn, yellow and pur 
 ple, then floods of sun-gold, making every 
 thing tingle and glow. 
 
 In an hour or two we came to Yosemite 
 Creek, the stream that makes the greatest of all 
 the Yosemite falls. It is about forty feet wide 
 at the Mono Trail crossing, and now about four 
 feet in average depth, flowing about three miles 
 an hour. The distance to the verge of the 
 Yosemite wall, where it makes its tremendous 
 plunge, is only about two miles from here. 
 Calm, beautiful, and nearly silent, it glides 
 with stately gestures, a dense growth of the 
 slender two-leaved pine along its banks, and a 
 fringe of willow, purple spirea, sedges, daisies, 
 lilies, and columbines. Some of the sedges and 
 willow boughs dip into the current, and just out 
 side of the close ranks of trees there is a sunny 
 flat of washed gravelly sand which seems to 
 have been deposited by some ancient flood. It 
 is covered with millions of erethrea, eriogonum, 
 
 109
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and oxytheca, with more flowers than leaves, 
 forming an even growth, slightly dimpled and 
 ruffled here and there by rosettes of Spraguea 
 umbellata. Back of this flowery strip there is 
 a wavy upsloping plain of solid granite, so 
 smoothly ice-polished in many places that it 
 glistens in the sun like glass. In shallow hol 
 lows there are patches of trees, mostly the rough 
 form of the two-leaved pine, rather scrawny 
 looking where there is little or no soil. Also 
 a few junipers (Juniperus occidentalis) , short 
 and stout, with bright cinnamon-colored bark 
 and gray foliage, standing alone mostly, on the 
 sun-beaten pavement, safe from fire, clinging by 
 slight joints, a sturdy storm-enduring moun 
 taineer of a tree, living on sunshine and snow, 
 maintaining tough health on this diet for per 
 haps more than a thousand years. 
 
 Up towards the head of the basin I see groups 
 of domes rising above the wavelike ridges, and 
 some picturesque castellated masses, and dark 
 strips and patches of silver fir, indicating de 
 posits of fertile soil. Would that I could com 
 mand the time to study them! What rich ex 
 cursions one could make in this well-defined 
 basin! Its glacial inscriptions and sculptures, 
 how marvelous they seem, how noble the stud 
 ies they offer! I tremble with excitement in 
 the dawn of these glorious mountain sublim- 
 
 110
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 ities, but I can only gaze and wonder, and, 
 like a child, gather here and there a lily, half 
 hoping I may be able to study and learn in 
 years to come. 
 
 The drivers and dogs had a lively, laborious 
 tune getting the sheep across the creek, the 
 second large stream thus far that they have 
 been compelled to 'cross without a bridge ; the 
 first being the North Fork of the Merced near 
 Bower Cave. Men and dogs, shouting and 
 barking, drove the timid, water-fearing crea 
 tures in a close crowd against the bank, but 
 not one of the flock would launch away. While 
 thus jammed, the Don and the shepherd rushed 
 through the frightened crowd to stampede 
 those in front, but this would only cause a 
 break backward, and away they would scamper 
 through the stream-bank trees and scatter over 
 the rocky pavement. Then with the aid of the 
 dogs the runaways would again be gathered 
 and made to face the stream, and again the 
 compacted mass would break away, amid wild 
 shouting and barking that might well have dis 
 turbed the stream itself and marred the music 
 of its falls, to which visitors no doubt from all 
 quarters of the globe were listening. "Hold 
 them there! Now hold them there!" shouted 
 the Don; "the front ranks will soon tire of the 
 pressure, and be glad to take to the water, then 
 111
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 all will jump in and cross in a hurry." But they 
 did nothing of the kind; they only avoided the 
 pressure by breaking back in scores and hun 
 dreds, leaving the beauty of the banks sadly 
 trampled. 
 
 If only one could be got to cross over, all 
 would make haste to follow; but that one could 
 not be found. A lamb was caught, carried 
 across, and tied to a bush on the opposite bank, 
 where it cried piteously for its mother. But 
 though greatly concerned, the mother only 
 called it back. That play on maternal affection 
 failed, and we began to fear that we should be 
 forced to make a long roundabout drive and 
 cross the wide-spread tributaries of the creek 
 in succession. This would require several days, 
 but it had its advantages, for I was eager to see 
 the sources of so famous a stream. Don Quix 
 ote, however, determined that they must ford 
 just here, and immediately began a sort of siege 
 by cutting down slender pines on the bank 
 and building a corral barely large enough to 
 hold the flock when well pressed together. And 
 as the stream would form one side of the corral 
 he believed that they could easily be forced into 
 the water. 
 
 In a few hours the inclosure was completed, 
 and the silly animals were driven in and 
 rammed hard against the brink of the ford. 
 
 112
 
 TO THE HIGH MOUNTAINS 
 
 Then the Don, forcing a way through the com 
 pacted mass, pitched a few of the terrified un 
 fortunates into the stream by main strength; 
 but instead of crossing over, they swam about 
 close to the bank, making desperate attempts 
 to get back into the flock. Then a dozen or 
 more were shoved off, and the Don, tall like a 
 crane and a good natural wader, jumped in 
 after them, seized a struggling wether, and 
 dragged it to the opposite shore. But no sooner 
 did he let it go than it jumped into the stream 
 and swam back to its frightened companions 
 in the corral, thus manifesting sheep-nature as 
 unchangeable as gravitation. Pan with his 
 pipes would have had no better luck, I fear. 
 We were now pretty well baffled. The silly 
 creatures would suffer any sort of death rather 
 than cross that stream. Calling a council, the 
 dripping Don declared that starvation was now 
 the only likely scheme to try, and that we 
 might as well camp here in comfort and let the 
 besieged flock grow hungry and cool, and come 
 to their senses, if they had any. In a few min 
 utes after being thus let alone, an adventurer 
 in the foremost rank plunged in and swam 
 bravely to the farther shore. Then suddenly 
 all rushed in pell-mell together, trampling one 
 another under water, while we vainly tried to 
 hold them back. The Don jumped into the 
 
 113
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 thickest of the gasping, gurgling, drowning 
 mass, and shoved them right and left as if each 
 sheep was a piece of floating timber. The cur 
 rent also served to drift them apart ; a long bent 
 column was soon formed, and in a few minutes 
 all were over and began baaing and feeding as 
 if nothing out of the common had happened. 
 That none were drowned seems wonderful. I 
 fully expected that hundreds would gain the 
 romantic fate of being swept into Yosemite 
 over the highest waterfall in the world. 
 
 As the day was far spent, we camped a little 
 way back from the ford, and let the dripping 
 flock scatter and feed until sundown. The 
 wool is dry now, and calm, cud-chewing peace 
 has fallen on all the comfortable band, leaving 
 no trace of the watery battle. I have seen fish 
 driven out of the water with less ado than was 
 made in driving these animals into it. Sheep 
 brain must surely be poor stuff. Compare to 
 day's exhibition with the performances of deer 
 swimming quietly across broad and rapid rivers, 
 and from island to island in seas and lakes; or 
 with dogs, or even with the squirrels that, as 
 the story goes, cross the Mississippi River on 
 selected chips, with tails for sails comfortably 
 trimmed to the breeze. A sheep can hardly be 
 called an animal; an entire flock is required to 
 make one foolish individual.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 July 15. Followed the Mono Trail up the 
 eastern rim of the basin nearly to its summit, 
 then turned off southward to a small shallow 
 valley that extends to the edge of the Yosemite, 
 which we reached about noon, and encamped. 
 After luncheon I made haste to high ground, 
 and from the top of the ridge on the west side 
 of Indian Canon gained the noblest view of the 
 summit peaks I have ever yet enjoyed. Nearly 
 all the upper basin of the Merced was displayed, 
 with its sublime domes and canons, dark up 
 sweeping forests, and glorious array of white 
 peaks deep in the sky, every feature glowing, 
 radiating beauty that pours into our flesh and 
 bones like heat rays from fire. Sunshine over 
 all ; no breath of wind to stir the brooding calm. 
 Never before had I seen so glorious a landscape, 
 so boundless an affluence of sublime mountain 
 beauty. The most extravagant description I 
 might give of this view to any one who has not 
 seen similar landscapes with his own eyes would 
 not so much as hint its grandeur and the spirit 
 ual glow that covered it. I shouted and gestic- 
 
 115
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ulated in a wild burst of ecstasy, much to the 
 astonishment of St. Bernard Carlo, who came 
 running up to me, manifesting in his intelligent 
 eyes a puzzled concern that was very ludicrous, 
 which had the effect of bringing me to my 
 senses. A brown bear, too, it would seem, had 
 been a spectator of the show I had made of my 
 self, for I had gone but a few yards when I 
 started one from a thicket of brush. He evi 
 dently considered me dangerous, for he ran 
 away very fast, tumbling over the tops of the 
 tangled manzanita bushes in his haste. Carlo 
 drew back, with his ears depressed as if afraid, 
 and kept looking me in the face, as if expecting 
 me to pursue and shoot, for he had seen many a 
 bear battle in his day. 
 
 Following the ridge, which made a gradual 
 descent to the south, I came at length to the 
 brow of that massive cliff that stands between 
 Indian Canon and Yosemite Falls, and here 
 the far-famed valley came suddenly into view 
 throughout almost its whole extent. The no 
 ble walls sculptured into endless variety of 
 domes and gables, spires and battlements and 
 plain mural precipices all a-tremble with the 
 thunder tones of the falling water. The level 
 bottom seemed to be dressed like a garden 
 sunny meadows here and there, and groves of 
 pine and oak; the river of Mercy sweeping in 
 
 116
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 majesty through the midst of them and flash 
 ing back the sunbeams. The great Tissiack, or 
 Half-Dome, rising at the upper end of the val 
 ley to a height of nearly a mile, is nobly pro 
 portioned and life-like, the most impressive of 
 all the rocks, holding the eye in devout admi 
 ration, calling it back again and again from 
 falls or meadows, or even the mountains be 
 yond, marvelous cliffs, marvelous in sheer 
 dizzy depth and sculpture, types of endur 
 ance. Thousands of years have they stood in 
 the sky exposed to rain, snow, frost, earth 
 quake and avalanche, yet they still wear the 
 bloom of youth. 
 
 I rambled along the valley run to the west 
 ward ; most of it is rounded off on the very brink, 
 so that it is not easy to find places where one 
 may look clear down the face of the wall to the 
 bottom. When such places were found, and I 
 had cautiously set my feet and drawn my body 
 erect, I could not help fearing a little that the 
 rock might split off and let me down, and what 
 a down! more than three thousand feet. 
 Still my limbs did not tremble, nor did I feel 
 the least uncertainty as to the reliance to be 
 placed on them. My only fear was that a flake 
 of the granite, which in some places showed 
 joints more or less open and running parallel 
 with the face of the cliff, might give way. After 
 
 117
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 withdrawing from such places, excited with the 
 view I had got, I would say to myself, "Now 
 don't go out on the verge again." But in the 
 face of Yosemite scenery cautious remon 
 strance is vain; under its spell one's body seems 
 to go where it likes with a will over which we 
 seem to have scarce any control. 
 
 After a mile or so of this memorable cliff 
 work I approached Yosemite Creek, admiring 
 its easy, graceful, confident gestures as it comes 
 bravely forward in its narrow channel, singing 
 the last of its mountain songs on its way to its 
 fate a few rods more over the shining gran 
 ite, then down half a mile in showy foam to an 
 other world, to be lost in the Merced, where cli 
 mate, vegetation, inhabitants, all are different. 
 Emerging from its last gorge, it glides in wide 
 lace-like rapids down a smooth incline into a 
 pool where it seems to rest and compose its 
 gray, agitated waters before taking the grand 
 plunge, then slowly slipping over the lip of the 
 pool basin, it descends another glossy slope 
 with rapidly accelerated speed to the brink of 
 the tremendous cliff, and with sublime, fateful 
 confidence springs out free in the air. 
 
 I took off my shoes and stockings and worked 
 my way cautiously down alongside the rushing 
 flood, keeping my feet and hands pressed firmly 
 on the polished rock. The booming, roaring 
 
 118
 
 water, rushing past close to my head, was very 
 exciting. I had expected that the sloping apron 
 would terminate with the perpendicular wall of 
 the valley, and that from the foot of it, where 
 it is less steeply inclined, I should be able to 
 lean far enough out to see the forms and be 
 havior of the fall all the way down to the bot 
 tom. But I found that there was yet another 
 small brow over which I could not see, and 
 which appeared to be too steep for mortal feet. 
 Scanning it keenly, I discovered a narrow shelf 
 about three inches wide on the very brink, just 
 wide enough for a rest for one's heels. But 
 there seemed to be no way of reaching it over 
 so steep a brow. At length, after careful scru 
 tiny of the surface, I found an irregular edge 
 of a flake of the rock some distance back from, 
 the margin of the torrent. If I was to get down 
 to the brink at all that rough edge, which might 
 offer slight finger-holds, was the only way. But 
 the slope beside it looked dangerously smooth 
 and steep, and the swift roaring flood beneath, 
 overhead, and beside me was very nerve-trying. 
 I therefore concluded not to venture farther, 
 but did nevertheless. Tufts of artemisia were 
 growing in clefts of the rock near by, and I 
 filled my mouth with the bitter leaves, hoping 
 they might help to prevent giddiness. Then, 
 with a caution not known in ordinary cir- 
 
 119
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 cumstances, I crept down safely to the little 
 ledge, got my heels well planted on it, then 
 shuffled in a horizontal direction twenty or 
 thirty feet until close to the outplunging cur 
 rent, which, by the time it had descended thus 
 far, was already white. Here I obtained a per 
 fectly free view down into the heart of the snowy, 
 chanting throng of comet-like streamers, into 
 which the body of the fall soon separates. 
 
 While perched on that narrow niche I was 
 not distinctly conscious of danger. The tre 
 mendous grandeur of the fall in form and sound 
 and motion, acting at close range, smothered 
 the sense of fear, and in such places one's body 
 takes keen care for safety on its own account. 
 How long I remained down there, or how I re 
 turned, I can hardly tell. Anyhow I had a 
 glorious time, and got back to camp about 
 dark, enjoying triumphant exhilaration soon 
 followed by dull weariness. Hereafter I'll try 
 to keep from such extravagant, nerve-straining 
 places. Yet such a day is well worth venturing 
 for. My first view of the High Sierra, first view 
 looking down into Yosemite, the death song of 
 Yosemite Creek, and its flight over the vast 
 cliff, each one of these is of itself enough for a 
 great life-long landscape fortune a most 
 memorable day of days enjoyment enough 
 to kill if that were possible. 
 
 120
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 July 16. My enjoyments yesterday after 
 noon, especially at the head of the fall, were 
 too great for good sleep. Kept starting up last 
 night in a nervous tremor, half awake, fancy 
 ing that the foundation of the mountain we 
 were camped on had given way and was falling 
 into Yosemite Valley. In vain I roused myself 
 to make a new beginning for sound sleep. The 
 nerve strain had been too great, and again and 
 again I dreamed I was rushing through the ah 1 
 above a glorious avalanche of water and rocks. 
 One time, springing to my feet, I said, "This 
 time it is real all must die, and where could 
 mountaineer find a more glorious death!" 
 
 Left camp soon after sunrise for an all-day 
 ramble eastward. Crossed the head of Indian 
 Basin, forested with Abies magnified, under 
 brush mostly Ceanothus cordulatus and man- 
 zanita, a mixture not easily trampled over or 
 penetrated, for the ceanothus is thorny and 
 grows in dense snow-pressed masses, and the 
 manzanita has exceedingly crooked, stub 
 born branches. From the head of the canon 
 continued on past North Dome into the basin 
 of Dome or Porcupine Creek. Here are many 
 fine meadows imbedded hi the woods, gay 
 with Lilium parvum and its companions; the 
 elevation, about eight thousand feet, seems 
 ,o be best suited for it saw specimens that 
 
 121
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 were a foot or two higher than my head. Had 
 more magnificent views of the upper moun 
 tains, and of the great South Dome, said to 
 be the grandest rock in the world. Well it 
 may be, since it is of such noble dimen 
 sions and sculpture. A wonderfully impressive 
 monument, its lines exquisite in fineness, and 
 though sublime in size, is finished like the fin 
 est work of art, and seems to be alive. 
 
 July 17. A new camp was made to-day in a 
 magnificent silver fir grove at the head of a 
 small stream that flows into Yosemite by way 
 of Indian Canon. Here we intend to stay sev 
 eral weeks, a fine location from which to 
 make excursions about the great valley and 
 its fountains. Glorious days I'll have sketch 
 ing, pressing plants, studying the wonderful 
 topography and the wild animals, our happy 
 fellow mortals and neighbors. But the vast 
 mountains in the distance, shall I ever know 
 them, shall I be allowed to enter into their 
 midst and dwell with them? 
 
 We were pelted about noon by a short, 
 heavy rainstorm, sublime thunder reverber 
 ating among the mountains and canons, 
 some strokes near, crashing, ringing in the 
 tense crisp air with startling keenness, while 
 the distant peaks loomed gloriously/through 
 the cloud fringes and sheets of rain. [Now the 
 
 122 \
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 storm is past, and the fresh washed air is full 
 of the essences of the flower gardens ' and 
 groves. Winter storms in Yosemite must be 
 glorious. May I see them! 
 
 Have got my bed made in our new camp, 
 plushy, sumptuous, and deliciously fra 
 grant, most of it magnified fir plumes, of course, 
 with a variety of sweet flowers in the pil 
 low. Hope to sleep to-night without tottering 
 nerve-dreams. Watched a deer eating ceano- 
 thus leaves and twigs. 
 
 July 18. Slept pretty well; the valley walls 
 did not seem to fall, though I still fancied my 
 self at the brink, alongside the white, plunging 
 flood, especially when half asleep. Strange 
 the danger of that adventure should be more 
 troublesome now that I am in the bosom of 
 the peaceful woods, a mile or more from the 
 fall, than it was while I was on the brink of it. 
 
 Bears seem to be common here, judging 
 by their tracks. About noon we had another 
 rainstorm with keen startling thunder, the 
 metallic, ringing, clashing, clanging notes 
 gradually fading into low bass rolling and 
 muttering in the distance. For a few minutes 
 the rain came in a grand torrent like a water 
 fall, then hail; some of the hailstones an inch 
 in diameter, hard, icy, and irregular in form, 
 like those oftentimes seen in Wisconsin. Carlo 
 
 123
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 watched them with intelligent astonishment 
 as they came pelting and thrashing through 
 the quivering branches of the trees. The cloud 
 scenery sublime. Afternoon calm, sunful, and 
 clear, with delicious freshness and fragrance 
 from the firs and flowers and steaming grqiu 
 
 July 19. Watching the daybreak and sun 
 rise. The pale rose and purple sky changing 
 softly to daffodil yellow and white, sunbeams 
 pouring through the passes between the peaks' 
 and over the Yosemite domes, making their 
 edges burn; the silver firs in the middle ground 
 catching the glow on their spiry tops, and our 
 camp grove fills and thrills with the glorious 
 light. Everything awakening alert and joy 
 ful; the birds begin to stir and innumerable 
 insect people. Deer quietly withdraw into leafy 
 hiding-places in the chaparral; the dew van 
 ishes, flowers spread their petals, every pulse 
 beats high, every life cell rejoices, the very 
 rocks seem to thrill with life. The whole land 
 scape glows like a human face in a glory of en 
 thusiasm, and the blue sky, pale around the 
 horizon, bends peacefully down over all like 
 one vast flower. 
 
 About noon, as usual, big bossy cumuli be 
 gan to grow above the forest, and tKe rain 
 storm pouring from them is the most imposing 
 I have yet seen. The silvery zigzag lightning 
 
 124
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 lances are longer than usual, and the thun'der 
 gloriously impressive, keen, crashing, intensely 
 concentrated, speaking with such tremendous 
 energy it would seem that an entire moun 
 tain iss being, shattered at -every stroke, but- 
 probably only -a few trees are being shattered, 
 mftny of whi(Th-J^me~see3a-ofl-ffiy walks here 
 abouts strewing the ground. At last the clear 
 ringing strokes are succeeded by deep low tones 
 that grow gradually fainter as they roll afar 
 into the recesses of the echoing mountains, 
 where they seem to be welcomed home. Then 
 another and another peal, or rather crashing, 
 splintering stroke, follows in quick succession, 
 perchance splitting some giant pine or fir from 
 top to bottom into long rails and slivers, and 
 scattering them to all points of the compass. 
 Now comes the rain, with corresponding ex 
 travagant grandeur, covering the ground high 
 and low -with a sheet of flowing water, a trans 
 parent film fitted like a skin upon the rugged 
 anatomy of the landscape, making the rocks 
 glitter and glow, gathering in the ravines, 
 flooding the streams, and making them shout 
 and boom in reply to the thunder. 
 
 How interesting to trace the history of a 
 single raindrop! It is not long, geologically 
 speaking, as we have seen, since the first rain 
 drops fell on the newborn leafless Sierra land- 
 
 125
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 scapes. How different the lot of these falling 
 now! Happy the showers that fall on so fair 
 a wilderness, scarce a single drop can fail 
 to find a beautiful spot, on the tops of the 
 peaks, on the shining glacier pavements, on 
 the great smooth domes, on forests and gar 
 dens and brushy moraines, plashing, glinting, 
 pattering, laving. Some go to the high snowy 
 fountains to swell their well-saved stores; some 
 into the lakes, washing the mountain windows, 
 patting their smooth glassy levels, making 
 dimples and bubbles and spray; some into the 
 waterfalls and cascades, as if eager to join in 
 their dance and song and beat their foam yet 
 finer; good luck and good work for the happy 
 mountain raindrops, each one of them a high 
 waterfall in itself, descending from the cliffs 
 and hollows of the clouds to the cliffs and hol 
 lows of the rocks, out of the sky-thunder into 
 the thunder of the falling rivers. Some, falling 
 on meadows and bogs, creep silently out of 
 sight to the grass roots, hiding softly as in a 
 nest, slipping, oozing hither, thither, seeking 
 and finding their appointed work. Some, de 
 scending through the spires of the woods, sift 
 spray through the shining needles, whispering 
 peace and good cheer to each one of them. 
 Some drops with happy aim glint on the sides 
 of crystals, quartz, hornblende, garnet, zir- 
 
 126
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 con, tourmaline, feldspar, patter on grains 
 of gold and heavy way-worn nuggets; some, 
 with blunt plap-plap and low bass drumming, 
 fall on the broad leaves of veratrum, saxifrage, 
 cypripedium. Some happy drops fall straight 
 into the cups of flowers, kissing the lips of lilies. 
 How far they have to go, how many cups to 
 fill, great and small, cells too small to be seen, 
 cups holding half a drop as well as lake basins 
 between the hills, each replenished with equal 
 care, every drop in all the blessed throng a sil 
 very newborn star with lake and river, garden 
 and grove, valley and mountain, all that the 
 landscape holds reflected in its crystal depths, 
 God's messenger, angel of love sent on its way 
 with majesty and pomp and display of power 
 that make man's greatest shows ridiculous. 
 
 Now the storm is over, the sky is clear, the 
 last rolling thunder-wave is spent on the peaks, 
 and where are the raindrops now what has 
 become of all the shining throng? In winged 
 vapor rising some are already hastening back 
 to the sky, some have gone into the plants, 
 creeping through invisible doors into the 
 round rooms of cells, some are locked in crys 
 tals of ice, some in rock crystals, some in 
 porous moraines to keep their small springs 
 flowing, some have, gone journeying on in the 
 rivers to join the larger raindrop of the ocean. 
 
 127
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 From form to form, beauty to beauty, ever 
 changing, never resting, all are speeding on 
 with love's enthusiasm, singing with the stars 
 the eternal song of creation. 
 
