EMERALD BAY AND CAMP
Situated near the southwest corner of Lake Tahoe is Emerald Bay,
by many thousands regarded as the choicest portion of Lake Tahoe.
Surrounded by so many wonderful scenes, as one is at Tahoe, it is
difficult to decide which possesses surpassing power, but few there
are who see Emerald Bay without at once succumbing to its allurement.
Its geological history has already been given in Chapter VIII, in
which it is clearly shown by Dr. Joseph Le Conte that it was once a
glacial lake, and that the entrance to the main lake used to be the
terminal moraine that separated the two bodies of water. As a natural
consequence, therefore, visitors may expect to find evidences of
glacial action on every hand. They are not disappointed. The walls of
the Bay, on both north and south, are composed of glacial detritus,
that of the south being a pure moraine, separating the once glacial
lake of Emerald Bay from Cascade Lake.
Emerald Bay is about three miles in length, with a southwesterly
trend, and half a mile wide. The entrance is perhaps a quarter of a
mile wide and is formed by a triangular spit of sand, on which grows a
lone pine, on the one side, and a green chaparral-clad slope, known
as Eagle Point, on the other. The Bay opens and widens a little
immediately the entrance is joined. The mountains at the head of the
Bay form a majestic background. To the southwest (the left) is Mount
Tallac, with a rugged, jagged and irregular ridge leading to the west,
disappearing behind two tree-clad sister peaks, which dominate the
southern side of the Bay's head. These are known as Maggie's Peaks
(8540 and 8725 feet respectively, that to the south being the higher),
though originally their name, like that of so many rounded, shapely,
twin peaks in the western world gained by the white man from the
Indian, signified the well-developed breasts of the healthy and
vigorous maiden. Emerging from behind these the further ridge again
appears with a nearer and smoother ridge, leading up to a broken and
jagged crest that pierces the sky in rugged outline. A deep gorge is
clearly suggested in front of this ridge, in which Eagle Lake nestles,
and the granite mass which forms the eastern wall of this gorge towers
up, apparently higher than the nearer of Maggie's peaks, and is known
as Phipps' Peak (9000 feet). This is followed by still another peak,
nearer and equally as high, leading the eye further to the north,
where its pine-clad ridge merges into more ridges striking northward.
Between Maggie's and Phipps' Peaks the rocky masses are broken down
into irregular, half rolling, half rugged foothills, where pines,
firs, tamaracks and cedars send their pointed spires upwards from
varying levels. In the morning hours, or in the afternoon up to
sunset, when the shadows reveal the differing layers, rows, and levels
of the trees, they stand out with remarkable distinctness, each tree
possessing its own perfectly discernible individuality, yet each
contributing to the richness of the clothing of the mountainside, as a
whole.
Down across the lower portion of Maggie's Peaks, too to 200 feet above
the level of the Bay, the new automobile road has ruled its sloping
line down to the cut, where a sturdy rustic bridge takes it over the
stream which conveys the surplus waters from Eagle Lake to the Bay. On
the other side it is lost in the rolling foothills and the tree-lined
lower slopes of Cathedral Peak from whence it winds and hugs the Lake
shore, over Rubicon Point to Tahoe Tavern.
But Emerald Bay has other romantic attractions besides its scenery.
In the early 'sixties Ben Holladay, one of the founders of the great
Overland Stage system that reached from the Pacific Coast to the
Missouri River, built a pretentious house at the head of the Bay.
Naturally it was occupied by the family only part of the time, and in
1879, a tramp, finding it unoccupied, took up his lodgings therein,
and, as a mark of his royal departure, the structure burned down the
next morning. The site was then bought by the well-known capitalist,
Lux, of the great cattle firm of Miller & Lux, and is now owned by
Mrs. Armstrong.
As the steamer slowly and easily glides down the Bay, it circles
around a rocky islet, on which a number of trees find shelter. This
island was inhabited at one time by an eccentric Englishman, known
as Captain Dick, who, after having completed a cottage to live in,
carried out the serious idea of erecting a morgue, or a mausoleum, as
a means of final earthly deposit upon dissolution. This queer-looking
dog-house might have become a sarcophagus had it not been for one
thing, viz., Captain Dick, one dark and stormy night, having visited
one of the neighboring resorts where he had pressed his cordial
intemperately, determined to return to his solitary home. In vain the
danger was urged upon him. With characteristic obstinacy, enforced by
the false courage and destruction of his ordinarily keen perception by
the damnable liquor that had "stolen away his brains," he refused to
listen, pushed his sail-boat from the wharf and was never seen again.
