Chapter 12

CATHEDRAL ROCKS, 2300 FEET HIGH, IN YOSEMITE PARK, CAL.—These majestic and towering rocks are so striking a feature of Yosemite scenery that they have attracted great attention from artists and photographers, and many copies have been made both in paintings and photographs. But we have seen none that are so beautiful or accurate as the one on this page. It is a perfect picture in all respects, even to the reflection in the lake.

HEATHER LAKE AND MOUNTAIN SCENERY ABOUT LAKE TAHOE.

At Wadsworth, Truckee Valley is entered, green with the joy of exuberant nature, which we follow until Truckee City, a gem of the Sierras, is gained, and realize that we have now to climb over the second ridge of the continent, the ragged ribs that flank the great water-shed of the three Americas. Truckee is not only a pretty village, nestling on the snowy bosom of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but it is the center of a lake region, wherein abound some of the most remarkable bodies of water to be found on the globe. Fourteen miles towards the south is California’s favorite resort, Lake Tahoe, a really marvelous sheet of crystalline water that, from the mountain peaks which enclose it, looks like a colossal beryl that through some disturbment has been rolled out of the sky and found lodgment in the great lap of the Sierras. The environs of the lake are wondrously grand, and the air a very enchantment, so great is its exhilaration. The lake is twenty-two miles long, ten miles wide, and 1,700 feet deep, while the surface is 6,247 feet above sea level, and it is, as Mark Twain eloquently describes it, “a sea in the clouds; a sea that has character, and asserts it at times in solemn calms, and again in savage storms; a sea whose royal seclusion is guarded by a cordon of sentinel peaks that lift their frosty fronts 9,000 feet above the level world; a sea whose every aspect is impressive, whose belongings are beautiful, whose lonely majesty types the Deity.” Tahoe’s waters abound with trout and other fish, whose bodies flash the sunlight from a depth of thirty feet. The waters are so cold that decomposition is arrested below the surface. Many persons have been drowned in the lake, but not one has ever been recovered, when the accident occurred in deep water. So pellucid are its waters that a boat gliding along the surface appears to be passing through the air, and from the prows of swift-moving crafts, sheets of clearest glass seem to be rolling away. Many beautiful cottages are built along the shore, the summer homes of wealthy Californians, and in season the lake is animate with boats and the beach alive with pleasure parties.

THE BROW OF EL CAPITAN GIRDLED WITH CLOUDS.—This is one of the grandest and most beautiful views of Yosemite scenery that we have ever had the pleasure of beholding. El Capitan, or, as we should say in plain English, and certainly much more expressively, “The Captain,” lifts his haughty head 3300 feet above the valley, and calmly surveys the surrounding landscape as if he had a right to command it. Our photographers were fortunate in being able to procure such a splendid representation of cloud effects as are shown along the brow of the mountain in this picture.

CARRIAGE ROAD THROUGH THE HEART OF MARIPOSA’S BIG TREE.—This splendid photograph will give a better idea of the immense size of California’s big trees than any other comparison or illustration could. After cutting a roadway through the tree large enough to admit of the passage of a carriage or an omnibus, it still has left sufficient strength of root to support its trunk and branches and stand firm against the assaults of the storms and earthquakes which frequently bring down other monarchs of the forest less firmly anchored in the heart of the earth.

ICE FORMATION AT FOOT OF BRIDAL VEIL FALLS.

NEVADA FALLS, YOSEMITE.

Yosemite is beautiful and grand in all seasons of the year, in winter as well as in the summer-time. But it is not often visited by tourists except in the balmy season of summer, and thus some of its greatest wonders would go unobserved except for the efforts of the energetic photographer. On this page we have a combination of winter and summer views, and are thereby enabled to enjoy both seasons at the same time.

DONNER LAKE, NEAR TRUCKEE, CALIFORNIA.

A little way west of Truckee, and three miles from the road, is Donner Lake, a beautiful body, but chiefly famous for the tragic history which is connected with it. The story, in brief, is this: In the winter of 1846-47, a party of eighty-two emigrants, while on their way to California, were overtaken by a snow-storm while encamped on the shore of the lake, and of the number thirty-six perished of starvation. A ghastly tale of cannibalism is told of the survivors, and the whole tragedy is embalmed in Bret Harte’s novel of “Gabriel Conroy.” Besides these two more celebrated bodies of water near Truckee, there are Pyramid, Angeline, Silver, and Palisade lakes, all near by, and are more or less popular resorts, particularly with fishing parties.

As we proceed up the Sierras the cold increases, until when the town of Summit is reached snow lies upon the ground throughout the year, and it is perpetual winter there, 7,000 feet above the sea. The route is for many miles enclosed by snow-sheds, but the snow-plow has plenty of work to do in keeping the intervals clear. Formerly this work was performed by three or four engines pushing a big machine, somewhat resembling a shovel-board plow, through the heavy banks of snow, but it is now more speedily and effectively accomplished by a rotary snow-plow, as shown in one of our illustrations. The machine is, in fact, a giant auger, which is run by steam supplied by the engines behind it, and being set in motion, rapidly bores its way through the drifts, throwing the snow at an angle of forty-five degrees, and with a force sufficient to deposit it fifty feet from the track.

AGASSIZ COLUMN, YOSEMITE.

THE PASSAGE-WAY AROUND CAPE HORN.