 July 20. Fine calm morning; air tense and 
 clear; not the slightest breeze astir; every 
 thing shining, the rocks with wet crystals, the 
 plants with dew, each receiving its portion 
 of irised dewdrops and sunshine like living 
 creatures getting their breakfast, their dew 
 manna coming down from the starry sky like 
 swarms of smaller stars. How wondrous fine 
 are the particles in showers of dew, thousands 
 required for a single drop, growing in the dark 
 as silently as the grass! What pains are taken 
 to keep this wilderness in health, showers 
 of snow, showers of rain, showers of dew, 
 floods of light, floods of invisible vapor, clouds, 
 winds, all sorts of weather, interaction of 
 plant on plant, animal on animal, etc., beyond 
 thought! How fine Nature's methods! How 
 deeply with beauty is beauty overlaid! the 
 ground covered with crystals, the crystals with 
 mosses and lichens and low-spreading grasses 
 and flowers, these with larger plants leaf over 
 leaf with ever-changing color and form, the 
 broad palms of the firs outspread over these, 
 the azure dome over all like a bell-flower, and 
 star above star. 
 
 128
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 Yonder stands the South Dome, its crown 
 high above our camp, though its base is four 
 thousand feet below us; a most noble rock, it 
 seems full of thought, clothed with living light, 
 no sense of dead stone about it, all spiritual 
 ized, neither heavy looking nor light, steadfast 
 in serene strength like a god. 
 
 Our shepherd is a queer character and hard 
 to place in this wilderness. His bed is a hollow 
 made in red dry-rot punky dust beside a log 
 which forms a portion of the south wall of the 
 corral. Here he lies with his wonderful ever 
 lasting clothing on, wrapped in a red blanket, 
 breathing not only the dust of the decayed 
 wood but also that of the corral, as if deter 
 mined to take ammoniacal snuff all night after 
 chewing tobacco all day. Following the sheep 
 he carries a heavy six-shooter swung from his 
 belt on one side and his luncheon on the other. 
 The ancient cloth in which the meat, fresh 
 from the frying-pan, is tied serves as a filter 
 through which the clear fat and gravy juices 
 drip down on his right hip and leg in clustering 
 stalactites. This oleaginous formation is soon 
 broken up, however, and diffused and rubbed 
 evenly into his scanty apparel, by sitting 
 down, rolling over, crossing his legs while rest 
 ing on logs, etc., making shirt and trousers 
 water-tight and shiny. His trousers, in parti- 
 
 129
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERUA 
 
 cular, have become so adhesive with the mixed 
 fat and resin that pine needles, thin flakes and 
 fibres of bark, hair, mica scales and minute 
 grains of quartz, hornblende, etc., feathers, 
 seed wings, moth and butterfly wings, legs and 
 antennae of innumerable insects, or even whole 
 insects such as the small beetles, moths and 
 mosquitoes, with flower petals, pollen dust 
 and indeed bits of all plants, animals, and min 
 erals of the region adhere to them and are 
 safely imbedded, so that though far from be 
 ing a naturalist he collects fragmentary speci 
 mens of everything and becomes richer than 
 he knows. His specimens are kept passably 
 fresh, too, by the purity of the air and the 
 resiny bituminous beds into which they are 
 pressed. Man is a microcosm, at least our 
 shepherd is, or rather his trousers. These 
 precious overalls are never taken off, and no 
 body knows how old they are, though one may 
 guess by their thickness and concentric struc 
 ture. Instead of wearing thin they wear thick, 
 and in their stratification have no small geo 
 logical significance. 
 
 Besides herding the sheep, Billy is the 
 butcher, while I have agreed to wash the few 
 iron and tin utensils and make the bread. 
 Then, these small duties done, by the time the 
 sun is fairly above the mountain-tops I am 
 
 130
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 beyond the flock, free to rove and revel in the 
 wilderness all the big immortal days. 
 
 Sketching on the North Dome. It com 
 mands views of nearly all the valley besides 
 a few of the high mountains. I would fain 
 draw everything in sight rock, tree, and 
 leaf. But little can I do beyond mere outlines, 
 - marks with meanings like words, readable 
 only to myself, yet I sharpen my pencils 
 and work on as if others might possibly be 
 benefited. Whether these picture-sheets are 
 to vanish like fallen leaves or go to friends like 
 letters, matters not much; for little can they 
 tell to those who have not themselves seen 
 similar wildness, and like a language have 
 learned it. No pain here, no dull empty hours, 
 no fear of the past, no fear of the future. These 
 blessed mountains are so compactly filled with 
 God's beauty, no petty personal hope or ex 
 perience has room to be. Drinking this cham 
 pagne water is pure pleasure, so is breathing 
 the living air, and every movement of limbs 
 is pleasure, while the whole body seems to feel 
 beauty when exposed to it as it feels the camp- 
 fire or sunshine, entering not by the eyes alone, 
 but equally through all one's flesh like radiant 
 heat, making a passionate ecstatic pleasure- 
 glow not explainable. One's body then seems 
 homogeneous throughout, sound as a crystal. 
 
 131
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Perched like a fly on this Yosemite dome, I 
 gaze and sketch and bask, oftentimes settling 
 down into dumb admiration without definite 
 hope of ever learning much, yet with the long 
 ing, unresting effort that lies at the door of 
 hope, humbly prostrate before the vast dis 
 play of God's power, and eager to offer self- 
 denial and renunciation with eternal toil to 
 learn any lesson in the divine manuscript. 
 
 It is easier to feel than to realize, or in any 
 way explain, Yosemite grandeur. The magni 
 tudes of the rocks and trees and streams are 
 so delicately harmonized they are mostly hid 
 den. Sheer precipices three thousand feet 
 high are fringed with tall trees growing close 
 like grass on the brow of a lowland hill, and 
 extending along the feet of these precipices 
 a ribbon of meadow a mile wide and seven or 
 eight long, that seems like a strip a farmer 
 might mow in less than a day. Waterfalls, 
 five hundred to one or two thousand feet high, 
 are so subordinated to the mighty cliffs over 
 which they pour that they seem like wisps 
 of smoke, gentle as floating clouds, though 
 their voices fill the valley and make the rocks 
 tremble. The mountains, too, along the eastern 
 sky, and the domes in front of them, and the 
 succession of smooth rounded waves between, 
 swelling higher, higher, with dark woods in 
 
 132
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 their hollows, serene in massive exuberant 
 bulk and beauty, tend yet more to hide the 
 grandeur of the Yosemite temple and make it 
 appear as a subdued subordinate feature of the 
 vast harmonious landscape. Thus every at 
 tempt to appreciate any one feature is beaten 
 down by the overwhelming influence of all the 
 others. And, as if this were not enough, lo! 
 hi the sky arises another mountain range 
 with topography as rugged and substantial- 
 looking as the one beneath it snowy peaks 
 and domes and shadowy Yosemite valleys 
 another version of the snowy Sierra, a new 
 creation heralded by a thunder-storm. How 
 fiercely, devoutly wild is Nature in the midst 
 of her beauty-loving tenderness! painting 
 lilies, watering them, caressing them with 
 gentle hand, going from flower to flower like 
 a gardener while building- rock mountains and 
 cloud mountains full of lightning and rain. 
 Gladly we run for shelter beneath an over 
 hanging cliff and examine the reassuring ferns 
 and mosses, gentle love tokens growing in 
 cracks and chinks. Daisies, too, and ivesias, 
 confiding wild children of light, too small to 
 fear. To these one's heart goes home, and the 
 voices of the storm become gentle. Now the 
 sun breaks forth and fragrant steam arises. 
 The birds are out singing on the edges of the 
 
 133
 
 groves. The west is flaming in gold and purple, 
 ready for the ceremony of the sunset, and 
 back I go to camp with my notes and pictures, 
 the best of them printed in my mind as dreams. 
 A fruitful day, without measured beginning 
 or ending. A terrestrial eternity. A gift of 
 good God. 
 
 Wrote to my mother and a few 'friends, 
 mountain hints to each. They seem as near as 
 if within voice-reach or touch. The deeper the 
 solitude the less the sense of loneliness, and 
 the nearer our friends. Now bread and tea, 
 fir bed and good-night to Carlo, a look at the 
 sky lilies, and death sleep until the dawn of 
 another Sierra to-morrow. 
 
 July 21. Sketching on the Dome no rain; 
 clouds at noon about quarter filled the sky, 
 casting shadows with fine effect on the white 
 mountains at the heads of the streams, and a 
 soothing cover over the gardens during the 
 warm hours. 
 
 Saw a common house-fly and a grasshop 
 per and a brown bear. The fly and grasshopper 
 paid me a merry visit on the top of the Dome, 
 and I paid a visit to the bear in the middle of 
 a small garden meadow between the Dome 
 and the camp where he was standing alert 
 among the flowers as if willing to be seen to 
 advantage. I had not gone more than half a 
 
 134
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 mile from camp this morning, when Carlo, 
 who was trotting on a few yards ahead of me, 
 came to a sudden, cautious standstill. Down 
 went tail and ears, and forward went his know 
 ing nose, while he seemed to be saying, "Ha, 
 what's this? A bear, I guess." Then a cau 
 tious advance of a few steps, setting his feet 
 down softly like a hunting cat, and question 
 ing the ah* as to the scent he had caught until 
 all doubt vanished. Then he came back to 
 me, looked me in the face, and with his speak 
 ing eyes reported a bear near by; then led on 
 softly, careful, like an experienced hunter, 
 not to make the slightest noise; and frequently 
 looking back as if whispering, "Yes, it's a 
 bear; come and I'll show you." Presently we 
 came to where the sunbeams were streaming 
 through between the purple shafts of the firs, 
 which showed that we were nearing an open 
 spot, and here Carlo came behind me, evi 
 dently sure that the bear was very near. So 
 I crept to a low ridge of moraine boulders on 
 the edge of a narrow garden meadow, and in 
 this meadow I felt pretty sure the bear must 
 be. I was anxious to get a good look at the 
 sturdy mountaineer without alarming him; so 
 drawing myself up noiselessly back of one of 
 the largest of the trees I peered past its bulging 
 buttresses, exposing only a part of my head, 
 
 135
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and there stood neighbor Bruin within a 
 stone's throw, his hips covered by tall grass 
 and flowers, and his front feet on the trunk of 
 a fir that had fallen out into the meadow, 
 which raised his head so high that he seemed 
 to be standing erect. He had not yet seen 
 me, but was looking and listening attentively, 
 showing that in some way he was aware of 
 our approach. I watched his gestures and tried 
 to make the most of my opportunity to learn 
 what I could about him, fearing he would 
 catch sight of me and run away. For I had 
 been told that this sort of bear, the cinnamon, 
 always ran from his bad brother man, never 
 showing fight unless wounded or in defense of 
 young. He made a telling picture standing 
 alert in the sunny forest garden. How well 
 he played his part, harmonizing in bulk and 
 color and shaggy hair with the trunks of the 
 trees and lush vegetation, as natural a feature 
 as any other in the landscape. After examin 
 ing at leisure, noting the sharp muzzle thrust 
 inquiringly forward, the long shaggy hair on 
 his broad chest, the stiff, erect ears nearly 
 buried in hair, and the slow, heavy way he 
 moved his head, I thought I should like to 
 see his gait in running, so I made a sudden 
 rush at him, shouting and swinging my hat 
 to frighten him, expecting to see him make 
 
 136
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 haste to get away. But to my dismay he did 
 not run or show any sign of running. On the 
 contrary, he stood his ground ready to fight 
 and defend himself, lowered his head, thrust 
 it forward, and looked sharply and fiercely at 
 me. Then I suddenly began to fear that upon 
 me would fall the work of running; but I was 
 afraid to run, and therefore, like the bear, held 
 my ground. We stood staring at each other in 
 solemn silence within a dozen yards or there 
 abouts, while I fervently hoped that the power 
 of the human eye over wild beasts would prove 
 as great as it is said to be. How long our aw 
 fully strenuous interview lasted, I don't know; 
 but at length hi the slow fullness of time he 
 pulled his huge paws down off the log, and 
 with magnificent deliberation turned and 
 walked leisurely up the meadow, stopping fre 
 quently to look back over his shoulder to see 
 whether I was pursuing him, then moving 
 on again, evidently neither fearing me very 
 much nor trusting me. He was probably 
 about five hundred pounds in weight, a broad, 
 rusty bundle of ungovernable wildness, a 
 happy fellow whose lines have fallen in pleas 
 ant places. The flowery glade in which I saw 
 him so well, framed like a picture, is one of 
 the best of all I have yet discovered, a con 
 servatory of Nature's precious plant people. 
 
 137
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Tall lilies were swinging their bells over that 
 bear's back, with geraniums, larkspurs, colum 
 bines, and daisies brushing against his sides. 
 A place for angels, one would say, instead of 
 bears. 
 
 In the great canons Bruin reigns supreme. 
 Happy fellow, whom no famine can reach 
 while one of his thousand kinds of food is 
 spared him. His bread is sure at all seasons, 
 ranged on the mountain shelves like stores in 
 a pantry. From one to the other, up or down 
 he climbs, tasting and enjoying each in turn 
 in different climates, as if he had journeyed 
 thousands of miles to other countries north 
 or south to enjoy their varied productions. I 
 should like to know my hairy brothers better 
 though after this particular Yosemite bear, 
 my very neighbor, had sauntered out of sight 
 this morning, I reluctantly went back to camp 
 for the Don's rifle to shoot him, if necessary, 
 in defense of the flock. Fortunately I could n't 
 find him, and after tracking him a mile or 
 two towards Mount Hoffman I bade him 
 Godspeed and gladly returned to my work on 
 the Yosemite Dome. 
 
 The house-fly also seemed at home and 
 buzzed about me as I sat sketching, and en 
 joying my bear interview now it was over. I 
 wonder what draws house-flies so far up the 
 
 138
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 mountains, heavy gross feeders as they are, 
 sensitive to cold, and fond of domestic ease. 
 How have they been distributed from conti 
 nent to continent, across seas and deserts and 
 mountain chains, usually so influential in de 
 termining boundaries of species both of plants 
 and animals. Beetles and butterflies are some 
 times restricted to small areas. Each moun 
 tain in a range, and even the different zones 
 of a mountain, may have its own peculiar 
 species. But the house-fly seems to be every 
 where. I wonder if any island in mid-ocean is 
 flyless. The bluebottle is abundant hi these 
 Yosemite woods, ever ready with his marvel 
 ous store of eggs to make all dead flesh fly. 
 Bumblebees are here, and are well fed on 
 boundless stores of nectar and pollen. The 
 honeybee, though abundant in the foothills, 
 has not yet got so high. It is only a few 
 years since the first swarm was brought to 
 California. 
 
 A queer fellow and a jolly fellow is the grass 
 hopper. Up the mountains he comes on ex 
 cursions, how high I don't know, but at least 
 as far and high as Yosemite tourists. I was 
 much interested with the hearty enjoyment of 
 the one that danced and sang for me on the 
 Dome this afternoon. He seemed brimful of 
 glad, hilarious energy, manifested by springing 
 
 139
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 into the air to a height of twenty or thirty feet, 
 then diving and springing up again and making 
 a sharp musical rattle just as the lowest point 
 in the descent was reached. Up and down a 
 dozen times or so he danced and sang, then 
 alighted to rest, then up and at it again. The 
 curves he described in the air in diving and 
 rattling resembled those made by cords hang 
 ing loosely and attached at the same height at 
 the ends, the loops nearly covering each other. 
 Braver, heartier, keener, care-free enjoyment 
 of life I have never seen or heard in any crea 
 ture, great or small. The life of this comic red- 
 legs, the mountain's merriest child, seems to 
 be made up of pure, condensed gayety. The 
 Douglas squirrel is the only living creature 
 that I can compare him with in exuber 
 ant, rollicking, irrepressible jollity. Wonderful 
 that these sublime mountains are so loudly 
 cheered and brightened by a creature so queer. 
 Nature in him seems to be snapping her fingers 
 in the face of all earthly dejection and melan-. 
 choly with a boyish hip-hip-hurrah. How the 
 sound is made I do not understand. When he 
 was on the ground he made not the slightest 
 noise, nor when he was simply flying from place 
 to place, but only when diving in curves, the 
 motion seeming to be required for the sound; 
 for the more vigorous the diving the more ener- 
 
 140
 
 "I ' H 
 
 ., -^ , r 
 
 TRACK OF SFXGIXG DANCING GRASSHOPPER 
 IN THE AIR OVER NORTH DOME
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 getic the corresponding outbursts of jolly rat 
 tling. I tried to observe him closely while he 
 was resting in the intervals of his performances; 
 but he would not allow a near approach, always 
 getting his jumping legs ready to spring for im 
 mediate flight, and keeping his eyes on me. A 
 fine sermon Jie little fellow danced for me on 
 the Dome, a likely place to look for sermons in 
 stones, but not for grasshopper sermons. A large 
 and imposing pulpit for so small a preacher. 
 No danger of weakness in the knees of the 
 world while Nature can spring such a rattle 
 as this. Even the bear did not express for me 
 the mountain's wild health and strength and 
 happiness so tellingly as did this comical little 
 hopper. No cloud of care in his day, no winter 
 of discontent in sight. To him every day is a 
 holiday; and when at length his sun sets, I 
 fancy he will cuddle down on the forest floor 
 and die like the leaves and flowers, and like 
 them leave no unsightly remains calling for 
 burial. 
 
 Sundown, and I must to camp. Good-night, 
 friends three, brown bear, rugged boulder 
 of energy in groves and gardens fair as Eden; 
 restless, fussy fly with gauzy wings stirring the 
 air around all the world; and grasshopper, 
 crisp, electric spark of joy enlivening the massy 
 sublimity of the mountains like the laugh of a 
 
 141
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 child. Thank you, thank you all three for 
 your quickening company. Heaven guide every 
 wing and leg. Good-night friends three, good 
 night. 
 
 July 22. A fine specimen of the black-tailed 
 deer went bounding past camp this morning. 
 A buck with wide spread of antlers, showing 
 admirable vigor and grace. Wonderful the 
 beauty, strength, and graceful movements of 
 animals in wildernesses, cared for by Nature 
 only, when our experience with domestic ani 
 mals would lead us to fear that all the so-called 
 neglected wild beasts would degenerate. Yet 
 the upshot of Nature's method of breeding and 
 teaching seems to lead to excellence of every 
 sort. Deer, like all wild animals, are as clean 
 as plants. The beauties of their gestures and 
 attitudes, alert or in repose, surprise yet more 
 than their bounding exuberant strength. Every 
 movement and posture is graceful, the very 
 poetry of manners and motion. Mother Nature 
 is too often spoken of as in reality no mother 
 at all. Yet how wisely, sternly, tenderly she 
 loves and looks after her children in all sorts of 
 weather and wildernesses. The more I see of 
 deer the more I admire them as mountain 
 eers. They make their way into the heart of 
 the roughest solitudes with smooth reserve of 
 strength, through dense belts of brush and for- 
 
 142
 
 ' ':*- 
 
 MT. CLARK TOP OF S. DOM i: MT. S 
 
 ABIES MAOMFICA
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 est encumbered with fallen trees and boulder 
 piles, across canons, roaring streams, and snow- 
 fields, ever showing forth beauty and courage. 
 Over nearly all the continent the deer find 
 homes. In the Florida savannas and hum 
 mocks, in the Canada woods, in the far north, 
 roaming over mossy tundras, swimming lakes 
 and rivers and arms of the sea from island to 
 island washed with waves, or climbing rocky 
 mountains, everywhere healthy and able, add 
 ing beauty to every landscape, a truly admir 
 able creature and great credit to Nature. 
 
 Have been sketching a silver fir that stands 
 on a granite ridge a few hundred yards to the 
 eastward of camp a fine tree with a particular 
 snow-storm story to tell. It is about one hun 
 dred feet high, growing on bare rock, thrust 
 ing its roots into a weathered joint less than an 
 inch wide, and bulging out to form a base to 
 bear its weight. The storm came from the 
 north while it was young and broke it down 
 nearly to the ground, as is shown by the old, 
 dead, weather-beaten top leaning out from the 
 living trunk built up from a new shoot below 
 the break. The annual rings of the trunk that 
 have overgrown the dead sapling tell the year 
 of the storm. Wonderful that a side branch 
 forming a portion of one of the level collars 
 that encircle the trunk of this species (Abies 
 
 143
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 magnified) should bend upward, grow erect, 
 and take the place of the lost axis to form a 
 new tree. 
 
 Many others, pines as well as firs, bear testi 
 mony to the crushing severity of this particular 
 storm. Trees, some of them fifty to seventy- 
 five feet high, were bent to the ground and 
 buried like grass, whole groves vanishing as if 
 the forest had been cleared away, leaving not a 
 branch or needle visible until the spring thaw. 
 Then the more elastic undamaged saplings rose 
 again, aided by the wind, some reaching a 
 nearly erect attitude, others remaining more or 
 less bent, while those with broken backs en 
 deavored to specialize a side branch below the 
 break and make a leader of it to form a new axis 
 of development. It is as if a man, whose back 
 was broken or nearly so and who was com 
 pelled to go bent, should find a branch back 
 bone sprouting straight up from below the 
 break and should gradually develop new arms 
 and shoulders and head, while the old dam 
 aged portion of his body died. 
 
 Grand white cloud mountains and domes 
 created about noon as usual, ridges and ranges 
 of endless variety, as if Nature dearly loved 
 this sort of work, doing it again and again 
 nearly every day with infinite industry, and 
 producing beauty that never palls. A few zig- 
 
 144
 
 ILLUSTRATING GROWTH OF NEW PINE FROM 
 
 BRANCH BELOW THE BREAK OF AXIS 
 
 OF SNOW-CRUSHED TREE
 
 I
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 zags of lightning, five minutes' shower, then a 
 gradual wilting and clearing. 
 
 July 23. Another midday cloudland, dis 
 playing power and beauty that one never wea 
 ries in beholding, but hopelessly unsketchable 
 and untelladble. What can poor mortals say 
 about clouds? While v a description of their 
 huge glowing domes and ridges, shadowy gulfs 
 and canons, and feather-edged ravines is being 
 tried, they vanish, leaving no visible ruins. 
 Nevertheless, these fleeting sky mountains are 
 as substantial and significant as the more last 
 ing upheavals of granite beneath them. Both 
 alike are built up and die, and in God's calendar 
 difference of duration is nothing. We can only 
 dream about them in wondering, worshiping 
 admiration, happier than we dare tell even to 
 friends who see farthest in sympathy, glad to 
 know that not a crystal or vapor particle of 
 them, hard or soft, is lost; that they sink and 
 vanish only to rise again and again in higher 
 and higher beauty. As to our own work, duty, 
 influence, etc., concerning which so much fussy 
 pother is made, it will not fail of its due effect, 
 though, like a lichen on a stone, we keep 
 silent. 
 