His overturned boat was afterwards found, blown ashore.
[Illustration: The marble tablet on one of Maggie's Peaks, bearing
the inscription: "FLEETWOOD PEAK, ASCENDED BY MISS MARY McCONNELL,
SEPT. 12, 1869."]
[Illustration: The island in Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe]
[Illustration: 'Whispering Pines', Al Tahoe, on Lake Tahoe]
* * * * *
EMERALD BAY CAMP
Emerald Bay is made accessible to regular summer guests by Emerald Bay
Camp, one of the choice and highly commendable resorts of the Tahoe
region. The Camp is located snugly among the pines of the north side
of the Bay, and consists of the usual hotel, with nearby cottages and
tents.
Less than five minutes' walk connects it with the picturesque
Automobile Boulevard, which is now connected with the Camp by an
automobile road. The distance is four-fifths of a mile and hundreds of
people now enjoy the hospitality of Emerald Bay Camp who come directly
to it in their own machines.
Its location suggests many advantages for the angler, the famous
Indian fishing grounds being located at the mouth of the bay. Cascade,
Eagle, and the unfished Velma Lakes are easily accessible to trampers,
the outlets from these furnishing sporty brook trout fishing. These
streams and lakes are all stocked with Eastern brook, Loch Levin
and cutthroat. The protected waters of the bay make boating safe and
bathing a comfortable delight.
But not all the beauty of nature and the advantages of excellent
location can make a popular camp. There is much in the individuality
of those who own or "run" it. Emerald Bay Camp is owned by Mr. Nelson
L. Salter, for many years so favorably known in the Yosemite Valley.
Such is its growing popularity that Mr. Salter has recently (1921)
purchased another ten acres of adjoining land, thus enlarging his
frontage on the Bay to about 1000 feet, and giving him many more
cottages for the entertainment of his guests.
* * * * *
EAGLE LAKE
From Emerald Bay Camp there are quite a number of interesting trail
and climbing trips, one of the commonest of which is that to Eagle
Lake.
Taking the trail west, one zigzags to the north until the Automobile
Boulevard is reached. A half mile's walk brings one to the bridge over
Eagle Creek. Here a few steps lead to the head of the upper portion of
Eagle Falls, which dash down a hundred feet or so to the rocky ledge,
from whence they fall to their basin, ere they flow out to join the
waters of Emerald Bay.
A few yards beyond the bridge the trail starts. It is a genuine
mountain trail, now over rough jagged blocks of granite, then through
groves of pines, firs, tamaracks and spruces, where flowers, ferns,
mosses and liverworts delight the eyes as they gaze down, and the
spiculae and cones and blue sky thrill one with delight as they look
above, and where the sunlight glitters through the trees as they look
ahead. To the right Eagle Creek comes noisily down, over falls and
cascades, making its own music to the accompaniment of the singing
voices of the trees. Now and again the creek comes to a quiet,
pastoral stretch, where it becomes absolutely "still water". Not that
it is motionless, but noiseless, covered over with trees and vines,
that reflect upon its calm surface and half hide the trout that float
so easily and lazily through its clear, pure, cold stream.
There is enough of climbing to call into exercise long unused muscles,
the granite blocks are rough, angular and irregular enough to exercise
eyes, hands and feet to keep one from falling, and the lungs are
filled with balsam-ladened mountain-air, fresh from God's own perfect
laboratories, healing, vivifying, rejuvenating, strengthening, while
the heart is helped on and encouraged to pump more and more of its
blood, drawn from long almost quiescent cells into the air-chambers of
the lungs, there to receive the purifying and life-giving oxygen and
other chemical elements that multiply the leucocytes vastly and set
them at work driving out the disease germs that accumulate and linger
in every city-living man's and woman's system.