The cliffs at Cape Horn, so beautifully represented on this page, are over 2000 feet high, and so precipitous that, when work was commenced in making a bed for the railroad tracks, men had to be lowered by ropes from the top and held in position until, with picks and crowbars, they could cut for themselves a footing in the rock walls. As the cars roll round the jagged point they are on a level with the clouds, while below for nearly 2000 feet appear the forests of pine trees, so reduced in size by distance that they appear like ordinary whisk brooms.—Agassiz Column is one of the prominent features of Yosemite scenery, and it is splendidly reproduced in the fine photograph on this page.

SNOW SHOVELERS CUTTING A BLOCKADE ON THE SIERRA NEVADAS.

The road begins to descend rapidly after leaving Summit, but the most wonderful scenery in all California is passed in the next 150 miles. Donner’s Peak comes into view as the first suggestion of a dreadfully tumultuous condition of nature, wrought by the great glaciers that in the early centuries came grinding their way over the mountains. There is Emigrant Gap, through which the first gold-seekers found their way into the Golden Valley, and American Cañon, along the dizzy edge of which the train runs at a free and almost reckless pace. The way is broken with quarreling cascades, fast-dashing creeks and beautiful blue cañons, in which an autumn haze perpetually lingers. Giant’s Gap, in the American Cañon, is a vast rent in an opposing mountain, that looks like it might have been torn out by the hand of the Thunder God to make a way for the trolls. Chasm after chasm comes into view with grandeur and awfulness as a background until presently the train runs out on a ledge that appears to passengers inside the coaches to have no more substantial support than a bank of clouds. We are away up high on the breast of a mountain that shoots upward 2,000 feet perpendicularly, and looking out of the car windows there is nothing but clouds bowling along on the same level, and below forests of pine, stunted by distance, until the trees are no bigger than whisk-brooms, and American River is a white thread not too large to run through the eye of a darning-needle. This is Cape Horn, where the ledge is so precipitous that in making the road-bed it was necessary to lower the first workmen by means of ropes, which were held fast at the summit while the suspended men plied their picks and crow-bars until a footing was made.

“FLOWER BEDS IN FRONT OF HOTEL DEL MONTE, MONTEREY.”

UPPER YOSEMITE FALLS IN WINTER.

VIEW OF AMERICAN RIVER CAÑON, IN THE SIERRAS.

Yosemite Falls in winter, with the lace-like sheet of water gently pouring down between the columns of ice on either side, present a scene of indescribable loveliness. It is a scene, also, not often witnessed, for Yosemite has a dearth of visitors during the winter.—The companion photograph affords a fine view of scenery in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California, made famous by Mark Twain in one of his jokes, wherein he stated that the changes of climate in that region were so sudden and extreme that, while hunting in the mountains one day, his dog’s head was sun-struck by the intense heat, while at the same time his tail was frozen by the severe cold prevailing at his other extremity. The point of the joke will be appreciated after reading the splendid description of this locality by the author ofGlimpses of Americaon page192.

A ROTARY SNOW PLOW CUTTING THROUGH A BLOCKADE ON THE SIERRAS.

After leaving Cape Horn, and passing many relics of early mining days: holes in the ground, decaying sluice-boxes, long flumes, tumble-down shanties, and a few hydraulic works, the road gains the Sacramento Valley, where the passengers are met by a burst of sunshine that makes the land laugh with plenty, and fills every heart with gladness. The air is fragrant with the almond and orange, and where husbandry has not covered the broad-spreading acres with grain or vineyards, there are flowers of a thousand hues, and butterflies of corresponding colors. The early emigrants from the East, who sought fortune on the Pacific slope after the gold discoveries of 1848-49, found a paradise in the fragrant and prolific valley of the Sacramento, which, beautiful at all times, was to them, after a journey of almost unbearable hardships across the burning sands of the American Desert, a region of incomparable delight. There is, indeed, no contrast in all nature so sudden and so great as that afforded between Nevada and California, the line of separation being the Sierras. Out of the arid plains, a very ocean of verdureless desolation, the road rises rapidly to altitudes of perpetual snow and into forests of pine that cover the sides of fearful precipices, the peaks of towering mountains and the jaws of yawning chasms; then it swoops down again into a land of perennial bloom, the antithesis of that of the eastern desert, where, instead of parching, the sun revivifies and forces into fruitage orchards, vineyards, groves, gardens, and fields, making the land one of teeming plenty, and joyful with song of bird, flash of stream, gleam of golden grain, and resonant with the laughing chorus of exuberant nature. More fortunes have been won by aid of the hoe and sickle wielded in this charming valley than were ever gained by means of pick, flame and rocker on the harsh mountain sides, where the gold-seekers have toiled so hopefully for forty years, and in a great majority of cases spent their strength without reward.

The first time that I crossed the Sierras was in early autumn, before the crisp air had begun to clip the leaves, and when Nevada appeared to be swept with a stifling atmosphere; hot, dusty and dreary was the pale sands, and the gray sage-brush was withered as by a simoom’s breath; I wondered why tourists, on pleasure bent, should make such a journey. Then out of the plain of dearth, and up the mountains we sped; suddenly, as it were, the atmosphere grew chill, flakes of snow began to descend; the way led out of hot summer into severe winter, and the landscape became a picture of tumult, mighty, wonderful and picturesque. Then we rolled down the Sierras into a land of indescribable beauty, into a garden as lovely as that of Hesperides—and the answer was plain.

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