 July 24. Clouds at noon occupying about 
 half the sky gave half an hour of heavy rain 
 to wash one of the cleanest landscapes in the 
 
 145
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 world. How well it is washed! The sea is hardly 
 less dusty than the ice-burnished pavements 
 and ridges, domes and canons, and summit 
 peaks plashed with snow like waves with foam. 
 How fresh the woods are and calm after the 
 last films of clouds have been wiped from the 
 sky! A few minutes ago every tree was excited, 
 bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, 
 tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm 
 like worship. But though to the outer ear these 
 trees are now silent, their songs never cease. 
 Every hidden cell is throbbing with music 
 and life, every fibre thrilling like harp strings, 
 while incense is ever flowing from the balsam 
 bells and leaves. No wonder the hills and 
 groves were God's first temples, and the more 
 they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals 
 and churches, the farther off and dimmer seems 
 the Lord himself. The same may be said of 
 stone temples. Yonder, to the eastward of our 
 camp grove, stands one of Nature's cathedrals, 
 hewn from the living rock, almost conventional 
 in form, about two thousand feet high, nobly 
 adorned with spires and pinnacles, thrilling 
 under floods of sunshine as if alive like a grove- 
 temple, and well named "Cathedral Peak." 
 Even Shepherd Billy turns at times to this 
 wonderful mountain building, though appar 
 ently deaf to all stone sermons. Snow that re- 
 
 146
 
 THE YOSEMITE 
 
 fused to melt in fire would hardly be more 
 wonderful than unchanging dullness in the rays 
 of God's beauty. I have been trying to get him 
 to walk to the brink of Yosemite for a view, 
 offering to watch the sheep for a day, while he 
 should enjoy what tourists come from all over 
 the world to see. But though within a mile of 
 the famous valley, he will not go to it even out 
 of mere curiosity. "What," says he, "is Yo 
 semite but a canon a lot of rocks a hole 
 in the ground a place dangerous about fal 
 ling into a d d good place to keep away 
 from." "But think of the waterfalls, Billy - 
 just think of that big stream we crossed the 
 other day, falling half a mile through the air 
 think of that, and the sound it makes. You 
 can hear it now like the roar of the sea." Thus 
 I pressed Yosemite upon him like a missionary 
 offering the gospel, but he would have none 
 of it. "I should be afraid to look over so high a 
 wall," he said. "It would make my head swim. 
 There is nothing worth seeing anywhere, only 
 rocks, and I see plenty of them here. Tourists 
 that spend their money to see rocks and falls 
 are fools, that's all. You can't humbug me. 
 I've been in this country too long for that." 
 Such souls, I suppose, are asleep, or smothered 
 and befogged beneath mean pleasures and cares. 
 July 25. Another cloudland. Some clouds 
 
 147
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 have an over-ripe decaying look, watery and 
 bedraggled and drawn out into wind-torn 
 shreds and patches, giving the sky a littered 
 appearance; not so these Sierra summer mid 
 day clouds. All are beautiful with smooth defi 
 nite outlines and curves like those of glacier- 
 polished domes. They begin to grow about 
 eleven o'clock, and seem so wonderfully near 
 and clear from this high camp one is tempted 
 to try to climb them and trace the streams that 
 pour like cataracts from their shadowy foun 
 tains. The rain to which they give birth is often 
 very heavy, a sort of waterfall as imposing as if 
 pouring from rock mountains. Never in all my 
 travels have I found anything more truly novel 
 and interesting than these midday mountains 
 of the sky, their fine tones of color, majestic 
 visible growth, and ever-changing scenery and 
 general effects, though mostly as well let alone 
 as far as description goes. I oftentimes think 
 of Shelley's cloud poem, "I sift the snow on the 
 mountains below."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 MOUNT HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 July 26. Ramble to the summit of Mount 
 Hoffman, eleven thousand feet high, the highest 
 point in life's journey my feet have yet touched. 
 And what glorious landscapes are about me, 
 new plants, new animals, new crystals, and 
 multitudes of new mountains far higher than 
 Hoffman, towering in glorious array along 
 the axis of the range, serene, majestic, snow- 
 laden, sun-drenched, vast domes and ridges 
 shining below them, forests, lakes, and mead 
 ows in the hollows, the pure blue bell-flower 
 sky brooding them all, a glory day of admis 
 sion into a new realm of wonders as if Nature 
 had wooingly whispered, "Come higher." 
 What questions I asked, and how little I know 
 of all the vast show, and how eagerly, tremu 
 lously hopeful of some day knowing more, 
 learning the meaning of these divine symbols 
 crowded together on this wondrous page. 
 
 Mount Hoffman is the highest part of a ridge 
 or spur about fourteen miles from the axis of 
 the main range, perhaps a remnant brought 
 into relief and isolated by unequal denudation. 
 
 149
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 The southern slopes shed their waters into 
 Yosemite Valley by Tenaya and Dome Creeks, 
 the northern in part into the Tuolumne River, 
 but mostly into the Merced by Yosemite Creek. 
 The rock is mostly granite, with some small 
 piles and crests rising here and there in pictur 
 esque pillared and castellated remnants of red 
 metamorphic slates. Both the granite and slates 
 are divided by joints, making them separable 
 into blocks like the stones of artificial masonry, 
 suggesting the Scripture "He hath builded the 
 mountains." Great banks of snow and ice are 
 piled in hollows on the cool precipitous north 
 side forming the highest perennial sources of 
 Yosemite Creek. The southern slopes are much 
 more gradual and accessible. Narrow slot-like 
 gorges extend across the summit at right angles, 
 which look like lanes, formed evidently by the 
 erosion of less resisting beds. They are usually 
 called "devil's slides," though they lie far above 
 the region usually haunted by the devil; for 
 though we read that he once climbed an exceed 
 ing high mountain, he cannot be much of a 
 mountaineer, for his tracks are seldom seen 
 above the timber-line. 
 
 The broad gray summit is barren and deso 
 late-looking in general views, wasted by ages 
 of gnawing storms; but looking at the surface 
 in detail, one finds it covered by thousands 
 
 150
 
 
 J?- ' '$ Jj' ' . 
 
 APPROACH OF DOME CREEK TO 
 YOSEMITE
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 and millions of charming plants with leaves 
 and flowers so small they form no mass of color 
 visible at a distance of a few hundred yards. 
 Beds of azure daisies smile confidingly in moist 
 hollows, and along the banks of small rills, 
 with several species of eriogonum, silky-leaved 
 ivesia, pentstemon, orthocarpus, and patches 
 of Primula suffruticosa, a beautiful shrubby 
 species. Here also I found bryanthus, a charm 
 ing heathwort covered with purple flowers and 
 dark green foliage like heather, and three trees 
 new to me a hemlock and two pines. The 
 hemlock (Tsuga Mertensiana) is the most 
 beautiful conifer I have ever seen; the branches 
 and also the main axis droop in a singularly 
 graceful way, and the dense foliage covers 
 the delicate, sensitive, swaying branchlets all 
 around. It is now in full bloom, and the 
 flowers, together with thousands of last sea 
 son's cones still clinging to the drooping sprays, 
 display wonderful, wealth of color, brown and 
 purple and blue. Gladly I climbed the first 
 tree I found to revel in the midst of it. How 
 the touch of the flowers makes one's flesh tin 
 gle! The pistillate are dark, rich purple, and 
 almost translucent, the staminate blue, a 
 vivid, pure tone of blue like the mountain sky, 
 - the most uncommonly beautiful of all the 
 Sierra tree flowers I have seen. How wonder- 
 
 151
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ful that, with all its delicate feminine grace 
 and beauty of form and dress and behavior, 
 this lovely tree up here, exposed to the wildest 
 blasts, has already endured the storms of cen 
 turies of winters! 
 
 The two pines also are brave storm-enduring 
 trees, the mountain pine (Pinus monticola) 
 and the dwarf pine (Pinus albicaulis). The 
 mountain pine is closely 'related to the sugar 
 pine, though the cones are only about four to 
 six inches long. The largest trees are from 
 five to six feet in diameter at four feet above 
 the ground, the bark rich brown. Only a few 
 storm-beaten adventurers approach the sum 
 mit of the mountain. The dwarf or white- 
 bark pine is the species that forms the timber- 
 line, where it is so completely dwarfed that 
 one may walk over the top of a bed of it as 
 over snow-pressed chaparral. 
 
 How boundless the day seems as we revel 
 in these storm-beaten sky gardens amid so 
 vast a congregation of onlooking mountains! 
 Strange and admirable it is that the more sav 
 age and chilly and storm-chafed the moun 
 tains, the finer the glow on their faces and the 
 finer the plants they bear. The myriads of 
 flowers tingeing the mountain-top do not seem 
 to have grown out of the dry, rough gravel of 
 disintegration, but rather they appear as visi- 
 
 152
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 tors, a cloud of witnesses to Nature's love in 
 what we in our timid ignorance and unbelief 
 call howling desert. The surface of the ground, 
 so dull and forbidding at first sight, besides 
 being rich in plants, shines and sparkles with 
 crystals: mica, hornblende, feldspar, quartz, 
 tourmaline. The radiance in some places is 
 so great as to be fairly dazzling, keen lance 
 rays of every color flashing, sparkling in glori 
 ous abundance, joining the plants in their 
 fine, brave beauty-work every crystal, every 
 flower a window opening into heaven, a mirror 
 reflecting the Creator. 
 
 From garden to garden, ridge to ridge, I 
 drifted enchanted, now on my knees gazing 
 into the face of a daisy, now climbing again 
 and again among the purple and azure flowers 
 of the hemlocks, now down into the treasuries 
 of the snow, or gazing afar over domes and 
 peaks, lakes and woods, and the billowy glaci 
 ated fields of the upper Tuolumne, and try 
 ing to sketch them. In the midst of such 
 beauty, pierced with its rays, one's body is all 
 one tingling palate. Who would n't be a moun 
 taineer! Up here all the world's prizes seem 
 nothing. 
 
 The largest of the many glacier lakes in 
 sight, and the one with the finest shore scen 
 ery, is Tenaya, about a mile long, with an im- 
 
 153
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 posing mountain dipping its feet into it on 
 the south side, Cathedral Peak a few miles 
 above its head, many smooth swelling rock- 
 waves and domes on the north, and in the dis 
 tance southward a multitude of snowy peaks, 
 the fountain-heads of rivers. Lake Hoffman 
 lies shimmering beneath my feet, mountain 
 pines around its shining rim. To the north 
 ward the picturesque basin of Yosemite Creek 
 glitters with lakelets and pools; but the eye is 
 soon drawn away from these bright mirror 
 wells, however attractive, to revel in the glori 
 ous congregation of peaks on the axis of the 
 range in their robes of snow and light. 
 
 Carlo caught an unfortunate woodchuck 
 when it was running from a grassy spot to its 
 boulder-pile home one of the hardiest of 
 the mountain animals. I tried hard to save 
 him, but in vain. After telling Carlo that he 
 must be careful not to kill anything, I caught 
 sight, for the first time, of the curious pika, or 
 little chief hare, that cuts large quantities of 
 lupines and other plants and lays them out to 
 dry in the sun for hay, which it stores in under 
 ground barns to last through the long, snowy 
 winter. Coming upon these plants freshly cut 
 and lying in handfuls here and there on the 
 rocks has a startling effect of busy life on the 
 lonely mountain-top. These little haymakers, 
 
 154
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 endowed with brain stuff something like our 
 own, God up here looking after them, - 
 what lessons they teach, how they widen our 
 sympathy! 
 
 An eagle soaring above a sheer cliff, where 
 I suppose its nest is, makes another striking 
 show of life, and helps to bring to mind the 
 other people of the so-called solitude deer 
 in the forest caring for their young; the strong, 
 well-clad, well-fed bears; the lively throng of 
 squirrels; the blessed birds, great and small, 
 stirring and sweetening the groves; and the 
 clouds of happy insects filling the sky with 
 joyous hum as part and parcel of the down- 
 pouring sunshine. All these come to mind, as 
 well as the plant people, and the glad streams 
 singing their way to the sea. But most im 
 pressive of all is the vast glowing countenance 
 of the wilderness in awful, infinite repose. 
 
 Toward sunset, enjoyed a fine run to camp, 
 down the long south slopes, across ridges and 
 ravines, gardens and avalanche gaps, through 
 the firs and chaparral, enjoying wild excite 
 ment and excess of strength, and so ends a 
 day that will never end. 
 
 July 27. Up and away to Lake Tenaya, ; 
 another big day, enough for a lifetime. The 
 rocks, the air, everything speaking with aud 
 ible voice or silent; joyful, wonderful, enchant- 
 
 155
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ing, banishing weariness and sense of time. 
 No longing for anything now or hereafter as 
 we go home into the mountain's heart. The 
 level sunbeams are touching the fir-tops, every 
 leaf shining with dew. Am holding an easterly 
 course, the deep canon of Tenaya Creek on 
 the right hand, Mount Hoffman on the left, 
 and the lake straight ahead about ten miles 
 distant, the summit of Mount Hoffman about 
 three thousand feet above me, Tenaya Creek 
 four thousand feet below and separated from 
 the shallow, irregular valley, along which most 
 of the way lies, by smooth domes and wave- 
 ridges. Many mossy emerald bogs, meadows, 
 and gardens in rocky hollows to wade and 
 saunter through and what fine plants they 
 give me, what joyful streams I have to cross, 
 and how many views are displayed of the 
 Hoffman and Cathderal Peak masonry, and 
 what a wondrous breadth of shining granite 
 pavement to walk over for the first time about 
 the shores of the lake! On I sauntered in free 
 dom complete; body without weight as far as 
 I was aware; now wading through starry par- 
 nassia bogs, now through gardens shoulder 
 deep in larkspur and lilies, grasses and rushes, 
 shaking off showers of dew; crossing piles of 
 crystalline moraine boulders, bright mirror 
 pavements, and cool, cheery streams going to 
 
 156
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 Yosemite; crossing bryanthus carpets and the 
 scoured pathways of avalanches, and thickets 
 of snow-pressed ceanothus; then down a broad, 
 majestic stairway into the ice-sculptured lake- 
 basin. 
 
 The snow on the high mountains is melting 
 fast, and the streams are singing bank-full, 
 swaying softly through the level meadows and 
 bogs, quivering with sun-spangles, swirling 
 in pot-holes, resting in deep pools, leaping, 
 shouting in wild, exulting energy over rough 
 boulder dams, joyful, beautiful in all their 
 forms. No Sierra landscape that I have seen 
 holds anything truly dead or dull, or any trace 
 of what in manufactories is called rubbish or 
 waste; everything is perfectly clean and pure 
 and full of divine lessons. This quick, inevi 
 table interest attaching to everything seems 
 marvelous until the hand of God becomes 
 visible; then it seems reasonable that what 
 interests Him may well interest us. When we 
 try to pick out anything by itself, we find it 
 hitched to everything else in the universe. 
 One fancies a heart like our own must be beat 
 ing in every crystal and cell, and we feel like 
 stopping to speak Jo the plants and animals 
 as friendly fellow mountaineers. Nature as 
 a poet, a.n enthusiastic workingman, becomes 
 more and more visible the farther and higher 
 
 157
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 we go; for the mountains are fountains be 
 ginning places, however related to sources 
 beyond mortal ken. 
 
 I found three kinds of meadows: (1) Those 
 contained in basins not yet filled with earth 
 enough to make a dry surface. They are 
 planted with several species of carex, and have 
 their margins diversified with robust flowering 
 plants such as veratrum, larkspur, lupine, 
 etc. (2) Those contained in the same sort of 
 basins, once lakes like the first, but so situated 
 in relation to the streams that flow through 
 them and beds of transportable sand, gravel, 
 etc., that they are now high and dry and well 
 drained. This dry condition and correspond 
 ing difference in their vegetation may be 
 caused by no superiority of position, or power 
 of transporting filling material in the streams 
 that belong to them, but simply by the basin 
 being shallow and therefore sooner filled. They 
 are planted with grasses, mostly fine, silky, 
 and rather short-leaved, Calamagrostis and 
 Agrostis being the principal genera. They form 
 delightfully smooth, level sods in which one 
 finds two or three species of gentian and as 
 many of purple and yellow orthocarpus, violet, 
 vaccinium, kalmia, bryanthus, and lonicera. 
 (3) Meadows hanging on ridge and mountain 
 slopes, not in basins at all, but made and held 
 
 158
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 in place by masses of boulders and fallen trees, 
 which, forming dams one above another in 
 close succession on small, outspread, chan- 
 nelless streams, have collected soil enough, 
 for the growth of grasses, carices, and many 
 flowering plants, and being kept well watered, 
 without being subject to currents sufficiently 
 strong to carry them away, a hanging or slop 
 ing meadow is the result. Their surfaces are 
 seldom so smooth as the others, being rough 
 ened more or less by the projecting tops of the 
 dam rocks or logs; but at a little distance this 
 roughness is not noticed, and the effect is very 
 striking bright green, fluent, down-sweep 
 ing flowery ribbons on gray slopes. The broad 
 shallow streams these meadows belong to are 
 mostly derived from banks of snow and be 
 cause the soil is well drained in some places, 
 while in others the dam rocks are packed close 
 and caulked with bits of wood and leaves, mak 
 ing boggy patches; the vegetation, of course, 
 is correspondingly varied. I saw patches of 
 willow, bryanthus, and a fine show of lilies 
 on some of them, not forming a margin, but 
 scattered about among the carex and grass. 
 Most of these meadows are now in their prime. 
 How r wonderful must be the temper of the 
 elastic leaves of grasses and sedges to make 
 curves so perfect and fine. Tempered a little 
 
 159
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 harder, they would stand erect, stiff and bristly, 
 like strips of metal; a little softer, and every 
 leaf would lie flat. And what fine painting and 
 tinting there is on the glumes and pales, sta' 
 mens and feathery pistils. Butterflies colored 
 like the flowers waver above them in wonder 
 ful profusion, and many other beautiful winged 
 people, numbered and known and loved only 
 by the Lord, are waltzing together high over 
 head, seemingly in pure play and hilarious 
 enjoyment of their little sparks of life. How 
 wonderful they are ! How do they get a living, 
 and endure the weather? How are their little 
 bodies, with muscles, nerves, organs, kept 
 warm and jolly in such admirable exuberant 
 health? Regarded only as mechanical inven 
 tions, how wonderful they are! Compared 
 with these, Godlike man's greatest machines 
 are as nothing. 
 
 Most of the sandy gardens on moraines are 
 in prime beauty like the meadows, though 
 some on the north sides of rocks and beneath 
 groves of sapling pines have not yet bloomed. 
 On sunny sheets of crystal soil along the slopes 
 of the Hoffman Mountains, I saw extensive 
 patches of ivesia and purple gilia with scarce 
 a green leaf, making fine clouds of color. Ribes 
 bushes, vaccinium, and kalmia, now in flower, 
 make beautiful rugs and borders along the 
 
 160
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 banks of the streams. Shaggy beds of dwarf 
 oak (Quercus chrysolepis, var. vaccinifolia) over 
 which one may walk are common on rocky 
 moraines, yet this is the same species as the 
 large live oak seen near Brown's Flat. The 
 most beautiful of the shrubs is the purple- 
 flowered bryanthus, here making glorious car 
 pets at an elevation of nine thousand feet. 
 
 The principal tree for the first mile or two 
 from camp is the magnificent silver fir, which 
 reaches perfection here both in size and form 
 of individual trees, and in the mode of group 
 ing in groves with open spaces between. So 
 trim and tasteful are these silvery, spiry groves 
 one would fancy they must have been placed 
 hi position by some master landscape gardener, 
 their regularity seeming almost conventional. 
 But Nature is the only gardener able to do 
 work so fine. A few noble specimens two hun 
 dred feet high occupy central positions in the 
 groups with younger trees around them; and 
 outside of these another circle of yet smaller 
 ones, the whole arranged like tastefully sym 
 metrical bouquets, every tree fitting nicely 
 the place assigned to it as if made especially 
 for it; small roses and eriogonums are usually 
 found blooming on the open spaces about the 
 groves, forming charming pleasure grounds. 
 Higher, the firs gradually become smaller and 
 
 161
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 less perfect, many showing double summits, 
 indicating storm stress. Still, where good 
 moraine soil is found, even on the rim of the 
 lake-basin, specimens one hundred and fifty 
 feet in height and five feet in diameter occur 
 nearly nine thousand feet above the sea. The 
 saplings, I find, are mostly bent with the 
 crushing weight of the winter snow, which at 
 this elevation must be at least eight or ten feet 
 deep, judging by marks on the trees; and this 
 depth of compacted snow is heavy enough to 
 bend and bury young trees twenty or thirty 
 feet in height and hold them down for four 
 or five months. Some are broken; the others 
 spring up when the snow melts and at length 
 attain a size that enables them to withstand 
 the snow pressure. Yet even in trees five feet 
 thick the traces of this early discipline are still 
 plainly to be seen in their curved insteps, and 
 frequently in old dried saplings protruding 
 from the trunk, partially overgrown by the 
 new axis developed from a branch below the 
 break. Yet through all this stress the forest 
 is maintained in marvelous beauty. 
 
 Beyond the silver firs I find the two-leaved 
 pine (Pinus contorta, var. Murrayana) forms 
 the bulk of the forest up to an elevation of ten 
 thousand feet or more the highest timber- 
 belt of the Sierra. I saw a specimen nearly five 
 
 162
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 feet in diameter growing on deep, well-watered 
 soil at an elevation of about nine thousand 
 feet. The form of this species varies very 
 much with position, exposure, soil, etc. On 
 stream-banks, where it is closely planted, it 
 is very slender; some specimens seventy-five 
 feet high do not exceed five inches in diameter 
 at the ground, but the ordinary form, as far 
 as I have seen, is well proportioned. The aver 
 age diameter when full grown at this eleva 
 tion is about twelve or fourteen inches, height 
 forty or fifty feet, the straggling branches bent 
 up at the end, the bark thin and bedraggled 
 with amber-colored resin. The pistillate flowers 
 form little crimson rosettes a fourth of an inch 
 in diameter on the ends of the branchlets, 
 mostly hidden in the leaf-tassels; the stami- 
 nate are about three eighths of an inch in diam 
 eter, sulphur-yellow, in showy clusters, giv 
 ing a remarkably rich effect a brave, hardy 
 mountaineer pine, growing cheerily on rough 
 beds of avalanche boulders and joints of rock 
 pavements, as well as in fertile hollows, stand 
 ing up to the waist in snow every winter for 
 centuries, facing a thousand storms and bloom 
 ing every year in colors as bright as those 
 worn by the sun-drenched trees of the tropics. 
 A still hardier mountaineer is the Sierra ju 
 niper (Juniperus ocddentalis) , growing mostly 
 
 163
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 on domes and ridges and glacier pavements. 
 A thickset, sturdy, picturesque Highlander, 
 seemingly content to live for more than a 
 score of centuries on sunshine and snow; a 
 truly wonderful fellow, dogged endurance ex 
 pressed in every feature, lasting about as long 
 as the granite he stands on. Some are nearly 
 as broad as high. I saw one on the shore of 
 the lake nearly ten feet in diameter, and many 
 six to eight feet. The bark, cinnamon-colored, 
 flakes off in long ribbon-like strips with a sat 
 iny luster. Surely the most enduring of all tree 
 mountaineers, it never seems to die a natural 
 death, or even to fall after it has been killed. 
 If protected from accidents, it would perhaps 
 be immortal. I saw some that had withstood 
 an avalanche from snowy Mount Hoffman 
 cheerily putting out new branches, as if re 
 peating, like Grip, "Never say die." Some 
 were simply standing on the pavement where 
 no fissure more than half an inch wide offered 
 a hold for its roots. The common height for 
 these rock-dwellers is from ten to twenty feet; 
 most of the old ones have broken tops, and 
 are mere stumps, with a few tufted branches, 
 forming picturesque brown pillars on bare 
 pavements, with plenty of elbow-room and a 
 clear view in every direction. On good mo 
 raine soil it reaches a height of from forty to 
 
 164
 
 JUXll'EKS IX TEXAYA CAXOX
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 sixty feet, with dense gray foliage. The rings 
 of the trunk are very thin, eighty to an inch 
 of diameter in some specimens I examined. 
 Those ten feet in diameter must be very old 
 - thousands of years. Wish I could live, like 
 these junipers, on sunshine and snow, and 
 stand beside them on the shore of Lake Ten- 
 aya for a thousand years. How much I should 
 see, and how delightful it would be! Every 
 thing in the mountains would find me and 
 come to me, and everything from the heavens 
 like light. 
 
 The lake was named for one of the chiefs of 
 the Yosemite tribe. Old Tenaya is said to 
 have been a good Indian to his tribe. When 
 a company of soldiers followed his band into 
 Yosemite to punish them for cattle-stealing 
 and other crimes, they fled to this lake by a 
 trail that leads out of the upper end of the 
 valley, early in the spring, while the snow was 
 still deep; but being pursued, they lost heart 
 and surrendered. A fine monument the old 
 man has in this bright lake, and likely to last 
 a long time, though lakes die as well as Indians, 
 being gradually filled with detritus carried 
 in by the feeding streams, and to some extent 
 also by snow avalanches and rain and wind. 
 A considerable portion of- the Tenaya basin 
 is already changed into a forested flat and 
 
 165
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 meadow at the upper end, where the main 
 tributary enters from Cathedral Peak. Two 
 other tributaries come from the Hoffman 
 Range. The outlet flows westward through 
 Tenaya Canon to join the Merced River in 
 Yosemite. Scarce a handful of loose soil is to 
 be seen on the north shore. All is bare, shin 
 ing granite, suggesting the Indian name of the 
 lake, Pywiack, meaning shining rock. The 
 basin seems to have been slowly excavated 
 by the ancient glaciers, a marvelous work re 
 quiring countless thousands of years. On 'the 
 south side an imposing mountain rises from 
 the water's edge to a height of three thousand 
 feet or more, feathered with hemlock and pine; 
 and huge shining domes on the east, over the 
 tops of which the grinding, wasting, mold 
 ing glacier must have swept as the wind does 
 to-day. 
 
 July 28. No cloud mountains, only curly 
 currus wisps scarce perceptible, and the want 
 of thunder to strike the noon hour seems 
 strange, as if the Sierra clock had stopped. 
 Have been studying the magnified fir meas 
 ured one near two hundred and forty feet high, 
 the tallest I have yet seen. This species is the 
 most symmetrical of all conifers, but though 
 gigantic in size it seldom lives more than four 
 or five hundred years. Most of the trees die 
 
 166
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 from the attacks of a fungus at the age of two 
 or three centuries. This dry-rot fungus per 
 haps enters the trunk by way of the stumps of 
 limbs broken off by the snow that loads the 
 broad palmate branches. The younger speci 
 mens are marvels of symmetry, straight and 
 erect as a plumb-line, their branches in regular 
 level whorls of five mostly, each branch as 
 exact in its divisions as a fern frond, and thickly 
 covered by the leaves, making a rich plush 
 over all the tree, excepting only the trunk and 
 a small portion of the main limbs. The leaves 
 turn upward, especially on the branchlets, and 
 are stiff and sharp, pointed on all the upper 
 portion of the tree. They remain on the tree 
 about eight or ten years, and as the growth is 
 rapid it is not rare to find the leaves still in 
 place on the upper part of the axis where it is 
 three to four inches in diameter, wide apart of 
 course, and their spiral arrangement beauti 
 fully displayed. The leaf -scars are conspicuous 
 for twenty years or more, but there is a good 
 deal of variation in different trees as to the 
 thickness and sharpness of the leaves. 
 
 After the excursion to Mount Hoffman I had 
 seen a complete cross-section of the Sierra 
 forest, and I find that Abies magnified is the 
 most symmetrical tree of all the noble conifer 
 ous company. The cones are grand affairs, 
 
 167
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 superb in form, size, and color, cylindrical, 
 stand erect on the upper branches like casks, 
 and are from five to eight inches in length by 
 three or four in diameter, greenish gray, and 
 covered with fine down which has a silvery 
 luster ih the sunshine, and their brilliance is 
 augmented by beads of transparent balsam 
 which seems to have been poured over each 
 cone, bringing to mind the old ceremonies of 
 anointing with oil. If possible, the inside of 
 the cone is more beautiful than the outside; the 
 scales, bracts, and seed wings are tinted with 
 the loveliest rosy purple with a bright lustrous 
 iridescence; the seeds, three fourths of an inch 
 long, are dark brown. When the cones are ripe 
 the scales and bracts fall off, setting the seeds 
 free to fly to their predestined places, while the 
 dead spike-like axes are left on the branches 
 for many years to mark the positions of the 
 vanished cones, excepting those cut off when 
 green by the Douglas squirrel. How he gets his 
 teeth under the broad bases of the sessile cones, 
 I don't know. Climbing these trees on a sunny 
 day to visit the growing cones and to gaze over 
 the tops of the forest is one of my best enjoy 
 ments. 
 
 July 29. Bright, cool, exhilarating. Clouds 
 about .05. Another glorious day of rambling, 
 sketching, and universal enjoyment. 
 
 168
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 July 30. Clouds .20, but the regular shower 
 did not reach us, though thunder was heard a 
 few miles off striking the noon hour. Ants, 
 flies, and mosquitoes seem to enjoy this fine 
 climate. A few house-flies have discovered our 
 camp. The Sierra mosquitoes are courageous 
 and of good size, some of them measuring 
 nearly an inch from tip of sting to tip of 
 folded wings. Though less abundant than in 
 most wildernesses, they occasionally make quite 
 a hum and stir, and pay but little attention to 
 tune or place. They sting anywhere, any time 
 of day, wherever they can find anything worth 
 while, until they are thepiselves stung by frost. 
 The large, jet-black ants are only ticklish and 
 troublesome when one is lying down under the 
 trees. Noticed a borer drilling a silver fir. Ovi 
 positor about an inch and a half in length, 
 polished and straight like a needle. When not 
 in use, it is folded back in a sheath, which ex 
 tends straight behind like the legs of a crane in 
 flying. This drilling, I suppose, is to save nest 
 building, and the after care of feeding the 
 young. Who would guess that in the brain of a 
 fly so much knowledge could find lodgment? 
 How do they know that their eggs will hatch 
 in such holes, or, after they hatch, that the 
 soft, helpless grubs will find the right sort of 
 nourishment in silver fir sap? This domestic 
 
 169
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 arrangement calls to mind the curious family 
 of gallflies. Each species seems to know what 
 kind of plant will respond to the irritation or 
 stimulus of the puncture it makes and the eggs 
 it lays, in forming a growth that not only an 
 swers for a nest and home but also provides food 
 for the young. Probably these gallflies make 
 mistakes at times, like anybody else ; but when 
 they do, there is simply a failure of that partic 
 ular brood, while enough to perpetuate the 
 species do find the proper plants and nourish 
 ment. Many mistakes of this kind might be 
 made without being discovered by us. Once a 
 pair of wrens made the mistake of building a 
 nest in the sleeve of a workman's coat, which 
 was called for at sundown, much to the con 
 sternation and discomfiture of the birds. Still 
 the marvel remains that any of the children of 
 such small people as gnats and mosquitoes 
 should escape their own and their parents' mis 
 takes, as well as the vicissitudes of the weather 
 and hosts of enemies, and come forth in full 
 vigor and perfection to enjoy the sunny world. 
 When we think of the small creatures that are 
 visible, we are led to think of many that are 
 smaller still and lead us on and on into infinite 
 mystery. 
 
 July 31. Another glorious day, the ah* as 
 delicious to the lungs as nectar to the tongue; 
 
 170
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 indeed the body seems one palate, and tingles 
 equally throughout. Cloudiness about .05, but 
 our ordinary shower has not yet reached us, 
 though I hear thunder in the distance. 
 
 The cheery little chipmunk, so common 
 about Brown's Flat, is common here also, and 
 . perhaps other species. In their light, airy habits 
 they recall the familiar species of the Eastern 
 States, which we admired in the oak openings 
 of Wisconsin as they skimmed along the zigzag 
 rail fences. These Sierra chipmunks are more 
 arboreal and squirrel-like. I first noticed them 
 on the lower edge of the coniferous belt, where 
 the Sabine and yellow pines meet, exceed 
 ingly interesting little fellows, full of odd, funny 
 ways, and without being true squirrels, have 
 most of their acomplishments without their 
 aggressive quarrelsomeness. I never weary 
 watching them as they frisk about in the bushes 
 gathering seeds and berries, like song sparrows 
 poising daintily on slender twigs, and making 
 even less stir than most birds of the same size. 
 Few of the Sierra animals interest me more; 
 they are so able, gentle, confiding, and beauti 
 ful, they take one's heart, and get themselves 
 adopted as darlings. Though weighing hardly 
 more than field mice, they are laborious col 
 lectors of seeds, nuts, and cones, and are there 
 fore well fed, but never in the least swollen 
 
 171
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 with fat or lazily full. On the contrary, of their 
 frisky, birdlike liveliness there is no end. They 
 have a great variety of notes corresponding 
 with their movements, some sweet and liquid, 
 like water dripping with tinkling sounds into 
 pools. They seem dearly to love teasing a dog, 
 coming frequently almost within reach, then ( 
 frisking away with lively chipping, like spar 
 rows, beating time to their music with their 
 tails, which at each chip describe half circles 
 from side to side. Not even the Douglas squir 
 rel is surer-footed or more fearless. I have seen 
 them running about on sheer precipices of the 
 Yosemite walls seemingly holding on with as 
 little effort as flies, and as unconscious of dan 
 ger, where, if the slightest slip were made, they 
 would have fallen two or three thousand feet. 
 How fine it would be could we mountaineers 
 climb these tremendous cliffs with the same 
 sure grip! The venture I made the other day 
 for a view of the Yosemite Fall, and which tried 
 my nerves so sorely, this little Tamias would 
 have made for an ear of grass. 
 
 The woodchuck (Arctomys monax) of the 
 bleak mountain-tops is a very different sort of 
 mountaineer the most bovine of rodents, a 
 heavy eater, fat, aldermanic in bulk and fairly 
 bloated, in his high pastures, like a cow in a 
 clover field. One woodchuck would outweigh a 
 172
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 hundred chipmunks, and yet he is by no means 
 a dull animal. In the midst of what we regard 
 as storm-beaten desolation he pipes and whis 
 tles right cheerily, and enjoys long life in his 
 skyland homes. His burrow is made in disin 
 tegrated rocks or beneath large boulders. Com 
 ing out of his den in the cold hoarfrost mornings, 
 he takes a sun-bath on some favorite flat- 
 topped rock, then goes to breakfast in garden 
 hollows, eats grass and flowers until comfort 
 ably swollen, then goes a-visiting to fight and 
 play. How long a woodchuck lives in this brac 
 ing air I don't know, but some of them are 
 rusty and gray like lichen-covered boulders. 
 
 August 1. A grand cloudland and five- 
 minute shower, refreshing the blessed wilder 
 ness, already so fragrant and fresh, steeping 
 the black meadow mold and dead leaves like 
 tea. 
 
 The waycup, or flicker, so familiar to every 
 boy in the old Middle West States, is one of 
 the most common of the wood-peckers here 
 abouts, and makes one feel at home. I can see 
 no difference in plumage or habits from the 
 Eastern species, though the climate here is so 
 different, a fine, brave, confiding, beautiful 
 bird. The robin, too, is here, with all his fa 
 miliar notes and gestures, tripping daintily on 
 open garden spots and high meadows. Over all 
 173
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 America he seems to be at home, moving from 
 the plains to the mountains and from north to 
 south, back and forth, up and down, with the 
 march of the seasons and food supply. How 
 admirable the constitution and temper of this 
 brave singer, keeping in cheery health over 
 so vast and varied a range! Oftentimes, as 
 I wander through these solemn woods, awe- 
 stricken and silent, I hear the reassuring voice 
 of this fellow wanderer ringing out, sweet and 
 clear, ' ' Fear not ! fear not ! ' ' 
 
 The mountain quail (Oreortyx ricta) I often 
 meet in my walks a small brown partridge 
 with a very long, slender, ornamental crest 
 worn jauntily like a feather in a boy's cap, giv 
 ing it a very marked appearance. This species 
 is considerably larger than the valley quail, so 
 common on the hot foothills. They seldom 
 alight in trees, but love to wander in flocks of 
 from five or six to twenty through the ceano- 
 thus and manzanita thickets and over open, 
 dry meadows and rocks of the ridges where the 
 forest is less dense or wanting, uttering a low 
 clucking sound to enable them to keep together. 
 When disturbed they rise with a strong birr of 
 wing-beats, and scatter as if exploded to a dis 
 tance of a quarter of a mile or so. After the 
 danger is past they call one another together 
 with a loud piping note Nature's beautiful 
 
 174
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 mountain chickens. I have not yet found their 
 nests. The young of this season are already 
 hatched and away new broods of happy 
 wanderers half as large as their parents. I 
 wonder how they live through the' long win 
 ters, when the ground is snow-covered ten feet 
 deep. They must go down towards the lower 
 edge of the forest, like the deer, though I have 
 not heard of them there. 
 
 The blue, or dusky, grouse is also common 
 here. They like the deepest and closest fir 
 woods, and when disturbed, burst from the 
 branches of the trees with a strong, loud whir 
 of wing-beats, and vanish in a wavering, silent 
 slide, without moving a feather a stout, 
 beautiful bird about the size of the prairie 
 chicken of the old west, spending most of the 
 time in the trees, excepting the breeding sea 
 son, when it keeps to the ground. The young 
 are now able to fly. When scattered by man 
 or dog, they keep still until the danger is sup 
 posed to be passed, then the mother calls them 
 together. The chicks can hear the call a dis 
 tance of several hundred yards, though it is not 
 loud. Should the young be unable to fly, the 
 mother feigns desperate lameness or death 
 to draw one away, throwing herself at one's 
 feet within two or three yards, rolling over 
 on her back, kicking and gasping, so as to de- 
 
 175
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ceive man or beast. They are said to stay all 
 the year in the woods hereabouts, taking shel 
 ter in dense tufted branches of fir and yellow 
 pine during snowstorms, and feeding on the 
 young buds of these trees. Their legs are 
 feathered down to their toes, and I have never 
 heard of their suffering in any sort of weather. 
 Able to live on pine and fir buds, they are for 
 ever independent in the matter of food, which 
 troubles so many of us and controls our move 
 ments. Gladly, if I could, I would live for 
 ever on pine buds, however full of turpentine 
 and pitch, for the sake of this grand inde 
 pendence. Just to think of our sufferings last 
 month merely for grist-mill flour. Man seems 
 to have more difficulty in gaining food than 
 any other of the Lord's creatures. For many 
 in towns it is a consuming, lifelong struggle; 
 for others, the danger of coming to want is so 
 great, the deadly habit of endless hoarding 
 for the future is formed, which smothers all 
 real life, and is continued long after every rea 
 sonable need has been over-supplied. 
 
 On Mount Hoffman I saw a curious dove- 
 colored bird that seemed half woodpecker, 
 half magpie, or crow. It screams something 
 like a crow, but flies like a woodpecker, and 
 has a long, straight bill, with which I saw it 
 opening the cones of the mountain and white- 
 176
 
 MT. HOFFMAN AND LAKE TENAYA 
 
 barked pines. It seems to keep to the heights, 
 though no doubt it comes down for shelter 
 during winter, if not for food. So far as food 
 is concerned, these bird-mountaineers, I guess, 
 can glean nuts enough, even in winter, from 
 the different kinds of conifers; for always there 
 are a few that have been unable to fly out 
 of the cones and remain for hungry winter 
 gleaners.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 August 2. Clouds and showers, about the 
 same as yesterday. Sketching all day on the 
 North Dome until four or five o'clock in 
 the afternoon, when, as I was busily employed 
 thinking only of the glorious Yosemite land 
 scape, trying to draw every tree and every line 
 and feature of the rocks, I was suddenly, and 
 without warning, possessed with the notion 
 that my friend, Professor J. D. Butler, of the 
 State University of Wisconsin, was below me 
 in the valley, and I jumped up full of the idea 
 of meeting him, with almost as much startling 
 excitement as if he had suddenly touched me 
 to make me look up. Leaving my work with 
 out the slightest deliberation, I ran down the 
 western slope of the Dome and along the brink 
 of the valley wall, looking for a way to the 
 bottom, until I came to a side canon, which, 
 judging by its apparently continuous growth 
 of trees and bushes, I thought might afford a 
 practical way into the valley, and immedi 
 ately began to make the descent, late as it was, 
 as if drawn irresistibly. But after a little, com- 
 
 178
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 mon sense stopped me and explained that it 
 would be long after dark ere I could possibly 
 reach the hotel, that the visitors would be 
 asleep, that nobody would know me, that I 
 had no money in my pockets, and moreover 
 was without a coat. I therefore compelled 
 myself to stop, and finally succeeded in rea 
 soning myself out of the notion of seeking my 
 friend hi the dark, whose presence I only felt 
 hi a strange, telepathic way. I succeeded in 
 dragging myself back through the woods to 
 camp, never for a moment wavering, however, 
 in my determination to go down to him next 
 morning. This I think is the most unexplain- 
 able notion that ever struck me. Had some 
 one whispered in my ear while I sat on the 
 Dome, where I had spent so many days, that 
 Professor Butler was in the valley, I could 
 not have been more surprised and startled. 
 When I was leaving the university, he said, 
 "Now, John, I want to hold you in sight and 
 watch your career. Promise to write me at 
 least once a year." I received a letter from 
 him in July, at our first camp in the Hollow, 
 written in May, in which he said that he might 
 possibly visit California some time this sum 
 mer, and therefore hoped to meet me. But 
 inasmuch as he named no meeting-place, and 
 gave no directions as to the course he would 
 
 179
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 probably follow, and as I should be in the 
 wilderness all summer, I had not the slightest 
 hope of seeing him, and all thought of the 
 matter had vanished from my mind until this 
 afternoon, when he seemed to be wafted bodily 
 almost against my face. Well, to-morrow I 
 shall see; for, reasonable or unreasonable, I 
 feel I must go. 
 
 August 3. Had a wonderful day. Found 
 Professor Butler as the compass-needle finds 
 the pole. So last evening's telepathy, tran 
 scendental revelation, or whatever else it may 
 be called, was true; for, strange to say, he had 
 just entered the valley by way of the Coul- 
 terville Trail and was coming up the valley 
 past El Capitan when his presence struck me. 
 Had he then looked toward the North Dome 
 with a good glass when it first came in sight, 
 he might have seen me jump up from my work 
 and run toward him. This seems the one well- 
 defined marvel of my life of the kind called 
 supernatural; for, absorbed in glad Nature, 
 spirit-rappings, second sight, ghost stories, 
 etc., have never interested me since boyhood, 
 seeming comparatively useless and infinitely 
 less wonderful than Nature's open, harmoni 
 ous, songful, sunny, everyday beauty. 
 
 This morning, when I thought of having 
 to appear among tourists at a hotel, I was 
 
 180
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 troubled because I had no suitable clothes, and 
 at best am desperately bashful and shy. I was 
 determined to go, however, to see my old 
 friend after two years among strangers; got 
 on a clean pair of overalls, a cashmere shirt, 
 and a sort of jacket, the best my camp 
 wardrobe afforded, tied my notebook on 
 my belt, and strode away on my strange jour 
 ney, followed by Carlo. I made my way 
 though the gap discovered last evening, which 
 proved to be Indian Canon. There ,was no 
 trail in it, and the rocks and brush were so 
 rough that Carlo frequently called me back to 
 help him down precipitous places. Emerging 
 from the canon shadows, I found a man mak 
 ing hay on one of the meadows, and asked him 
 whether Professor Butler was in the valley. 
 "I don't know," he replied; "but you can 
 easily find out at the hotel. There are but few 
 visitors in the valley just now. A small party 
 came in yesterday afternoon, and I heard some 
 one called Professor Butler, or Butterfield, or 
 some name like that." 
 
 In front of the gloomy hotel I found a tour 
 ist party adjusting their fishing tackle. They 
 all stared at me in silent wonderment, as if I 
 had been seen dropping down through the 
 trees from the clouds, mostly, I suppose, on 
 account of my strange garb. Inquiring for 
 
 181
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 the office, I was told it was locked, and that 
 the landlord was away, but I might find the 
 landlady, Mrs. Hutchings, in the parlor. I 
 entered in a sad state of embarrassment, and 
 after I had waited in the big, empty room and 
 knocked at several doors the landlady at 
 length appeared, and in reply to my question 
 said she rather thought Professor Butler was 
 in the valley, but to make sure, she would 
 bring the register from the office. Among the 
 names of the last arrivals I soon discovered the 
 Professor's familiar handwriting, at the sight 
 of which bashfulness vanished; and having 
 learned that his party had gone up the valley, 
 
 probably to the Vernal and Nevada Falls, 
 
 I pushed on in glad pursuit, my heart now 
 sure of its prey. In less than an hour I reached 
 the head of the Nevada Canon at the Vernal 
 Fall, and just outside of the spray discovered 
 a distinguished-looking gentleman, who, like 
 everybody else I have seen to-day, regarded 
 me curiously as I approached. When I made 
 bold to inquire if he knew where Professor 
 Butler was, he seemed yet more curious to 
 know what could possibly have happened that 
 required a messenger for the Professor, and 
 instead of answering my question he asked 
 with military sharpness, "Who wants him?" 
 "I want him," I replied with equal sharp- 
 
 182
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 ness. "Why? Do you know him?" "Yes," 
 I said. "Do you know him?" Astonished that 
 any one in the mountains could possibly know 
 Professor Butler and find him as soon as he 
 had reached the valley, he came down to meet 
 the strange mountaineer on equal terms, and 
 courteously replied, "Yes, I know Professor 
 Butler very well. I am General Alvord, and 
 we were fellow students in Rutland, Vermont, 
 long ago, when we were both young." "But 
 where is he now?" I persisted, cutting short 
 his story. "He has gone beyond the falls with 
 a companion, to try to climb that big rock, the 
 top of which you see from here." His guide 
 now volunteered the information that it was 
 the Liberty Cap Professor Butler and his com 
 panion had gone to climb, and that if I waited 
 at the head of the fall I should be sure to find 
 them on their way down. I therefore climbed 
 the ladders alongside the Vernal Fall, and was 
 pushing forward, determined to go to the top 
 of Liberty Cap rock in my hurry, rather than 
 wait, if I should not meet my friend sooner. 
 So heart-hungry at times may one be to see a 
 friend in the flesh, however happily full and 
 care-free one's life may be. I had gone but 
 a short distance, however, above the brow of 
 the Vernal Fall when I caught sight of him in 
 the brush and rocks, half erect, groping his 
 
 183
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 way, his sleeves rolled up, vest open, hat in 
 his hand, evidently very hot and tired. When 
 he saw me coming he sat down on a boulder 
 to wipe the perspiration from his brow and 
 neck, and taking me for one of the valley 
 guides, he inquired the way to the fall ladders. 
 I pointed out the path marked with little piles 
 of stones, on seeing which he called his com 
 panion, saying that the way was found; but 
 he did not yet recognize me. Then I stood 
 directly in front of him, looked him in the face, 
 and held out my hand. He thought I was offer 
 ing to assist him in rising. " Never mind," he 
 said. Then I said, "Professor Butler, don't 
 you know me?" ''I think not," he replied; 
 but catching my eye, sudden recognition fol 
 lowed, and astonishment that I should have 
 found him just when he was lost in the brush 
 and did not know that I was within hundreds 
 of miles of him. "John Muir, John Muir, 
 where have you come from?" Then I told 
 him the story of my feeling his presence when 
 he entered the valley last evening, when he 
 was four or five miles distant, as I sat sketch 
 ing on the North Dome. This, of course, only 
 made him wonder the more. Below the foot 
 of the Vernal Fall the guide was waiting with 
 his saddle-horse, and I walked along the trail, 
 chatting all the way back to the hotel, talking 
 
 184
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 of school days, friends in Madison, of the stu 
 dents, how each had prospered, etc., ever and 
 anon gazing at the stupendous rocks about 
 us, now growing indistinct in the gloaming, 
 and again quoting from the poets a rare 
 ramble. 
 
 It was late ere we reached the hotel, and 
 General Alvord was waiting the Professor's 
 arrival for dinner. When I was introduced 
 he seemed yet more astonished than the Pro 
 fessor at my descent from cloudland and going 
 straight to my friend without knowing in any 
 ordinary way that he was even in California. 
 They had come on direct from the East, had 
 not yet visited any of their friends in the state, 
 and considered themselves undiscoverable. As 
 we sat at dinner, the General leaned back 
 in his chair, and looking down the table, thus 
 introduced me to the dozen guests or so, in 
 cluding the staring fisherman mentioned above: 
 "This man, you know, came down out of these 
 huge, trackless mountains, you know, to find 
 his friend Professor Butler here, the very day 
 he arrived; and how did he know he was here? 
 He just felt him, he says. This is the queerest 
 case of Scotch farsightedness I ever heard of," 
 etc., etc. While my friend quoted Shake 
 speare: "More things in heaven and earth, 
 Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philos- 
 
 185
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ophy," "As the sun, ere he has risen, some 
 times paints his image in the firmament, e'en 
 so the shadows of events precede the events, 
 and in to-day already walks to-morrow.'* 
 
 Had a long conversation, after dinner, over 
 Madison days. The Professor wants me to 
 promise to go with him, sometime, on a camp 
 ing trip in the Hawaiian Islands, while I tried 
 to get him to go back with me to camp in the 
 high Sierra. But he says, "Not now." He 
 must not leave the General; and I was sur 
 prised to learn they are to leave the valley to 
 morrow or next day. I'm glad I'm not great 
 enough to be missed in the busy world. 
 
 August 4. It seemed strange to sleep in a 
 paltry hotel chamber after the spacious mag 
 nificence and luxury of the starry sky and sil 
 ver fir grove. Bade farewell to my friend and 
 the General. The old soldier was very kind, 
 and an interesting talker. He told me long 
 stories of the Florida Seminole war, in which 
 he took part, and invited me to visit him in 
 Omaha. Calling Carlo, I scrambled home 
 through the Indian Canon gate, rejoicing, 
 pitying the poor Professor and General, bound 
 by clocks, almanacs, orders, duties, etc., and 
 compelled to dwell with lowland care and dust 
 and din, where Nature is covered and her voice 
 smothered, while the poor, insignificant wan- 
 
 186
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 derer enjoys the freedom and glory of God's 
 wilderness. 
 
 Apart from the human interest of my visit 
 to-day, I greatly enjoyed Yosemite, which I 
 had visited only once before, having spent 
 eight days last spring in rambling amid its 
 rocks and waters. Wherever we go in the 
 mountains, or indeed in any of God's wild 
 fields, we find more than we seek. Descend 
 ing four thousand feet in a few hours, we enter 
 a new world climate, plants, sounds, in 
 habitants, and scenery all new or changed. 
 Near camp the goldcup oak forms sheets of 
 chaparral, on top of which we may make our 
 beds. Going down the Indian Canon we ob 
 serve this little bush changing by regular 
 gradations to a large bush, to a small tree, and 
 then larger, until on the rocky taluses near 
 the bottom of the valley we find it developed 
 into a broad, wide-spreading, gnarled, pic 
 turesque tree from four to eight feet in diam 
 eter, and forty or fifty feet high. Innumer 
 able are the forms of water displayed. Every 
 gliding reach, cascade, and fall has characters 
 of its own. Had a good view of the Vernal 
 and Nevada, two of the main falls of the valley, 
 less than a mile apart, and offering striking 
 differences in voice, form, color, etc. The Ver 
 nal, four hundred feet high and about seventy- 
 
 187
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 five or eighty feet wide, drops smoothly over 
 a round-lipped precipice and forms a superb 
 apron of embroidery, green and white, slightly 
 folded and fluted, maintaining this form 
 nearly to the bottom, where it is suddenly 
 veiled in quick-flying billows of spray and mist, 
 in which the afternoon sunbeams play with 
 ravishing beauty of rainbow colors. The Ne 
 vada is white from its first appearance as it 
 leaps out into the freedom of the air. At the 
 head it presents a twisted appearance, by an 
 overf olding of the current from striking on the 
 side of its channel just before the first free out- 
 bounding leap is made. About two thirds of 
 the way down, the hurrying throng of comet- 
 shaped masses glance on an inclined part of 
 the face of the precipice and are beaten into 
 yet whiter foam, greatly expanded, and sent 
 bounding outward, making an indescribably 
 glorious show, especially when the afternoon 
 sunshine is pouring into it. In this fall one 
 of the most wonderful in the world the 
 water does not seem to be under the dominion 
 of ordinary laws, but rather as if it were a 
 living creature, full of the strength of the 
 mountains and their huge, wild joy. 
 
 From beneath heavy throbbing blasts of 
 spray the broken river is seen emerging in 
 ragged boulder-chafed strips. These are speed- 
 
 188
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 ily gathered into a roaring torrent, showing 
 that the young river is still gloriously alive. 
 On it goes, shouting, roaring, exulting in its 
 strength, passes through a gorge with sublime 
 display of energy, then suddenly expands on a 
 gently inclined pavement, down which it 
 rushes in thin sheets and folds of lace-work 
 into a quiet pool, "Emerald Pool," as it is 
 called, a stopping-place, a period separat 
 ing two grand sentences. Resting here long 
 enough to part with its foam-bells and gray 
 mixtures of air, it glides quietly to the verge 
 of the Vernal precipice in a broad sheet and 
 makes its new display in the Vernal Fall; then 
 more rapids and rock tossings down the canon, 
 shaded by live oak, Douglas spruce, fir, maple, 
 and dogwood. It receives the Illilouette tribu 
 tary, and makes a long sweep out into the 
 level, sun-filled valley to join the other streams 
 which, like itself, have danced and sung their 
 way down from snowy heights to form the 
 main Merced the river of Mercy. But of 
 this there is no end, and life, when one thinks 
 of it, is so short. Never min'd, one day in the 
 midst of these divine glories is well worth 
 living and toiling and starving for. 
 
 Before parting with Professor Butler he 
 gave me a book, and I gave him one of my 
 pencil sketches for his little son Henry, who 
 
 189
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 is a favorite of mine. He used to make many 
 visits to my room when I was a student. Never 
 shall I forget his patriotic speeches for the 
 Union, mounted on a tall stool, when he was 
 only six years old. 
 
 It seems strange that visitors to Yosemite 
 should be so little influenced by its novel gran 
 deur, as if their eyes were bandaged and their 
 ears stopped. Most of those I saw yesterday 
 were looking down as if wholly unconscious of 
 anything going on about them, while the sub 
 lime rocks were trembling with the tones of the 
 mighty chanting congregation of waters gath 
 ered from all the mountains round about, mak 
 ing music that might draw angels out of heaven. 
 Yet respectable-looking, even wise-looking peo 
 ple were fixing bits of worms on bent pieces 
 of wire to catch trout. Sport they called it. 
 Should church-goers try to pass the time fish 
 ing in baptismal fonts while dull sermons were 
 being preached, the so-called sport might not 
 be so bad; but to play in the Yosemite temple, 
 seeking pleasure in the pain of fishes struggling 
 for their lives, while God himself is preaching 
 his sublimest water and stone sermons ! 
 
 Now I 'm back at the camp-fire, and cannot 
 help thinking about my recognition of my 
 friend's presence in the valley while he was four 
 or five miles away, and while I had no means of 
 
 190
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 knowing that he was not thousands of miles 
 away. It seems supernatural, but only because 
 it is not understood. Anyhow, it seems silly to 
 make so much of it, while the natural and com 
 mon is more truly marvelous and mysterious 
 than the so-called supernatural. Indeed most 
 of the miracles we hear of are infinitely less won 
 derful than the commonest of natural phenom 
 ena, when fairly seen. Perhaps the invisible 
 rays that struck me while I sat at work on the 
 Dome are something like those which attract 
 and repel people at first sight, concerning 
 which so much nonsense has been written. The 
 worst apparent effect of these mysterious odd 
 things is blindness to all that is divinely com 
 mon. Hawthorne, I fancy, could weave one of 
 his weird romances out of this little telepathic 
 episode, the one strange marvel of my life, prob 
 ably replacing my good old Professor by an at 
 tractive woman. 
 
 August 5. We were awakened this morning 
 before daybreak by the furious barking of 
 Carlo and Jack and the sound of stampeding 
 sheep. Billy fled from his punk bed to the fire, 
 and refused to stir into the darkness to try to 
 gather the scattered flock, or ascertain the na 
 ture of the disturbance. It was a bear attack, 
 as we afterward learned, and I suppose little 
 was gained by attempting to do anything be- 
 
 191
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 fore daylight. Nevertheless, being anxious to 
 know what was up, Carlo and I groped our way 
 through the woods, guided by the rustling sound 
 made by fragments of the flock, not fearing the 
 bear, for I knew that the runaways would go 
 from their enemy as far as possible and Carlo's 
 nose was also to be depended upon. About 
 half a mile east of the corral we overtook frwenty 
 or thirty of the flock and succeeded in driving 
 them back; then turning to the westward, we 
 traced another band of fugitives and got them 
 back to the flock. After daybreak I discovered 
 the remains of a sheep carcass, still warm, show 
 ing that Bruin must have been enjoying his 
 early mutton breakfast while I was seeking the 
 runaways. He had eaten about half of it. Six 
 dead sheep lay in the corral, evidently smoth 
 ered by the crowding and piling up of the flock 
 against the side of the corral wall when the bear 
 entered. Making a wide circuit of the camp, 
 Carlo and I discovered a third band of fugi 
 tives and drove them back to camp. We also 
 discovered another dead sheep half eaten, 
 showing there had been two of the shaggy free 
 booters at this early breakfast. They were 
 easily traced. They had each caught a sheep, 
 jumped over the corral fence with them, carry 
 ing them as a cat carries a mouse, laid them 
 at the foot of fir trees a hundred yards or so 
 
 192
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE 
 
 back from the corral, and eaten their fill. After 
 breakfast I set out to seek more of the lost, and 
 found seventy-five at a considerable distance 
 from camp. In the afternoon I succeeded, with 
 Carlo's help, in getting them back to the flock. 
 I don't know whether all are together again or 
 not. I shall make a big fire this evening and 
 keep watch. 
 
 When I asked Billy why he made his bed 
 against the corral in rotten wood, when so many 
 better places offered, he replied that he "wished 
 to be as near the sheep as possible in case bears 
 should attack them." Now that the bears have 
 come, he has moved his bed to the far side of 
 the camp, and seems afraid that he may be 
 mistaken for a sheep. 
 
 This has been mostly a sheep day, and of 
 course studies have been interrupted. Never 
 theless, the walk through the gloom of the 
 woods before the dawn was worth while, and I 
 have learned something about these noble bears. 
 Their tracks are very telling, and so are their 
 breakfasts. Scarce a trace of clouds to-day, 
 and of course our ordinary midday, thunder is 
 wanting. 
 
 August 6. Enjoyed the grand illumination 
 of the camp grove, last night, from the fire we 
 made to frighten the bears compensation 
 for loss of sleep and sheep. The noble pillars 
 
 193
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 of verdure, vividly aglow, seemed to shoot into 
 the sky like the flames that lighted them. 
 Nevertheless, one of the bears paid us another 
 visit, as if more attracted than repelled by the 
 fire, climbed into the corral, killed a sheep and 
 made off with it without being seen, while still 
 another was lost by trampling and suffocation 
 against the side of the corral. Now that our 
 mutton has been tasted, I suppose it will be 
 difficult to put a stop to the ravages of these 
 freebooters. 
 
 The Don arrived to-day from the lowlands 
 with provisions and a letter. On learning the 
 losses he had sustained, he determined to move 
 the flock at once to the Upper Tuolumne re 
 gion, saying that the bears would be sure to 
 visit the camp every night as long as we stayed, 
 and that no fire or noise we might make would 
 avail to frighten them. No clouds save a few 
 thin, lustrous touches on the eastern horizon. 
 Thunder heard in the distance.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 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 en 
 joyed 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 bread 
 line 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 
 
 195
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 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 ac 
 tion 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 ma 
 jestic, ancient ice-flood came from the east 
 ward, as the scoring and crushing of the sur 
 face 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 obliter 
 ated 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, pellsea, 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 strik 
 ing in form than this, standing isolated at the 
 
 196
 
 VIEW OF TEXAYA LAKE SHOWING CATHEDRAL PEAK 
 
 y. 
 
 ONE OF THE TRIBUTARY FOUNTAINS OF THE TUOLUMNE 
 
 CANON WATERS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF THE 
 
 HOFFMAN RANGE
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 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 ac 
 tion 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 then- 
 stars and trees and wonderful sculpture, all 
 their grandeur refined and doubled, a mar- 
 velously 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 hun 
 dred feet from the Tuolumne meadows. This 
 entire region must have been overswept by ice. 
 197
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 From the top of the divide, and also from the 
 big Tuolumne Meadows, the wonderful moun 
 tain called Cathedral Peak is in sight. From 
 every point of view it shows marked individu 
 ality. It is a majestic temple of one stone, 
 hewn from the living rock, and adorned with 
 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 pray 
 ers and hear the stone sermons. 
 
 The big Tuolumne Meadows are flowery 
 lawns, lying along, the south fork of the Tuol 
 umne River at a height of about eighty-five 
 hundred to nine thousand feet above the sea, 
 partially separated by forests and bars of gla 
 ciated 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 quar 
 ters, and a good many branch meadows put out 
 along the banks of the tributary streams. This 
 is the most spacious and delightful high pleas 
 ure-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 moun- 
 
 198
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 tains are so much higher, one feels protected 
 as if in a grand hall. Mounts Dana and Gibbs, 
 massive red mountains, perhaps thirteen thou 
 sand feet high or more, bound the view on the 
 east, the Cathedral and Unicorn Peaks, with 
 many nameless peaks, on the south, the Hoff 
 man Range on the w r est, 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 spe 
 cies of gentian and as many or more of ortho- 
 carpus, 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 
 
 199
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 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 sup 
 pose on account of falls making them inaccessi 
 ble. 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 dis 
 tributed. Nature has so many ways of doing 
 such things. How did the frogs, found in all the 
 bogs and pools and lakes, however high, man 
 age 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 song 
 birds at a pinch. 
 
 August 10. Another of those charming ex 
 hilarating days that make the blood dance 
 and excite nerve currents that render one un- 
 weariable and well-nigh immortal. Had an- 
 
 200
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 other 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 op 
 portunity 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 ven 
 ture. The patient mother went back to it 
 again and again to encourage it, but long with 
 out avail. Like the pilgrim on Jordan's stormy 
 bank it feared to launch away. At length, 
 201
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 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 tre 
 mendous 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 shin 
 ing water a few seconds, and then sprang to the 
 shore safe and dry through the dreadful ad 
 venture. All kinds of wild sheep are moun 
 tain 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 embos 
 omed 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 indi 
 cate 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 
 202
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 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 en 
 cumbered 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 cal- 
 amagrostis 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 gen 
 tian, potentilla, ivesia, orthocarpus, and their 
 corresponding bees and butterflies. All -the 
 glacier meadows are beautiful, but few are so 
 
 203
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 perfect as this one. Compared with it the 
 most carefully leveled,, licked, snipped arti 
 ficial 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 beau 
 tiful beyond telling, and from lake to lake 
 through groves and belts of arrowy trees, I 
 held my way northward toward Mount Con- 
 ness, 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 eleva 
 tion. 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. For 
 tunately they prefer the succulent broad- 
 leaved triticum and other woodland grasses 
 to the silky species of the meadows, and there 
 fore seldom bite them or set foot on them. 
 
 The shepherd and the Don cannot agree 
 
 204
 
 GLACIER MKADOW, OX THE HEADWATERS OF THE TUOLUMXE 
 9500 FEET ABO\ 7 E THE SEA
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 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. De- 
 laney 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 north 
 ward beyond the forests to the head of the 
 general basin, where traces of glacial action 
 are strikingly clear and interesting. The re 
 cesses among the peaks look like quarries, so 
 raw and fresh are the moraine chips and bould 
 ers 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 
 n silent Indian fashion, then cut off eight or 
 
 205
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 ten pounds of venison for us, and begged a 
 "lill" (little) of everything he saw or could 
 think of flour, bread, sugar, tobacco, whis 
 key, 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 sav 
 ages lead in this clean wilderness, starva 
 tion and abundance, deathlike calm, indolence, 
 and admirable, indefatigable action succeed 
 ing each other in stormy rhythm like win 
 ter 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 mo 
 tionless. Mr. Delaney arrived with two shep 
 herds, 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 
 
 206
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 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 en 
 joyed 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 gen 
 tlest 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 
 
 207
 
 'MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 more so. No words will ever describe the ex 
 quisite 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 over 
 flowed. 
 
 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 
 
 208
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 worse and worse," they lamented. Not will 
 ing 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. " Por 
 tuguese 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 neighbor 
 hood, 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 com 
 panion 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 
 
 209
 
 seemed anxious to fight. Antone stood aston 
 ished for a moment, eyeing the oncoming bear, 
 then turned and fled, closely pursued. Un 
 able 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 experi 
 ences the two shepherds chopped and gath 
 ered 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 comfort 
 able stage built on a neighboring pine that 
 commanded a view of the corral. This even 
 ing 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 
 210
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 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 ex- 
 
 3ept in defense of their young. How easily 
 
 md safely a bear could pick us up as we lie 
 
 tsleep! Only wolves and tigers seem to have 
 
 earned. to hunt man for food, and perhaps 
 
 harks and crocodiles. Mosquitoes and other 
 
 isects would, I suppose, devour a helpless 
 
 211
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 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 glori 
 ous 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 al 
 ready seems familiar as if I had lived here 
 always. I never weary gazing at the wonder 
 ful Cathedral. It has more individual charac 
 ter 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 for 
 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 con- 
 
 212
 
 THE MONO TRAIL 
 
 tent forever. Bathed in such beauty, watch 
 ing, 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, lis 
 tening 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."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 August 21. Have just returned from a fine 
 wild excursion across the range to Mono Lake, 
 by way of the Mono or Bloody Canon Pass. 
 Mr. Delaney has been good to me all summer, 
 lending a helping, sympathizing hand at every 
 opportunity, as if my wild notions and ram 
 bles and studies were his own. He is one of 
 those remarkable California men who have 
 been overflowed and denuded and remodeled 
 by the excitements of the gold fields, like the 
 Sierra landscapes by grinding ice, bringing the 
 harder bosses and ridges of character into 
 relief, a tall, lean, big-boned, big-hearted 
 Irishman, educated for a priest in Maynooth 
 College, lots of good in him, shining out 
 now and then in this mountain light. Recog 
 nizing my love of wild places, he told me one 
 evening that I ought to go through Bloody 
 Canon, for he was sure I should find it wild 
 enough. He had not been there himself, he 
 said, but had heard many of his mining friends 
 speak of it as the wildest of all the Sierra 
 passes. Of course I was glad to go. It lies just 
 
 214
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 to the east of our camp and swoops down from 
 the summit of the range to the edge of the 
 Mono Desert, making a descent of about four 
 thousand feet in a distance of about four miles. 
 It was known and traveled as a pass by wild 
 animals and the Indians long before its dis 
 covery by white men in the gold year of 1858, 
 as is shown by old trails which come together 
 at the head of it. The name may have been 
 suggested by the red color of the metamorphic 
 slates in which the canon abounds, or by the 
 blood stains on the rocks from the unfortu 
 nate animals that were compelled to slide and 
 shuffle over the sharp-angled boulders'. 
 
 Early in the morning I tied my notebook 
 and some bread to my belt, and strode away 
 full of eager hope, feeling that I was going to 
 have a glorious revel. The glacier meadows 
 that lay along my way served to soothe my 
 morning speed, for the sod was full of blue 
 gentians and daisies, kalmia and dwarf vacci- 
 nium, calling for recognition as old friends, 
 and I had to stop many times to examine the 
 shining rocks over which the ancient glacier 
 had passed with tremendous pressure, polish 
 ing them so well that they reflected the sun 
 light like glass in some places, while fine striae, 
 seen clearly through a lens, indicated the direc 
 tion in which the ice had flowed. On some of 
 
 215
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 the sloping polished pavements abrupt steps 
 occur, showing that occasionally large masses 
 of the rock had given way before the glacial 
 pressure, as well as small particles; moraines, 
 too, some scattered, others regular like long 
 curving embankments and dams, occur here 
 and there, giving the general surface of the 
 region a young, new-made appearance. I 
 watched the gradual dwarfing of the pines as 
 I ascended, and the corresponding dwarfing of 
 nearly all the rest of the vegetation. On the 
 slopes of Mammoth Mountain, to the south 
 of the pass, I saw many gaps in the woods 
 reaching from the upper edge of the timber- 
 line down to the level meadows, where 
 avalanches of snow had descended, sweeping 
 away every tree in their paths as well as the 
 soil they were growing in, leaving the bed 
 rock bare. The trees are nearly all uprooted, 
 but a few that had been extremely well an 
 chored in clefts of the rock were broken off 
 near the ground. It seems strange at first sight 
 that trees that had been allowed to grow for a 
 century or more undisturbed should in their 
 old age be thus swished away at a stroke. 
 Such avalanches can only occur under rare 
 conditions of weather and snowfall. No doubt 
 on some positions of the mountain slopes the 
 inclination and smoothness of the surface is 
 
 216
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 such that avalanches must occur every winter, 
 or even after every heavy snowstorm, and of 
 course no trees or eve*n bushes can grow in 
 their channels. I noticed a few clean-swept 
 slopes of this kind. The uprooted trees that 
 had grown in the pathway of what might be 
 called "century avalanches" were piled in 
 windrows, and tucked snugly against the wall- 
 trees of the gaps, heads downward, excepting 
 a few that were carried out into the open 
 ground of the meadows, where the heads of 
 the avalanches had stopped. Young pines, 
 mostly the two-leaved and the white-barked, 
 are already springing up in these cleared gaps. 
 It would be interesting to ascertain the age 
 of these saplings, for thus we should gain a 
 fair approximation to the year that the great 
 avalanches occurred. Perhaps most or all of 
 them occurred the same winter. How glad I 
 should be if free to pursue such studies ! 
 
 Near the summit at the head of the pass I 
 found a species of dwarf willow lying perfectly 
 flat on the ground, making a nice, soft, silky 
 gray carpet, not a single stem or branch more 
 than three inches high; but the catkins, which 
 are now nearly ripe, stand erect and make a 
 close, nearly regular gray growth, being larger 
 than all the rest of the plants. Some of these 
 nteresting dwarfs have only one catkin 
 
 217
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 willow bushes reduced to their lowest terms. 
 I found patches of dwarf vaccinium also form 
 ing smooth carpets, closely pressed to the 
 ground or against the sides of stones, and cov 
 ered with round pink flowers in lavish abun 
 dance as if they had fallen from the sky like 
 hail. A little higher, almost at the very head 
 of the pass, I found the blue arctic daisy and 
 purple-flowered bryanthus, the mountain's 
 own darlings, gentle mountaineers face to face 
 with the sky, kept safe and warm by a thou 
 sand miracles, seeming always the finer and 
 purer the wilder and stormier their homes. 
 The trees, tough and resiny, seem unable to 
 go a step farther; but up and up, far above the 
 tree-line, these tender plants climb, cheerily 
 spreading their gray and pink carpets right 
 up to the very edges of the snow-banks in deep 
 hollows and shadows. Here, too, is the familiar 
 robin, tripping on the flowery lawns, bravely 
 singing the same cheery song I first heard 
 when a boy in Wisconsin newly arrived from 
 old Scotland. In this fine company saunter 
 ing enchanted, taking no heed of tune, I at 
 length entered the gate of the pass, and the 
 huge rocks began to close around me in all 
 their mysterious'impressiveness. Just then I 
 was startled by a lot of queer, hairy, muffled 
 creatures coming shuffling, shambling, wallow- 
 
 218
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 ing toward me as if they had no bones in their 
 bodies. Had I discovered them while they 
 were yet a good way off, I should have tried 
 to avoid them. What a picture they made 
 contrasted with the others I had just been 
 admiring. When I came up to them, I found 
 that they were only a band of Indians from 
 Mono on their way to Yosemite for a load of 
 acorns. They were wrapped in blankets made 
 of the skins of sage-rabbits. The dirt on some 
 of the faces seemed almost old enough and 
 thick enough to have a geological significance; 
 some were strangely blurred and divided into 
 sections by seams and wrinkles that looked 
 like cleavage joints, and had a worn abraded 
 look as if they had lain exposed to the weather 
 for ages. I tried to pass them without stopping, 
 but they would n't let me; forming a dismal 
 circle about me, I was closely besieged while 
 they begged whiskey or tobacco, and it was 
 hard to convince them that I had n't any. 
 How glad I was to get away from the gray, 
 grim crowd and see them vanish down the 
 trail! Yet it seems sad to feel such desperate 
 repulsion from one's fellow beings, however 
 degraded. To prefer the society of squirrels 
 and woodchucks to that of our own species 
 must surely be unnatural. So with a fresh 
 breeze and a hill or mountain between us I 
 
 219
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 must wish them Godspeed and try to pray and 
 sing with Burns, "It's coming yet, for a' that, 
 that man to man, the warld o'er, shall brothers 
 be for a' that." 
 
 How the day passed I hardly know. By 
 the map I have come only about ten or twelve 
 miles, though the sun is already low in the 
 west, showing how long I must have lingered, 
 observing, sketching, taking notes among the 
 glaciated rocks and moraines and Alpine 
 flower-beds. 
 
 At sundown the somber crags and peaks 
 were inspired with the ineffable beauty of the 
 alpenglow, and a solemn, awful stillness hushed 
 everything in the landscape. Then I crept 
 into a hollow by the side of a small lake near 
 the head of the canon, smoothed a sheltered 
 spot, and gathered a few pine tassels for a bed. 
 After the short twilight began to fade I kin 
 dled a sunny fire, made a tin cupful of tea, and 
 lay down to watch the stars. Soon the night- 
 wind began to flow from the snowy peaks over 
 head, at first only a gentle breathing, then 
 gaining strength, in less than an hour rum 
 bled in massive volume something like a bois 
 terous stream in a boulder-choked channel, 
 roaring and moaning down the canon as if the 
 work it had to do was tremendously impor 
 tant and fateful; and mingled with these storm 
 220
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 tones were those of the waterfalls on the north 
 side of the canon, now sounding distinctly, 
 now smothered by the heavier cataracts of air, 
 making a glorious psalm of savage wildness. 
 My fire squirmed and struggled as if ill at 
 ease, for though in a sheltered nook, detached 
 masses of icy wind often fell like icebergs on 
 top of it, scattering sparks and coals, so that 
 I had to keep well back to avoid being burned. 
 But the big resiny roots and knots of the 
 dwarf pine could neither be beaten out nor 
 blown away, and the flames, now rushing up 
 in long lances, now flattened and twisted on 
 the rocky ground, roared as if trying to tell 
 the storm stories of the trees they belonged to, 
 as the light given out was telling the story of 
 the sunshine they had gathered in centuries 
 of summers. 
 
 The stars shone clear in the strip of sky be 
 tween the huge dark cliffs; and as I lay recall 
 ing the lessons of the day, suddenly the full 
 moon looked down over the canon wall, her 
 face apparently filled with eager concern, 
 which had a startling effect, as if she had left 
 her place in the sky and had come down to 
 gaze on me alone, like a person entering one's 
 bedroom. It was hard to realize that she was 
 in her place in the sky, and was looking abroad 
 on half the globe, land and sea, mountains, 
 
 221
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 plains, lakes, rivers, oceans, ships, cities with 
 their myriads of inhabitants sleeping and 
 waking, sick and well. No, she seemed to be 
 just on the rim of Bloody Canon and looking 
 only at me. This was indeed getting near to 
 Nature. I remember watching the harvest 
 moon rising above the oak trees in Wisconsin 
 apparently as big as a cart-wheel and not 
 farther than half a mile distant. With these 
 exceptions I might say I never before had seen 
 the moon, and this night she seemed so full 
 of life and so near, the effect was marvelously 
 impressive and made me forget the Indians, 
 the great black rocks above me, and the wild 
 uproar of the winds and waters making their 
 way down the huge jagged gorge. Of course 
 I slept but little and gladly welcomed the 
 dawn over the Mono Desert. By the time I 
 had made a cupful of tea the sunbeams were 
 pouring through the canon, and I set forth, 
 gazing eagerly at the tremendous walls of red 
 slates savagely hacked and scarred and appar 
 ently ready to fall in avalanches great enough 
 to choke the pass and fill up the chain of lake 
 lets. But soon its beauties came to view, and I 
 bounded lightly from rock to rock, admiring 
 the polished bosses shining in the slant sunshine 
 with glorious effect in the general roughness of 
 moraines and avalanche taluses, even toward 
 
 222
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 the head of the canon near the highest foun 
 tains of the ice. Here, too, are most of the 
 lowly plant people seen yesterday on the 
 other side of the divide now, opening their 
 beautiful eyes. None could fail to glory in 
 Nature's tender care for them in so wild a 
 place. The little ouzel is flitting from rock 
 to rock along the rapid swirling Canon Creek, 
 diving for breakfast in icy pools, and merrily 
 singing as if the huge rugged avalanche-swept 
 gorge was the most delightful of all its moun 
 tain homes. Besides a high fall on the north 
 wall of the canon, apparently coming direct 
 from the sky, there are many narrow cascades, 
 bright silvery ribbons zigzagging down the red 
 cliffs, tracing the diagonal cleavage joints of 
 the metamorphic slates, now contracted and 
 out of sight, now leaping from ledge to ledge 
 in filmy sheets through which the sunbeams 
 sift. And on the main Canon Creek, to which 
 all these are tributary, is a series of small falls, 
 cascades, and rapids extending all the way 
 down to the foot of the canon, interrupted 
 only by the lakes in which the tossed and 
 beaten waters rest. One of the finest of the 
 cascades is outspread on the face of a preci 
 pice, its waters separated into ribbon-like 
 strips, and woven into a diamond-like pattern 
 by tracing the cleavage joints of the rock, 
 
 223
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 while tufts of bryanthus, grass, sedge, saxi 
 frage form beautiful fringes. Who could im 
 agine beauty so fine in so savage a place? Gar 
 dens are blooming in all sorts of nooks and 
 hollows, at the head alpine eriogonums, 
 erigerons, saxifrages, gentians, cowania, bush 
 primula; in the middle region larkspur, colum 
 bine, orthocarpus, castilleia, harebell, epilo- 
 bium, violets, mints, yarrow; near the foot 
 sunflowers, lilies, brier rose, iris, lonicera, 
 clematis. 
 
 One of the smallest of the cascades, which 
 I name the Bower Cascade, is in the lower 
 region of the pass, where the vegetation is 
 snowy and luxuriant. Wild rose and dogwood 
 form dense masses overarching the stream, 
 and out of this bower the creek, grown strong 
 with many indashing tributaries, leaps forth 
 into the light, and descends in a fluted curve 
 thick-sown with crisp flashing spray. At the 
 foot of the canon there is a lake formed in part 
 at least by the damming of the stream by a 
 terminal moraine. The three other lakes in 
 the canon are in basins eroded from the solid 
 rock, where the pressure of the glacier was 
 greatest, and the most resisting portions of 
 the basin rims are beautifully, tellingly pol 
 ished. Below Moraine Lake at the foot of the 
 canon there are several old lake-basins lying 
 
 224
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 between the large lateral moraines which ex 
 tend out into the desert. These basins are 
 now completely filled up by the material car 
 ried in by the streams, and changed to dry 
 sandy flats covered mostly by grass and arte- 
 misia and sun-loving flowers. All these lower 
 lake-basins were evidently formed by terminal 
 moraine dams deposited where the receding 
 glacier had lingered during short periods of less 
 waste, or greater snowfall, or both. 
 
 Looking up the canon from the warm sunny 
 edge of the Mono plain my morning ramble 
 seems a dream, so great is the change in the 
 vegetation and climate. The lilies on the bank 
 of Moraine Lake are higher than my head, 
 and the sunshine is hot enough for palms. Yet 
 the snow round the arctic gardens at the sum 
 mit of the pass is plainly visible, only about 
 four miles away, and between lie specimen 
 zones of all the principal climates of the globe. 
 In little more than an hour one may swoop 
 down from winter to summer, from an Arctic 
 to a torrid region, through as great changes of 
 climate as one would encounter in traveling 
 from Labrador to Florida. 
 
 The Indians I had met near the head of the 
 canon had camped at the foot of it the night 
 before they made the ascent, and I found their 
 fire still smoking on the side of a small tributary 
 
 225
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 stream near Moraine Lake; and on the edge of 
 what is called the Mono Desert, four or five 
 miles from the lake, I came to a patch of ely- 
 mus, or wild rye, growing in magnificent wav 
 ing clumps six or eight feet high, bearing heads 
 six to eight inches long. The crop was ripe, and 
 Indian women were gathering the grain in 
 baskets by bending down large handfuls, beat 
 ing out the seed, and fanning it in the wind. 
 The grains are about five eighths of an inch 
 long, dark-colored and sweet. I fancy the bread 
 made from it must be as good as wheat bread. 
 A fine squirrelish employment this wild grain 
 gathering seems, and the women were evidently 
 enjoying it, laughing and chattering and look 
 ing almost natural, though most Indians I have 
 seen are not a whit more natural in their lives 
 than we civilized whites. Perhaps if I knew 
 them better I should like them better. The 
 worst thing about them is their uncleanliness. 
 Nothing truly wild is unclean. Down on the 
 shore of Mono Lake I saw a number of their 
 flimsy huts on the banks of streams that dash 
 swiftly into that dead sea, mere brush tents 
 where they lie and eat at their ease. Some of 
 the men were feasting on buffalo berries, lying 
 beneath the tall bushes now red with fruit. The 
 berries are rather insipid, but they must needs 
 be wholesome, since for days and weeks the In- 
 
 226
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 dians, it is said, eat nothing else. In the season 
 they in like manner depend chiefly on the fat 
 larvse of a fly that breeds in the salt water of 
 the lake, or on the big fat corrugated cater 
 pillars of a species of silkworm that feeds on 
 the leaves of the yellow pine. Occasionally a 
 grand rabbit-drive is organized and hundreds 
 are slain with clubs on the lake shore, chased 
 and frightened into a dense crowd by dogs, 
 boys, girls, men and women, and rings of sage 
 brush fire, when of course they are quickly 
 killed. The skins are made into blankets. In 
 the autumn the more enterprising of the hunt 
 ers bring in a good many deer, and rarely a 
 wild sheep from the high peaks. Antelopes 
 used to be abundant on the desert at the base 
 of the interior mountain-ranges. Sage hens, 
 grouse, and squirrels help to vary their wild 
 diet of worms ; pine nuts also from the small in 
 teresting Pinus monophylla, and good bread 
 and good mush are made from acorns and wild 
 rye. Strange to say, they seem to like the lake 
 larvae best of all. Long windrows are washed 
 up on the shore, which they gather and dry 
 like grain for winter use. It is said that wars, 
 on account of encroachments on each other's 
 worm-grounds, are of common occurrence 
 among the various tribes and families. Each 
 claims a certain marked portion of the shore. 
 
 227
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 The pine nuts are delicious large quantities 
 are gathered every autumn. The tribes of the 
 west flank of the range trade acorns for worms 
 and pine nuts. The squaws carry immense 
 loads on their backs across the rough passes 
 and down the range, making journeys of about 
 forty or fifty miles each way. 
 
 The desert around the lake is surprisingly 
 flowery. In many places among the sage bushes 
 I saw mentzelia, abronia, aster, bigelovia, and 
 gilia, all of which seemed to enjoy the hot sun 
 shine. The abronia, in particular, is a delicate, 
 fragrant, and most charming plant. 
 
 Opposite the mouth of the canon a range of 
 volcanic cones extends southward from the 
 lake, rising abruptly out of the desert like a 
 chain of mountains. The largest of the cones 
 are about twenty-five hundred feet high above 
 the lake level, have well-formed craters, and 
 all of them are evidently comparatively recent 
 additions to the landscape. At a distance of 
 a few miles they look like heaps of loose ashes 
 that have never been blest by either rain or 
 snow, but, for a' that and a' that, yellow pines 
 are climbing their gray slopes, trying to clothe 
 them and give beauty for ashes. A country of 
 wonderful contrasts. Hot deserts bounded by 
 snow-laden mountains, cinders and ashes 
 scattered on glacier-polished pavements, - 
 
 228
 
 MONO LAKE AND VOLCANIC CONES, LOOKING SOUTH 
 
 
 
 HIGHEST MONO VOLCANIC CONES (NEAR VIEW) 
 
 if
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 frost and fire working together in the making 
 of beauty. In the lake are several volcanic 
 islands, which show that the waters were once 
 mingled with fire. 
 
 Glad to get back to the green side of the 
 mountains, though I have greatly enjoyed the 
 gray east side and hope to see more of it. Read 
 ing these grand mountain manuscripts dis 
 played through every vicissitude of heat and 
 cold, calm and storm, upheaving volcanoes and 
 down-grinding glaciers, we see that everything 
 in Nature called destruction must be creation 
 s& change from beauty to beauty. 
 f Our glacier meadow camp north of the Soda 
 ^/Springs seems more beautiful every day. The 
 grass covers all the ground though the leaves 
 \are thread-like in fineness, and in walking on 
 the sod it seems like a plush carpet of marvel 
 ous richness and softness, and the purple pan 
 icles brushing against one's feet are not felt. 
 This is a typical glacier meadow, occupying 
 the basin of a vanished lake, very definitely 
 bounded by walls of the arrowy two-leaved 
 pines drawn up in a handsome orderly array 
 like soldiers on parade. There are many other 
 meadows of the same kind hereabouts im 
 bedded in the woods. The main big mead 
 ows along the river are the same in general and 
 extend with but little interruption for ten or 
 
 229
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 twelve miles, but none I have seen are so finely 
 finished and perfect as this one. It is richer in 
 flowering plants than the prairies of Wisconsin 
 and Illinois were when in all their wild glory. 
 The showy flowers are mostly three species of 
 gentian, a purple and yellow orthocarpus, a 
 golden-rod or two, a small blue pentstemon 
 almost like a gentian, potentilla, ivesia, pedi- 
 cularis, white violet, kalmia, and bryanthus. 
 There are no coarse weedy plants. Through 
 this flowery lawn flows a stream silently glid 
 ing, swirling, slipping as if careful not to make 
 the slightest noise. It is only about three feet 
 wide in most places, widening here and there 
 into pools six or eight feet in diameter with no 
 apparent current, the banks bossily rounded by 
 the down-curving mossy sod, grass panicles 
 over-leaning like miniature pine trees, and rugs 
 of bryanthus spreading here and there over 
 sunken boulders. At the foot of the meadow the 
 stream, rich with the juices of the plants it has 
 refreshed, sings merrily down over shelving rock 
 ledges on its way to the Tuolumne River. The 
 sublime, massive Mount Dana and its compan 
 ions, green, red, and white, loom impressively 
 above the pines along the eastern horizon; a 
 range or spur of gray rugged granite crags and 
 mountains on the north; the curiously crested 
 and battlemented Mount Hoffman on the west; 
 
 230
 
 BLOODY CANON AND MONO LAKE 
 
 and the Cathedral Range on the south with its 
 grand Cathedral Peak, Cathedral Spires, Uni 
 corn Peak, and several others, gray and pointed 
 or massively rounded.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 August 22. Clouds none, cool west wind, 
 slight hoarfrost on the meadows. Carlo is miss 
 ing; have been seeking him all day. In the 
 thick woods between camp and the river, 
 among tall grass and fallen pines, I discovered a 
 baby fawn. At first it seemed inclined to come 
 to me; but when I tried to catch it, and got 
 within a rod or two, it turned and walked 
 softly away, choosing its steps like a cautious, 
 stealthy, hunting cat. Then, as if suddenly 
 called or alarmed, it began to buck and run 
 like a grown deer, jumping high above the fallen 
 trunks, and was soon out of sight. Possibly its 
 mother may have called it, but I did not hear 
 her. I don't think fawns ever leave the home 
 thicket or follow their mothers until they are 
 called or frightened. I am distressed about 
 Carlo. There are several other camps and dogs 
 not many miles from here, and I still hope to 
 find him. He never left me before. Panthers 
 are very rare here, and I don't think any of 
 these cats would dare touch him. He knows 
 bears too well to be caught by them, and as for 
 Indians, they don't want him. 
 
 232
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 August 23. Cool, bright day, hinting Indian 
 summer. Mr. Delaney has gone to the Smith 
 Ranch, on the Tuolumne below Hetch-Hetchy 
 Valley, thirty-five or forty miles from here, so 
 I '11 be alone for a week or more, not really 
 alone, for Carlo has come back. He was at a 
 camp a few miles to the northwestward. He 
 looked sheepish and ashamed when I asked him 
 where he had been and why he had gone away 
 without leave. He is now trying to get me to 
 caress him and show signs of forgiveness. A 
 wondrous wise dog. A great load is off my mind. 
 I could not have left the mountains without 
 He seems very glad to get back to me. 
 
 Rose and crimson sunset, and soon after the 
 stars appeared the moon rose in most impres 
 sive majesty over the top of Mount Dana. I 
 sauntered up the meadow in the white light. 
 The jet-black tree-shadows were so wonder 
 fully distinct and substantial looking, I often 
 v stepped high in crossing them, taking them for 
 ^ black charred logs. 
 
 August 24. Another charming day, warm 
 and calm soon after sunrise, clouds only about 
 .01, faint, silky cirrus wisps, scarcely visible. 
 Slight frost, Indian summerish, the mountains 
 growing softer in outline and dreamy looking, 
 their rough angles melted off, apparently. Sky 
 at evening with fine, dark, subdued purple, al- 
 
 233
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 most like the evening purple of the San Joa- 
 quin plains in settled weather. The moon is 
 now gazing over the summit of Dana. Glorious 
 exhilarating air. I wonder if in all the world 
 there is another mountain range of equal 
 height blessed with weather so fine, and so 
 openly kind and hospitable and approachable. 
 August 25. Cool as usual in the morning, 
 quickly changing to the ordinary serene gener 
 ous warmth and brightness. Toward evening 
 the west wind was cool and sent us to the camp- 
 fire. Of all Nature's flowery carpeted moun 
 tain halls none can be finer than this glaciej 
 meadow. Bees and butterflies seem as abun 
 dant as ever. The birds are still here, showing } 
 no sign of leaving for winter quarters though / 
 the frost must bring them to mind. For my f 
 part I should like to stay here all winter or all 
 mylife or even all eternity, 
 ir August 26. Frost this morning; all the 
 
 / meadow grass and some of the pine needles 
 
 / sparkling with irised crystals, flowers of 
 
 light. Large picturesque clouds, craggy like 
 
 rocks, are piled on Mount Dana, reddish in 
 
 \ color like the mountain itself; the sky for a few 
 
 \ degrees around the horizon is pale purple, into 
 which the pines dip their spires with fine effect. 
 Spent the day as usual looking about me, watch 
 ing the changing lights, the ripening autumn 
 
 234
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 colors of the grass, seeds, late-blooming gen 
 tians, asters, goldenrods; parting the meadow 
 grass here and there and looking down into the 
 underworld of mosses and liverworts ; w r atching 
 the busy ants and beetles and other small peo 
 ple at work and play like squirrels and bears 
 in a forest; studying the formation of lakes 
 and meadows, moraines, mountain sculpture; 
 making small beginnings in these directions, 
 charmed by the serene beauty of everything. 
 
 The day has been extra cloudy, though 
 bright on the whole, for the clouds were 
 brighter than common. Clouds about .15, 
 which in Switzerland would be considered 
 extra clear. Probably more free sunshine falls 
 on this majestic range than on any other in 
 the world I 've ever seen or heard of. It has the 
 brightest weather, brightest glacier-polished 
 rocks, the greatest abundance of irised spray 
 from its glorious waterfalls, the brightest for 
 ests of silver firs and silver pines, more star- 
 shine, moonshine, and perhaps more crystal- 
 shine than any other mountain chain, and its 
 countless mirror lakes, having more light poured 
 into them, glow and spangle most. And how 
 glorious the shining after the short summer 
 showers and after frosty nights when the morn 
 ing sunbeams are pouring through the crystals 
 on the grass and pine needles, and how ineffa- 
 
 235
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 bly spiritually fine is the morning-glow on the 
 mountain-tops and the alpenglow of evening. 
 Well may the Sierra be named, not the Snowy 
 Range, but the Range of Light. 
 
 August 27. Clouds only .05, mostly white 
 and pink cumuli over the Hoffman spur to 
 wards evening, frosty morning. Crystals 
 grow in marvelous beauty and perfection of 
 form these still nights, every one built as 
 carefully as the grandest holiest temple, as if 
 planned to endure forever. 
 
 Contemplating the lace-like fabric of streams 
 outspread over the mountains, we are reminded 
 that everything is flowing going somewhere, 
 animals and so-called lifeless rocks as well as 
 water. Thus the snow flows fast or slow in 
 grand beauty-making glaciers and avalanches; 
 the air in majestic floods carrying minerals, 
 plant leaves, seeds, spores, with streams of 
 music and fragrance; water streams carrying 
 rocks both in solution and in the form of mud 
 particles, sand, pebbles, and boulders. Rocks 
 flow from volcanoes like water from springs, 
 and animals flock together and flow in currents 
 modified by stepping, leaping, gliding, flying, 
 swimming, etc. While the stars go streaming 
 through space pulsed on and on forever like 
 blood globules in Nature's warm heart. 
 
 August 28. The dawn a glorious song of 
 
 236
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 color. Sky absolutely cloudless. A fine crop 
 hoarfrost. Warm after ten o'clock. The gen 
 tians don't mind the first frost though their 
 petals seem so delicate; they close every night 
 as if going to sleep, and awake fresh as ever in 
 the morning sun-glory. The grass is a shade 
 browner since last week, but there are no 
 nipped wilted plants of any sort as far as I 
 have seen. Butterflies and the grand host of 
 smaller flies are benumbed every night, but 
 they hover and dance in the sunbeams over the 
 meadows before noon with no apparent lack of 
 playful, joyful life. Soon they must all fall like 
 petals in an orchard, dry and wrinkled, not a 
 wing of all the mighty host left to tingle the 
 air. Nevertheless new myriads will arise in the 
 spring, rejoicing, exulting, as if laughing cold 
 death to scorn. 
 
 August 29. Clouds about .05, slight frost. 
 Bland serene Indian summer weather. Have 
 been gazing all day at the mountains, watch 
 ing the changing lights. More and more plainly 
 are they clothed with light as a garment, white 
 tinged with pale purple, palest during the 
 midday hours, richest in the morning and even 
 ing. Everything seems consciously peaceful, 
 thoughtful, faithfully waiting God's will. 
 
 August 30. This day just like yesterday. A 
 few clouds motionless and apparently with no 
 
 237 
 
 -N
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 work to do beyond looking beautiful. Frost 
 enough for crystal building, glorious fields 
 of ice-diamonds destined to last but a night. 
 How lavish is Nature building, pulling down, 
 creating, destroying, chasing every material 
 particle from form to form, ever changing, ever 
 beautiful. 
 
 Mr. Delaney arrived this morning. Felt not 
 a trace of loneliness while he was gone. On 
 the contrary, I never enjoyed grander com 
 pany. The whole wilderness seems to be alive 
 and familiar, full of humanity. The very stones 
 seem talkative, sympathetic, brotherly. No 
 wonder when we consider that we all have the 
 same Father and Mother. 
 
 August 31. Clouds .05. Silky cirrus wisps 
 and fringes so fine they almost escape notice. 
 Frost enough for another crop of crystals on 
 the meadows but none on the forests. The 
 gentians, goldenrods, asters, etc., don't seem 
 to feel it; neither petals nor leaves are touched 
 though they seem so tender. Every day opens 
 and closes like a flower, noiseless, effortless. 
 Divine peace glows on all the majestic land 
 scape like the silent enthusiastic joy that 
 sometimes transfigures a noble human face. 
 
 September 1. Clouds .05 motionless, of 
 no particular color ornaments with no hint 
 of rain or snow in them. Day all calm an- 
 238
 
 other grand throb of Nature's heart, ripening 
 late flowers and seeds for next summer, full of 
 life and the thoughts and plans of life to come, 
 and full of ripe and ready death beautiful as 
 life, telling divine wisdom and goodness and 
 immortality. Have been up Mount Dana, 
 making haste to see as much as I can now that 
 the time of departure is drawing nigh. The 
 view T s from the summit reach far and wide, 
 eastward over the Mono Lake and Desert; 
 mountains beyond mountains looking strangely 
 barren and gray and bare like heaps of ashes 
 dumped from the sky. The lake, eight or ten 
 miles in diameter, shines like a burnished disk 
 of silver, no trees about its gray, ashy, cindery 
 shores. Looking westward, the glorious for 
 ests are seen sweeping over countless ridges 
 and hills, girdling domes and subordinate 
 mountains, fringing in long curving lines the 
 dividing ridges, and filling every hollow where 
 the glaciers have spread soil-beds however rocky 
 or smooth. Looking northward and south 
 ward along the axis of the range, you see the 
 glorious array of high mountains, crags and 
 peaks and snow, the fountain-heads of rivers 
 that are flowing west to the sea through the 
 famous Golden Gate, arid east to hot salt lakes 
 and deserts to evaporate and hurry back into 
 the sky. Innumerable lakes are shining like 
 
 239
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 eyes beneath heavy rock brows, bare or tree 
 fringed, or imbedded in black forests. Meadow 
 openings in the woods seem as numerous as 
 the lakes or perhaps more so. Far up the mo 
 raine-covered slopes and among crumbling 
 rocks I found many delicate hardy plants, 
 some of them still in flower. The best gains 
 of this trip were the lessons of unity and inter 
 relation of all the features of the landscape 
 revealed in general views. The lakes and 
 meadows are located just where the ancient 
 glaciers bore heaviest at the foot of the steep 
 est parts of their channels, and of course their 
 longest diameters are approximately parallel 
 with each other and with the belts of forests 
 growing in long curving lines on the lateral 
 and medial moraines, and in broad outspread 
 ing fields on the terminal beds deposited to 
 ward the end of the ice period when the gla 
 ciers were receding. The domes, ridges, and 
 spurs also show the influence of glacial action 
 in their forms, which approximately seem to 
 be the forms of greatest strength with refer 
 ence to the stress of oversweeping, past-sweep 
 ing, down-grinding ice-streams; survivals of 
 the most resisting masses, or those most favor 
 ably situated. How interesting everything is! 
 Every rock, mountain, stream, plant, lake, 
 lawn, forest, garden, bird, beast, insect seems 
 
 240
 
 ONE OF THE HIGHEST MOUNT HITTER FOUNTAINS
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 to call and invite us to come and learn some 
 thing of its history and relationship. But shall 
 the poor ignorant scholar be allowed to try 
 the lessons they offer? It seems too great and 
 good to be true. Soon I '11 be going to the low 
 lands. The bread camp must soon be removed. 
 If I had a few sacks of flour, an axe, and some 
 matches, I would build a cabin of pine logs, 
 pile up plenty of firewood about it and stay all 
 winter to see the grand fertile snow-storms, 
 watch the birds and animals that winter thus 
 high, how they live, how the forests look snow- 
 laden or buried, and how the avalanches look 
 and sound on their way down the mountains. 
 But now I'll have to go, for there is nothing 
 to spare in the way of provisions. I'll surely 
 be back, however, surely I'll be back. No 
 other place has ever so overwhelmingly at 
 tracted me as this hospitable, Godful wilder 
 ness. 
 
 September 2. A grand, red, rosy, crimson 
 day, a perfect glory of a day. What it 
 means I don't know. It is the first marked 
 change from tranquil sunshine with purple 
 mornings and evenings and still, white noons. 
 There is nothing like a storm, however. The 
 average cloudiness only about .08, and there 
 is no sighing in the woods to betoken a big 
 weather change. The sky was red in the 
 
 241
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 morning and evening, the color not diffused 
 like the ordinary purple glow, but loaded upon 
 separate well-defined clouds that remained 
 motionless, as if anchored around the jagged 
 mountain-fenced horizon. A deep-red cap, 
 bluffy around its sides, lingered a long time 
 on Mount Dana and Mount Gibbs, drooping 
 so low as to hide most of their bases, but leav 
 ing Dana's round summit free, which seemed 
 to float separate and alone over the big crimson 
 cloud. Mammoth Mountain, to the south of 
 Gibbs and Bloody Canon, striped and spotted 
 with snow-banks and clumps of dwarf pine, 
 was also favored with a glorious crimson cap, 
 in the making of which there was no trace of 
 economy a huge bossy pile colored with a 
 perfect passion of crimson that seemed impor 
 tant enough to be sent off to burn among the 
 stars in majestic independence. One is con 
 stantly reminded of the infinite lavishness and 
 fertility of Nature inexhaustible abundance 
 amid what seems enormous waste. And yet 
 when we look into any of her operations that 
 lie within reach of our minds, we learn that 
 no particle of her material is wasted or worn 
 out. It is eternally flowing from use to use, 
 beauty to yet higher beauty; and we soon cease 
 to lament waste and death, and rather rejoice 
 and exult in the imperishable, unspendable 
 
 242
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 wealth of the universe, and faithfully watch 
 and wait the reappearance of everything that 
 melts and fades and dies about us, feeling sure 
 that its next appearance will be better and 
 more beautiful than the last. 
 
 I watched the growth of these red-lands of 
 the sky as eagerly as if new mountain ranges 
 were being built. Soon the group of snowy 
 peaks in whose recesses lie the highest foun 
 tains of the Tuolumne, Merced, and North 
 Fork of the San Joaquin were decorated with 
 majestic colored clouds like those already de 
 scribed, but more complicated, to correspond 
 with the grand fountain-heads of the rivers 
 they overshadowed. The Sierra Cathedral, to 
 the south of camp, was overshadowed like 
 Sinai. Never before noticed so fine a union of 
 rock and cloud in form and color and substance, 
 drawing earth and sky together as one; and 
 so human is it, every feature and tint of color 
 goes to one's heart, and we shout, exulting in 
 wild enthusiasm as if all the divine show were 
 our own. More and more, in a place like this, 
 we feel ourselves part of wild Nature, kin to 
 everything. Spent most of the day high up 
 on the north rim of the valley, commanding 
 views of the clouds in all their red glory spread 
 ing their wonderful light over all the basin, 
 while the rocks and trees and small Alpine 
 
 243
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 plants at my feet seemed hushed and thought 
 ful, as if they also were conscious spectators 
 of the glorious new cloud-world. 
 
 Here and there, as I plodded farther and 
 higher, I came to small garden-patches and 
 ferneries just where one would naturally de 
 cide that no plant-creature could possibly live. 
 But, as in the region about the head of Mono 
 Pass and the top of Dana, it was in the wild 
 est, highest places that the most beautiful 
 and tender and enthusiastic plant-people were 
 found. Again and again, as I lingered over 
 these charming plants, I said, How came you 
 here? How do you live through the winter? 
 Our roots, they explained, reach far down the 
 joints of the summer-warmed rocks, and be 
 neath our fine snow mantle killing frosts can 
 not reach us, while we sleep away the dark 
 half of the year dreaming of spring. 
 
 Ever since I was allowed entrance into these 
 mountains I have been looking for cassiope, 
 said to be the most beautiful and best loved of 
 the heathworts, but, strange to say, I have not 
 yet found it. On my high mountain walks 
 I keep muttering, "Cassiope, cassiope." This 
 name, as Calvinists say, is driven in upon me, 
 notwithstanding the glorious host of plants 
 that come about me uncalled as soon as I show 
 myself. Cassiope seems the highest name of 
 
 244
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 all the small mountain-heath people, and as 
 if conscious of her worth, keeps out of my 
 I must find her soon, if at all this year. 
 
 September 4. All the vast sky dome is clear, 
 filled only with mellow Indian summer light.. 
 The pine and hemlock and fir cones are nearly 
 ripe and are falling fast from morning to night, 
 cut off and gathered by the busy squirrels. 
 Almost all the plafits have matured their seeds, 
 their summer work done; and the summer crop 
 of birds and deer will soon be able to follow 
 their parents to the foothills and plains at the 
 approach of whiter, when the snow begins to y 
 
 fly- 
 
 September 5. No clouds. Weather cool, 
 calm, bright as if no great thing was yet ready 
 to be done. Have been sketching the North 
 Tuolumne Church. The sunset gloriously 
 colored. 
 
 September 6. Still another perfectly cloud 
 less day, purple evening and morning, all the 
 middle hours one mass of pure serene sunshine. 
 Soon after sunrise the air grew warm, and 
 there was no wind. One naturally halted to 
 see what Nature intended to do. There is a 
 suggestion of real Indian summer in the hushed 
 brooding, faintly hazy weather. The yellow 
 atmosphere, though thin, is still plainly of 
 the same general character as that of eastern 
 
 245
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 Indian summer. The peculiar mellowness is 
 perhaps in part caused by myriads of ripe 
 spores adrift in the sky. 
 
 Mr. Delaney now keeps up a solemn talk 
 about the need of getting away from these 
 high mountains, telling sad stories of flocks 
 that perished in storms that broke suddenly 
 into the midst of fine innocent weather like 
 this we are now enjoying. u ln no case," said 
 he, "will I venture to stay so high and far back 
 in the mountains as we now are later than the 
 middle of this month, no matter how warm 
 and sunny it may be." He would move the 
 flock slowly at first, a few miles a day until 
 the Yosemite Creek basin was reached and 
 crossed, then while lingering in the heavy pine 
 woods should the weather threaten he could 
 hurry down to the foothills, where the snow 
 never falls deep enough to smother a sheep. 
 Of course I am anxious to see as much of the 
 wilderness as possible in the few days left me, 
 and I say again, May the good time come 
 when I can stay as long as I like with plenty 
 of bread, far and free from trampling flocks, 
 though I may well be thankful for this gen 
 erous foodful inspiring summer. Anyhow we 
 never know where we must go nor what 
 guides we are to get, men, storms, guardian 
 angels, or sheep. Perhaps almost everybody in 
 
 246
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 the least natural is guarded more than he is 
 ever aware of. All the wilderness seems to be 
 full of tricks and plans to drive and draw us up 
 into God's Light. 
 
 Have been busy planning, and baking bread 
 for at least one more good wild excursion 
 among the high peaks, and surely none, how 
 ever hopefully aiming at fortune or fame, ever 
 felt so gloriously happily excited by the out 
 look. 
 
 September 7. Left camp at daybreak and 
 made direct for Cathedral Peak, intending 
 to strike eastward and southward from that 
 point among the peaks and ridges at the heads 
 of the Tuolumne, Merced, and San Joaquin 
 Rivers. Down through the pine woods I made 
 my way, across the Tuolumne River and 
 meadows, and up the heavily timbered slope 
 forming the south boundary of the upper Tuol 
 umne basin, along the east side of Cathedral 
 Peak, and up to its topmost spire, which I 
 reached at noon, having loitered by the way 
 to study the fine trees two-leaved pine, 
 mountain pine, albicaulis pine, silver fir, and 
 the most charming, most graceful of all the 
 evergreens, the mountain hemlock. High, cool, 
 late-flowering meadows also detained me, and 
 lakelets and avalanche tracks and huge quar 
 ries of moraine rocks above the forests. 
 
 247
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 All the way up from the Big Meadows to 
 the base of the Cathedral the ground is cov 
 ered with moraine material, the left lateral 
 moraine of the great glacier that must have 
 completely filled this upper Tuolumne basin. 
 Higher there are several small terminal mo 
 raines of residual glaciers shoved forward at 
 right angles against the grand simple lateral 
 of the main Tuolumne Glacier. A fine place 
 to study mountain sculpture and soil making. 
 The view from the Cathedral Spires is very 
 fine and telling in every direction. Innumer 
 able peaks, ridges, domes, meadows, lakes, 
 and woods ; the forests extending in long curv 
 ing lines and broad fields wherever the glaciers 
 have left soil for them to grow on, while the 
 sides of the highest mountains show a strag 
 gling dwarf growth clinging to rifts in the 
 rocks apparently independent of soil. The 
 dark heath-like growth on the Cathedral roof 
 I found to be dwarf snow-pressed albicaulis 
 pine, about three or four feet high, but very 
 old looking. Many of them are bearing cones, 
 and the noisy Clarke crow is eating the seeds, 
 using his long bill like a woodpecker in dig 
 ging them out of the cones. A good many 
 flowers are still in bloom about the base of the 
 peak, and even on the roof among the little 
 pines, especially a woody yellow-flowered eri- 
 
 248
 
 GLACIER MEADOW STREWN WITH MORAINE BOULDERS 
 10,000 FEET ABOVE THE SEA (NEAR MOUNT DANA) 
 
 f : . ^*>smw^^ ' 
 
 -ut-^a&.' 
 FRONT OF CATHEDRAL PEAK
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 ogonum and a handsome aster. The body of 
 the Cathedral is nearly square, and the roof 
 slopes are wonderfully regular and symmetri 
 cal, the ridge trending northeast and south 
 west. This direction has apparently been 
 determined by structure joints in the granite. 
 The gable on the northeast end is magnificent 
 in size and simplicity, and at its base there is 
 a big snow-bank protected by the shadow of 
 the building. The front is adorned with many 
 pinnacles and a tall spire of curious work 
 manship. Here too the joints in the rock are 
 seen to have played an important part in de 
 termining their forms and size and general ar 
 rangement. The Cathedral is said to be about 
 eleven thousand feet above the sea, but the 
 height of the building itself above the level 
 of the ridge it stands on is about fifteen hun 
 dred feet. A mile or so to the westward there 
 is a handsome lake, and the glacier-polished 
 granite about it is shining so brightly it is not 
 easy in some places to trace the line between 
 the rock and water, both shining alike. Of 
 this lake with its silvery basin and bits of 
 meadow and groves I have a fine view from 
 the spires; also of Lake Tenaya, Cloud's Rest 
 and the South Dome of Yosemite, Mount Starr 
 King, Mount Hoffman, the Merced peaks, 
 and the vast multitude of snowy fountain 
 
 249
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 peaks extending far north and south along the 
 axis of the range. No feature, however, of all 
 the noble landscape as seen from here seems 
 more wonderful than the Cathedral itself, a 
 temple displaying Nature's best masonry and 
 sermons in stones. How often I have gazed 
 at it from the tops of hills and ridges, and 
 through openings in the forests on my many 
 short excursions, devoutly wondering, admir 
 ing, longing! This I may say is the first time 
 I have been at church in California, led here 
 at last, every door graciously opened for the 
 poor lonely worshiper. In our best times every 
 thing turns into religion, all the world seems 
 a church and the mountains altars. And lo, 
 here at last in front of the Cathedral is blessed 
 cassiope, ringing her thousands of sweet-toned 
 bells, the sweetest church music I ever en 
 joyed. Listening, admiring, until late in the 
 afternoon I compelled myself to hasten away 
 eastward back of rough, sharp, spiry, splintery 
 peaks, all of them granite like the Cathedral, 
 sparkling with crystals feldspar, quartz, 
 hornblende, mica, tourmaline. Had a rather 
 difficult walk and creep across an immense 
 snow and ice cliff which gradually increased 
 in steepness as I advanced until it was almost 
 impassable. Slipped on a dangerous place, 
 but managed to stop by digging my heels into 
 
 250
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 the thawing surface just on the brink of a 
 yawning ice gulf. Camped beside a little pool 
 and a group of crinkled dwarf pines; and as I 
 sit by the fire trying to write notes the shallow 
 pool seems fathomless with the infinite starry 
 heavens in it, while the onlooking rocks and 
 trees, tiny shrubs and daisies and sedges, 
 brought forward in the fire-glow, seem full of 
 thought as if about to speak aloud and tell all 
 their wild stories. A marvelously impressive 
 meeting in which every one has something 
 worth while to tell. And beyond the fire- 
 beams out in the solemn darkness, how im 
 pressive is the music of a choir of rills singing 
 their way down from the snow to the river! 
 And when we call to mind that thousands of 
 these rejoicing rills are assembled in each one 
 of the main streams, we wonder the less that 
 our Sierra rivers are songful all the way to the 
 sea. 
 
 About sundown saw a flock of dun grayish 
 sparrows going to roost in crevices of a crag 
 above the big snow-field. Charming little 
 mountaineers! Found a species of sedge in 
 flower within eight or ten feet of a snow-bank. 
 Judging by the looks of the ground, it can 
 hardly have been out in the sunshine much 
 longer than a week, and it is likely to be buried 
 again in fresh snow in a month or so, thus 
 
 251
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 making a winter about ten months long, while 
 spring, summer, and autumn are crowded and 
 hurried into two months. How delightful it 
 is to be alone here! How wild everything is 
 wild as the sky and as pure! Never shall I for 
 get this big, divine day the Cathedral and 
 its thousands of cassiope bells, and the land 
 scapes around them, and this camp in the gray 
 crags above the woods, with its stars and 
 streams and snow. 
 
 September 8. Day of climbing, scrambling, 
 sliding on the peaks around the highest source 
 of the Tuolumne and Merced. Climbed three 
 of the most commanding of the mountains, 
 whose names I don't know; crossed streams 
 and huge beds of ice and snow more than I 
 could keep count of. Neither could I keep 
 count of the lakes scattered on tablelands and 
 in the cirques of the peaks, and in chains in 
 the canons, linked together by the streams - 
 a tremendously wild gray wilderness of hacked, 
 shattered crags, ridges, and peaks, a few clouds 
 drifting over and through the midst of them 
 as if looking for work. In general views all the 
 immense round landscape seems raw and life 
 less as a quarry, yet the most charming flowers 
 were found rejoicing in countless nooks and 
 garden-like patches everywhere. I must have 
 done three or four days' climbing work in this 
 
 252
 
 rr ; <,- 
 
 Mt Ritter 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 '; i.- 
 
 r / 
 
 VIEW OF UPPER TUOLUMNE VALLEY
 
 THE TUOLUMNE CAMP 
 
 one. Limbs perfectly tireless until near sun 
 down, when I descended into the main upper 
 Tuolumne valley at the foot of Mount Lyell, 
 the camp still eight or ten miles distant. Going 
 up through the pine woods past the Soda 
 Springs Dome in the dark, where there is 
 much fallen timber, and when all the excite 
 ment of seeing things was wanting, I was tired. 
 Arrived at the main camp at nine o'clock, and 
 soon was sleeping sound as death.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 BACK TO THE LOWLANDS 
 
 September 9. Weariness rested away and I 
 feel eager and ready for another excursion a 
 month or two long in the same wonderful wil 
 derness. Now, however, I must turn toward 
 the lowlands, praying and hoping Heaven will 
 shove me back again. 
 
 The most telling thing learned in these 
 mountain excursions is the influence of cleav 
 age joints on the features sculptured from the 
 general mass of the range. Evidently the de 
 nudation has been enormous, while the inevit 
 able outcome is subtle balanced beauty. Com 
 prehended in general views, the features of the 
 wildest landscape seem to be as harmoniously 
 related as the features of a human face. Indeed, 
 they look human and radiate spiritual beauty, 
 divine thought, however covered and con 
 cealed by rock and snow. 
 
 Mr. Delaney has hardly had time to ask me 
 how I enjoyed my trip, though he has facili 
 tated and encouraged my plans all summer, 
 and declares I'll be famous some day, a kind 
 guess that seems strange and incredible to 
 a wandering wilderness-lover with never a 
 
 254
 
 BACK TO THE LOWLANDS 
 
 thought or dream of fame while humbly trying 
 to trace and learn and enjoy Nature's lessons. 
 
 The camp stuff is now packed on the horses, 
 and the flock is headed for the home ranch. 
 Away we go, down through the pines, leaving 
 the lovely lawii where we have camped so long. 
 I wonder if I '11 ever see it again. The sod is so 
 tough and close it is scarcely at all injured by 
 the sheep. Fortunately they are not fond of 
 silky glacier meadow grass. The day is per 
 fectly clear, not a cloud or the faintest hint of a 
 cloud is visible, and there is no wind. I wonder 
 if in all the world, at a height of nine thousand 
 feet, weather so steadily, faithfully calm and 
 bright and hospitable may anywhere else be 
 found. We are going away fearing destructive 
 storms, though it is difficult to conceive weather 
 changes so great. 
 
 Though the water is now low in the river, the 
 usual difficulty occurred in getting the flock 
 across it. Every sheep^ seemed to be invinci 
 bly determined to die any sort of dry death 
 rather than wet its feet. Carlo has learned the 
 sheep business as perfectly as the best shep 
 herd, and it is interesting to watch his intelli 
 gent efforts to push or frighten the silly crea 
 tures into the water* -They had to be fairly 
 crowded and shoved over the bank; and when 
 at last one crossed because it could not push 
 
 255
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 its way back, the whole flock suddenly plunged 
 in headlong together, as if the river was the 
 only desirable part of the world. Aside from 
 mere money profit one would rather herd 
 wolves than sheep. As soon as they clambered 
 up the opposite bank, they began baaing and 
 feeding as if nothing unusual had happened. 
 We crossed the meadows and drove slowly up 
 the south rim of the valley through the same 
 woods I had passed on my way to Cathedral 
 Peak, and camped for the night by the side 
 of a small pond on top of the big lateral 
 moraine. 
 
 September 10. In the morning at daybreak 
 not one of the two thousand sheep was in sight. 
 Examining the tracks, we discovered that they 
 had been scattered, perhaps by a bear. In a 
 few hours all were found and gathered into one 
 flock again. Had fine view of a deer. How 
 graceful and perfect in every way it seemed as 
 compared with the silly, dusty, tousled sheep! 
 From the high ground hereabouts had another 
 grand view to the northward a heaving, 
 swelling sea of domes and round-backed ridges 
 fringed with pines, and bounded by innumer 
 able sharp-pointed peaks, gray and barren- 
 looking, though so full of beautiful life. An 
 other day of the calm, cloudless kind, purple in 
 the morning and evening. The evening glow 
 
 256
 
 BACK TO THE LOWLANDS 
 
 has been very marked for the last two or three 
 weeks. Perhaps the "zodiacal light." 
 
 September II. Cloudless. Slight frost. Calm. 
 Fairly started downhill, and now are camped 
 at the west end meadows of Lake Tenaya a 
 charming place. Lake smooth as glass, mirror 
 ing its miles of glacier-polished pavements and 
 bold mountain walls. Find aster still in flower. 
 Here is about the upper limit of the dwarf form 
 of the goldcup oak, eight thousand feet 
 above sea-level, reaching about two thou 
 sand feet higher than the California black 
 oak (Quercus Calif ornica). Lovely evening, the 
 lake reflections after dark marvelously im 
 pressive. 
 
 September 12. Cloudless day, all pure sun- 
 gold. Among the magnificent silver firs once 
 more, within two miles- of the brink of Yosem- 
 ite, at the famous Portuguese bear camp. 
 Chaparral of goldcup oak, manzanita, and cea- 
 nothus abundant hereabouts, wanting about 
 the Tuolumne meadows, although the ele 
 vation is but little higher there. The two- 
 leaved pine, though far more abundant about 
 the Tuolumne meadow region, reaches its 
 greatest size on stream-sides hereabouts and 
 around meadows that are rather boggy. All 
 the best dry ground is taken by the magnificent 
 silver fir, which here reaches its greatest size 
 
 257
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 and forms a well-defined belt. A glorious tree. 
 Have fine bed of its boughs to-night. 
 
 September 13. Camp this evening at Yo- 
 semite Creek, close to the stream, on a little 
 sand flat near our old camp-ground. The vege 
 tation is already brown and yellow and dry; 
 the creek almost dry also. The slender form of 
 the two-leaved pine on its banks is, I think, the 
 handsomest I have anywhere seen. It might 
 easily pass at first sight for a distinct species, 
 though surely only a variety (Murray ana), due 
 to crowded and rapid growth on good soil. The 
 yellow pine is as variable, or perhaps more so. 
 The form here and a thousand feet higher, on 
 crumbling rocks, is broad branching, with 
 closely furrowed, reddish bark, large cones, and 
 long leaves. It is one of the hardiest of pines, 
 and has wonderful vitality. The tassels of long, 
 stout needles shining silvery in the sun, when 
 the wind is blowing them all in the same di 
 rection, is one of the most splendid spectacles 
 these glorious Sierra forests have to show. This 
 variety of Pinus ponderosa is regarded as a dis 
 tinct species, Pinus Jeffreyi, by some botanists. 
 The basin of this famous Yosemite stream is 
 extremely rocky, seems fairly to be paved 
 with domes like a street with big cobblestones. 
 I wonder if I shall ever be allowed to explore it. 
 It draws me so strongly, I would make any 
 
 258
 
 BACK TO THE LOWLANDS 
 
 sacrifice to try to read its lessons. I thank God 
 for this glimpse of it. The charms of these 
 mountains are beyond all common reason, un- 
 explainable and mysterious as life itself. 
 
 September 14. Nearly all day in magnificent 
 fir forest, the top branches laden with superb 
 erect gray cones shining with beads of pure 
 balsam. The squirrels are cutting them off at a 
 great rate. Bump, bump, I hear them falling, 
 soon to be gathered and stored for winter bread. 
 Those that chance to be left by the industrious 
 harvesters drop the scales and bracts when 
 fully ripe, and it is fine to see the purple- 
 winged seeds flying in swirling, merry-looking 
 flocks seeking their fortunes. The bole and 
 dead limbs of nearly every tree in the main 
 forest-belt are ornamented by conspicuous 
 tufts and strips of a yellow lichen. 
 
 Camped for the night at Cascade Creek, 
 near the Mono Trail crossing. Manzanita ber 
 ries now ripe. Cloudiness to-day about .10. 
 The sunset very rich, flaming purple and crim 
 son showing gloriously through the aisles of the 
 woods. 
 
 September 15. The weather pure gold, cloudi 
 ness about .05, white cirrus fleets and pencil- 
 ings around the horizon. Move two or three 
 miles and camp at Tamarack Flat. Wander 
 ing in the woods here back of the pines which 
 
 259
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 bound the meadows, I found very noble speci 
 mens of the magnificent silver fir, the tallest 
 about two hundred and forty feet high and 
 five feet in diameter four feet from the ground. 
 
 September 16. Crawled slowly four or five 
 miles to-day through the glorious forest to 
 Crane Flat, where we are camped for the night. 
 The forests we so admired in summer seem 
 still more beautiful and sublime in this mellow 
 autumn light. Lovely starry night, the tall, 
 spiring tree-tops relieved in jet black against 
 the sky. I linger by the fire, loath to go to bed. 
 
 September 17. Left camp early. Ran over 
 the Tuolumne divide and down a few miles to 
 a grove of sequoias that I had heard of, di 
 rected by the Don. They occupy an area of 
 perhaps less than a hundred acres. Some of the 
 trees are noble, colossal old giants, surrounded by 
 magnificent sugar pines and Douglas spruces. 
 The perfect specimens not burned or broken are 
 singularly regular and symmetrical, though not 
 at all conventional, showing infinite variety in 
 general unity and harmony; the noble shafts 
 with rich purplish brown fluted bark, free of 
 limbs for one hundred and fifty feet or so, orna 
 mented here and there with leafy rosettes; 
 main branches of the oldest trees very large, 
 crooked and rugged, zigzagging stiffly outward 
 seemingly lawless, yet unexpectedly stooping 
 
 260
 
 BACK TO THE LOWLANDS 
 
 just at the right distance from the. trunk and 
 dissolving in dense bossy masses of branchlets, 
 thus making a regular though greatly va 
 ried outline, a cylinder of leafy, outbulging 
 spray masses, terminating in a noble dome, 
 that may be recognized while yet far off up 
 heaved against the sky above the dark bed of 
 pines and firs and spruces, the king of all 
 conifers, not only in size but in sublime majesty 
 of behavior and port. I found a black, charred 
 stump aboyt thirty feet in diameter and eighty 
 or ninety feet high a venerable, impressive 
 old monument of a tree that in its prime may 
 have been the monarch of the grove; seedlings 
 and saplings growing up here and there, thrifty 
 and hopeful, giving no hint of the dying out of 
 the species. Not any unfavorable change of 
 climate, but only fire, threatens the existence 
 of these noblest of God's trees. Sorry I was not 
 able to get a count of the old monument's an 
 nual rings. 
 
 Camp this evening at Hazel Green, on the 
 broad back of the dividing ridge near our old 
 camp-ground when we were on the way up the 
 mountains in the spring. This ridge has the 
 finest sugar-pine groves and finest manzanita 
 and ceanothus thickets I have yet found on all 
 this wonderful summer journey. 
 
 September 18. Made a long descent on the 
 
 261
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 south side. of the divide to Brown's Flat, the 
 grand forests now left above us, though the 
 sugar pine still flourishes fairly well, and 
 with the yellow pine, libocedrus, and Douglas 
 spruce, makes forests that would be consid 
 ered most wonderful in any other part of the 
 world. 
 
 The Indians here, with great concern, pointed 
 to an old garden patch on the flat and told us 
 to keep away from it. Perhaps some of their 
 tribe are buried here. 
 
 September 19. Camped this evening at 
 Smith's Mill, on the first broad mountain 
 bench or plateau reached in ascending the 
 range, where pines grow large enough for good 
 lumber. Here wheat, apples, peaches, and 
 grapes grow, and we were treated to wine 
 and apples. The wine I did n't like, but Mr. 
 Delaney and the Indian driver and the shep 
 herd seemed to think the stuff divine. Com 
 pared to sparkling Sierra water fresh from the 
 heavens, it seemed a dull, muddy, stupid drink. 
 But the apples, best of fruits, how delicious 
 they were fit for gods or men. 
 
 On the way down from Brown's Flat we 
 stopped at Bower Cave, and I spent an hour in 
 it one of the most novel and interesting of 
 all Nature's underground mansions. Plenty of 
 sunlight pours into it through the leaves of the 
 
 262
 
 BACK TO THE LOWLANDS 
 
 four maple trees growing in its mouth, illumi 
 nating its clear, calm pool and marble chambers, 
 a charming place, ravishingly beautiful, but 
 the accessible parts of the walls sadly disfigured 
 with names of vandals. 
 
 September 20. The weather still golden and 
 calm, but hot. We are now hi the foot-hills, 
 and all the conifers are left behind, except the 
 gray Sabine pine. Camped at the Dutch Boy's 
 Ranch, where there are extensive barley fields 
 now showing nothing save dusty stubble. 
 
 September 21. A terribly hot, dusty, sun 
 burned day, and as nothing was to be gained 
 by loitering where the flock could find nothing 
 to eat save thorny twigs and chaparral, we 
 made a long drive, and before sundown reached 
 the home ranch on the yellow San Joaquin 
 plain. 
 
 September 22. The sheep were let out of the 
 corral one by one, this morning, and counted, 
 and strange to say, after all their adventur 
 ous wanderings in bewildering rocks and brush 
 and streams, scattered by bears, poisoned 
 by azalea, kalmia, alkali, all are accounted 
 for. Of the two thousand and fifty that left 
 the corral in the spring lean and weak, two 
 thousand and twenty-five have returned fat 
 and strong. The losses are: ten killed by bears, 
 one by a rattlesnake, one that had to be killed 
 
 263
 
 MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA 
 
 after it had broken its leg on a boulder slope, 
 and one that ran away in blind terror on being 
 accidentally separated from the flock, thir 
 teen all told. Of the other twelve doomed never 
 to return, three were sold to ranchmen and nine 
 were made camp mutton. 
 
 Here ends my forever memorable first High 
 Sierra excursion. I have crossed the Range of 
 Light, surely the brightest and best of all the 
 Lord has built; and rejoicing hi its glory, I 
 gladly, gratefully, hopefully pray I may see it 
 again.
 
 INDEX
 
 INDEX 
 
 Abies concolor and magnifica. 
 
 See Fir, silver. 
 Abronia, 228. 
 Adenostema fasdcidata, 14, 
 
 19, 20. 
 
 Adiantum ChUense, 17. 
 Alpenglow, 220. 
 Alvord, Gen. Benjamin, 183, 
 
 185, 186. 
 Animals, domestic, afraid of 
 
 bears, 107, 108. 
 Animals, wild, in the Merced 
 
 Valley, 43; clean, 18, 79; 
 
 man-eaters, 211, 212. 
 Antone, Portuguese shepherd, 
 
 209, 210. 
 Ants, 8, 43-47; bite of, 
 
 46. 
 
 Arctomys monax. See Wood- 
 chuck. 
 Arctostaphylos pungens. See 
 
 Manzanita. 
 Avalanches, 216, 217. 
 Azalea, "sheep poison," 22. 
 Azalea ocddentalis, 20. 
 
 Baccharis, 20. 
 
 Beans, as food, 81. 
 
 Bear, cinnamon, adventure 
 with, 134-37. 
 
 Bear-hunting, 28-30. 
 
 Bears, favorite feeding- 
 grounds of, 28, 29; fond of 
 ants, 46; fear of, 107, 108; 
 very shy in Sierra, 108; 
 
 raid sheep camps, 191, 192, 
 194, 207, 209, 210, 211. 
 
 Billy, Mr. Delaney's shep 
 herd, 6, 61, 62, 75, 80, 146, 
 147; his everlasting cloth 
 ing, 129, 130; afraid of 
 bears, 191, 193; quarrels 
 with Mr. Delaney, 205. 
 
 Birds, 68, 96; in the Merced 
 Valley, 50, 65-67; water 
 ouzel, 106, 107, 223; wrens, 
 170; on Mount Hoffman, 
 173-77; sparrows on Ca 
 thedral Peak, 251. 
 
 Bloody Canon, 214; origin of 
 name, 215. 
 
 Bluebottle fly, 139. 
 
 Borer, 169. 
 
 Boulders, in streams, 47-49; 
 near Tamarack Creek, 100, 
 101. 
 
 Bower Cascade, 224. 
 
 Bower Cave, a marble palace, 
 
 ^25, 26, 262, 263. 
 
 Bread, famine, 75-85; ef 
 fects of the want of, 76, 77; 
 sheep-camp, 82, 83. 
 
 Brodiaea, 20. 
 
 Brown, David, bear-hunter, 
 27-30. 
 
 Brown's Flat, 25, 27, 262. 
 
 Bryanthus, purple-flowered, 
 151, 161, 218. 
 
 Buffalo berries, 226. 
 
 Butler, Henry, 189, 190. 
 
 267
 
 INDEX 
 
 Butler, Prof. J. D., strange ex 
 perience of Muir with, 178- 
 91. 
 
 Butterflies, 16Q. 
 
 Calochortus albus, 17. 
 
 Camping, in the foothills, 10, 
 11; on the North Fork of 
 the Merced, 32-74; at 
 Tamarack Flat, 99; in the 
 Yosemite, 122; near Soda 
 Springs, 201, 229; alone, in 
 Bloody Canon, 220-22; on 
 the Tuolumne, 232-53. 
 
 Canon Creek, 223. 
 
 Carlo, St. Bernard dog, with 
 Muir in the Sierra, 5, 6, 43, 
 57, 59, 60, 62, 123, 124, 154, 
 181, 192, 193; afraid of 
 bears, 116, 135; runs away, 
 232, 233, 255. 
 
 Cascade Creek, 104, 259. 
 
 Cassiope, 244, 250. 
 
 Cathedral Peak, 154, 212, 231, 
 247, 250; well named, 146; 
 a majestic temple, 198; 
 view from, 248; height, 
 249. 
 
 Cedar, incense (Libocedrus 
 decurrens), 20, 21, 93. 
 
 Chamcebatia foliolosa, 33, 34. 
 
 Chinaman, shepherd's helper, 
 6,9. 
 
 Chipmunk, in the Sierra, 171, 
 ^72. 
 
 Cleavage joints, 254. 
 
 Clouds, 56rT3r 
 
 S43 ; sky mountains, 18, 19, 
 7, 39, 61, 133, 144, 145. 
 Coffee, 82. 
 Corylus rostrata, 65. 
 Coulterville, 9, 17, 19. 
 
 Crane Flat, 90, 92, 93, 260. 
 Crows, 9, 248. 
 
 Crystals, radiant, 153, 250; 
 frost, 234, 236. 
 
 Daisy, blue arctic, 218. 
 
 Deer, black-tailed, 142. 
 
 Delaney, Mr., sheep-owner, 6, 
 12, 25, 27, 36, 83, 103, 104, 
 112-14, 194, 206, 233, 238, 
 246, 254, 262; engages Muir 
 to go with his flock to 
 the Sierra, 4, 5; describes 
 David Brown's method of 
 bear-hunting, 28-30; talks 
 of bears in general, 107, 
 108; a big-hearted Irish 
 man, 214. 
 
 Dendromecon rigidum, 39. 
 
 Devil's slides, 150. 
 
 Dogwood, Nuttall's flowering, 
 64. 
 
 Dome Creek, 121. 
 
 Don Quixote, nickname for 
 Mr. Delaney, 6, 12. 
 
 Elymus (wild rye), 226. 
 Emerald Pool, 189. 
 Eskimo, 69. 
 
 Fawn, baby, 232. 
 
 Ferns, 40, 41. 
 
 Fir, silver, 90-93, 98, 105, 
 257; cones, 91, 167, 168, 
 259; size, 143, 161, 162, 166, 
 260; age, 166, 167; leaves, 
 167. 
 
 Fire, in woods, 19, 202, 203. 
 
 Fishes, none in high Sierra 
 lakes, 200. 
 
 Flicker, 173. 
 
 Floods, 48. 
 
 268
 
 INDEX 
 
 Flowers, in Merced Valley, 
 33, 35, 36, 40, 58; at Crane 
 Flat, 92, 93, 94; on Yosem- 
 ite Creek, 109, 110; on Hoff 
 man Range, 151, 152, 158, 
 160, 196; in Tuolumne 
 Meadows, 199, 203; in 
 Bloody Canon, 218, 224, 
 225, 228, 230. 
 
 Flowing, everything is, 236. 
 
 Food, of bears, 28, 29, 46, 
 192; of squirrels, 18, 69, 74, 
 168; of Indians, 12, 46, 70, 
 226-28. 
 
 Foothills, 3-31. 
 
 Frogs, in the highest lakes,200. 
 
 Frost, crystals, 234, 236. 
 
 Gallflies, 170. 
 
 Glacial action, 101, 102, 196, 
 
 197, 200, 202, 203, 205, 208, 
 
 215, 216, 224, 240, 248. 
 Glacier meadows, 229, 230. 
 Gold region, 55, 56; mines 
 
 near Mono Lake, 105. 
 Grasshopper, a queer fellow, 
 
 139-41. 
 
 Greeley's Mill, 17, 20. 
 Grouse, blue or dusky, 175, 
 
 176. 
 
 Half-Dome, or South Dome, 
 
 117, 122, 129. 
 Hare, 9. 
 
 Hare, little chief, 154, 155. 
 Hazel, beaked, 65. 
 Hazel Creek, 89. 
 Hazel Green, 87, 261. 
 Heat, in the foothills, 8. 
 Hemlock, mountain (Tsuga 
 
 Mertensiana), 151, 247. 
 Hogs, 108. 
 
 Horseshoe Bend, 13, 19. 
 
 House-fly, on North Dome, 
 138, 139; on Mount Hoff 
 man, 169. 
 
 Hutchings, Mrs., landlady, 
 182. 
 
 Hlilouette, 189. 
 
 Indian Basin, 121. 
 
 Indian Canon, 115, 122, 181, 
 186, 187. 
 
 Indian Creek, 208. 
 
 Indians, Digger, 12, 30, 31, 
 262; shepherd's helper with 
 Muir, 6, 9, 10, 86, 90; ant- 
 eaters, 46; their power of 
 escaping observation, 53, 
 54, 58; an old woman, 58, 
 59; Chief Tenaya, 165; a 
 hunter, 205, 206; food, 
 206, 226, 227; a dirty band, 
 218, 219; women gathering 
 wild rye, 226. 
 
 Ivy, poison, 26. 
 
 Jack, the shepherd's little 
 
 dog, 62, 63. 
 Joe, Portuguese shepherd,209, 
 
 210. 
 Juniper, Sierra (Juniperus 
 
 occidental-is), 110, 163-65. 
 
 Lake Hoffman, 154. 
 
 Lake Tenaya, 153, 155, 165, 
 195-97, 257; Indian name, 
 166. 
 
 Landscape, sculpture of, 14; 
 a glorious, 115, 116; fea 
 tures harmonious, 240, 254. 
 
 Liberty Cap, 183. 
 
 Libocedrus decurrens. See Ce 
 dar, incense. 
 
 269
 
 INDEX 
 
 Lichens, 259. 
 Lightning, 15, 124, 125. 
 Lilies, 36, 37, 59, 60, 225. 
 Lilium pardalinum, 37. 
 Lilium parvum, 94, 95, 121. 
 Lily, twining, 50; on poison 
 
 ivy, 26. 
 
 Lily, Washington, 103. 
 Linosyris, 20. 
 Lizards, 8, 41^43, 65. 
 
 Magpies, 9. 
 
 Mammoth Mountain,216,242. 
 
 Manzanita (Arctostaphylos) , 
 
 88, 89; berries, 259. 
 Meadows, three kinds of, 158, 
 
 159; glacier, 229, 230. 
 Merced River, 189; North 
 
 Fork of, 25; camp on, 32-74. 
 Merced Valley, 13, 115. 
 Mono Desert, 226. 
 Mono Lake, 214, 226, 239; 
 
 flowers around, 228. 
 Mono Trail, 104, 109, 115, 
 
 195-213. 
 Moon, startling effect of, 221, 
 
 222. 
 
 Moraine Lake, 224, 225. 
 Moraines, 102, 216, 224, 240, 
 
 248. 
 
 Mosquitoes, Sierra, 169. 
 Mount Dana, 199, 230, 233, 
 
 234, 239, 242. 
 Mount Gibbs, 199, 242. 
 Mount Hoffman, 230; height 
 
 of, 149; watershed, 150; 
 
 flowers, 151, 152, 158, 160; 
 
 hemlocks and pines, 151, 
 
 152; crystals, 153; strange 
 
 dove-colored bird, 176. 
 Mount Lyell, 198, 253. 
 Mutton, exclusive diet of, 76. 
 
 Neotoma, 71-73. 
 Nevada Canon, 182. 
 Nevada Fall, 187, 188, 207. 
 North Dome,131,134; strange 
 experience on, 178, 179. 
 
 Oak, blue (Quercus Douglasii) , 
 
 8, 15. 
 Oak, California black (Quercus 
 
 Californica), 15, 257. 
 Oak, dwarf (Quercus chryso- 
 
 lepis), 161. 
 
 Oak, goldcup, 50, 187, 257. 
 Oak, mountain live, 38. 
 Oak, poison, 26. 
 Oreortyx ricta, 174, 175. 
 
 Pictures, inadequate, 131. 
 
 Pika, 154, 155. 
 
 Pilot Peak Ridge, 32, 57, 65, 
 
 67,84. 
 Pine, dwarf (Pinus albicaulis), 
 
 152, 248; as fuel, 221. 
 Pine, mountain (Pinus mon- 
 
 ticola), 152. 
 Pine, Sabine, 12, 13, 263; 
 
 cones, 12. 
 Pine, silver, 52. 
 Pine, sugar, 17, 18, 51, 88, 90, 
 
 93; cones, 50. 
 Pine, two-leaved or tamarack, 
 
 99,110,162,163,257,258. 
 Pine, yellow, 15, 51, 52, 88, 
 
 93, 258; cones, 17, 18. 
 Pino Blanco, 13. 
 Poppy, bush (Dendromecon 
 
 rigidum), 39. 
 
 Porcupine Creek, 121, 206. 
 Portuguese shepherds, 206, 
 
 207, 208-10. 
 
 Pseudotsuga Douglasii, 93. 
 Pteris aquilina, 40, 41. 
 
 270
 
 INDEX 
 
 Quail, mountain (Oreortyx 
 
 ricta), 174, 175. 
 Quails, 9. 
 
 Quercus Californica, 15, 257. 
 Quercus chrysolepis, 161. 
 Quercus Douglasii, 8, 15. 
 
 Rabbits, cottontail, 9, 227. 
 Raindrop, history of, 125- 
 
 27. 
 
 Range of Light, 236, 264. 
 Rat, wood (Neotoma), 71- 
 
 73. 
 Rattlesnakes, 9; dog bitten by 
 
 one, 63. 
 Rhus diversiloba. See Ivy, 
 
 poison. 
 
 Robin, 173, 174, 218. 
 Rye, wild, 226. 
 
 Sandy, David Brown's dog, 
 27, 28, 30. 
 
 Saxifrage, giant (Saxifraga 
 peltata), 35. 
 
 Sedge, 34, 35. 
 
 Seeds, 68. 
 
 Sequoia gigantea, 93; grove of, 
 260, 261. 
 
 Shadows, of leaves, 59; sub 
 stantial looking, 233. 
 
 Sheep, Mr. Delaney's flock, 
 5, 8, 9, 11, 61, 64, 86, 87, 
 256, 263, 264; rate of travel, 
 7; camping, 10; poisoned by 
 azalea, 22; profitable, 22; 
 hoofed locusts, 56, 86; stray, 
 57; destructiveness of, 97, 
 195; crossing a creek, 111- 
 14; have poor brain stuff, 
 114; raided by bears, 191, 
 192, 194; afraid of getting 
 wet, 201, 202, 255. 
 
 Shepherd, degrading life of 
 
 the Calif ornian, 23; in Scot 
 
 land, 24; the oriental, 24; 
 
 bed and food, 80, 81. 
 Slate, metamorphic, 6, 8, 14, 
 
 34. 
 
 Smith's Mill, 262. 
 Soda Springs, 201, 229, 253. 
 South Dome, 122, 129. 
 Sparrows, 251. 
 Spiders, 53. 
 Spruce, Douglas, 93. 
 Squirrel, California gray, 69, 
 
 70. 
 Squirrel, Douglas, 18, 68-70, 
 
 96, 168. 
 Stropholirion Californicum. 
 
 See Lily, twining. 
 Sunrise, in the Yosemite, 124. 
 Sunset, 53. 
 
 Tamarack Creek, 100, 102, 
 
 106. 
 
 Tamarack Flat, 90, 259. 
 Tea, 80, 82. 
 Telepathy, strange case of, 
 
 178-91. 
 
 Tenaya, Yosemite chief, 165. 
 Tenaya Creek, 156. 
 Three Brothers, 207. 
 Thunder, in the mountains. 
 
 Tissiack. See Half-Dome. 
 Tourists, 98, 104, 190. ' 
 Treesaj 
 
 'uolumne Camp, 232-53. 
 
 'uolumne Meadows, 198, 
 199. 
 
 Vaccinium, dwarf, 218. 
 Veratrum Californicum, 93, 
 94. 
 
 271
 
 INDEX 
 
 Vernal Fall, 182, 183, 187, 188, 
 
 207. 
 Volcanic cones, 228. 
 
 Water, music of, 21, 49, 97, 
 
 106. 
 Waterfalls, 34, 36, 47, 106, 
 
 118-20, 132, 187, 188, 223, 
 
 224. 
 
 Water ouzel, 106, 107, 223. 
 Waycup, 173. 
 Weather, in the mountains, 
 
 36, 39, 56, 61, 67, 73, 235, 
 <237,441, 245^ )\ I 
 Willow, dwarf, 217. 
 
 Wind, at night, 21, 220. 
 Woodchuck (Arctomys mo- 
 
 nax), 154, 172, 173. 
 Wrens, story of a pair, 170. 
 
 Yosemite Creek, 104, 107, 
 109, 118, 150, 154, 258. 
 
 Yosemite Valley, 102, 104, 
 106, 107, 115-48, 187; a 
 nerve-trying experience in, 
 118-20; sunrise in, 124; 
 thunder storm, 124, 125; 
 
 ""grandeur, 132, 133, 190. 
 
 Zodiacal light, 257. 
 
 8532
 
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 RET OCT13'W 
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