Suddenly from a little rise the lake is revealed. Eagle Lake, or Pine
Lake, or Spruce Lake, or Hidden Lake, or Granite Lake, or Sheltered
Lake--any of these names would be appropriate. Almost circular in
form--that is if you are not expected to be too rigidly exact in
geometric terms--it is literally a jewel of lapis lazuli in a setting
of granite cliffs.
Here one may sit and rest, enjoying the placid waters of the lake, the
rugged grandeur of the immediate cliffs, or the slopes of the towering
mountains that encircle the horizon.
Eagle Lake is but one of the hundred of glacially made Sierran lakes
of the Tahoe region, but a study of its idiosyncrasies would reveal
distinctive and charming characteristics.
* * * * *
CATHEDRAL PEAK
There are two Cathedral Peaks at Tahoe, one above Cathedral Park on
Fallen Leaf Lake, the other at the rear of Emerald Bay Camp. Early in
the season, 1914, three _girls_ decided to climb this peak from
the camp although there was no trail. One of them wrote the following
account of the trip:
The most interesting peak of the Rubicon ridge is Cathedral.
The mountain rises directly back of Emerald Bay, some three
thousand feet above the Lake. About six hundred feet above the
camp there is a meadow where larkspur grows four and five
feet high. But from Eagle Creek the aspect is quite different.
There are no soft contours. Huge rocks pile up--one great
perpendicular surface adding five hundred feet to the
height--into spires and domes for all the world like some vast
cathedral which taunts the soul with its aloofness. If, on
some sunshiny afternoon you look up from the camp and see
a ghost-moon hanging, no more than a foot above the highest
spire, you must surely be "citified" if you do not pause to
drink in its weird sublimity and wild beauty.
Many winters of storm and snow have loosed the rocks
and carried them down the mountain. Those thrown down years
ago are moss-covered and have collected enough soil in their
crevices to nourish underbrush and large trees. But there are
bare rocks along Eagle Creek to-day large enough for a man
to hew a cabin from. Standing in awe of their size one surely
must look curiously up the mountain to find the spaces they
once occupied. Then, taking in the size of the peak it is
equally natural that one should be filled with a desire to
climb it and look down the other side and across the vista
to the neighboring ranges. While we were getting used to the
altitude we stood below admiring. Every evening we went out on
the wharf, gazed up at its grandeur and discussed the best
way to go, for though we knew we should have to break our own
trail, we had decided to attempt the climb. We set a day and
the hour for rising; the night before laid out our tramping
clothes and religiously went to bed at eight. I doubt if any
of us slept, for we were used to later hours and excitement
kept us awake.
As it was the first trip of the season, we lost some time at
the start, admiring each others' costumes. Two of us adhered
to the regulation short skirt and bloomers, but the third
girl wore trousers, poked into the top of her high boots. This
proved, by far, the most satisfactory dress before the day's
tramping was done. We got started at four-thirty. The first
awakened birds were twittering. The shadows of the moraine lay
reflected in the unruffled surface of the Bay. Gradually rosy
flushes showed in the east. By the time we reached the meadow
the sun rose suddenly above the Nevada mountains and some of
the chill went out of the atmosphere.
The meadow was flooded with snow-water. Beyond, the mountain
rose by sheer steps of rock with slides of decomposed granite
between. We avoided the under-brush as far as possible,
preferring to take back and forth across the loose granite.
The wind came up as we left the meadow, grew in force as we
climbed. Some one suggested breakfast, and then there began a
search for a sheltered place. A spot sided by three bowlders
away from under-brush was decided upon. By the time the fire
was built the wind was
a gale sending the flames leaping in every direction--up the
rocks and up our arms as we broiled the bacon. Breakfast was a
failure, as far as comfort was concerned. It was a relief when
we finally tramped out the embers and resumed our journey.
The top of a long snow-drift was a previously chosen
land-mark. It was seven when we reached the top of it. Some
one came out on the Bay in a row-boat--we were too high for
recognition--thought better of it and went back. Towards the
top we left the decomposed granite and underbrush behind,
climbing the rocks in preference to the snow, where the choice
was allowed us. The wind howled and shrieked, and blew with
a force great enough to destroy balance, while its icy touch
brought the blood tingling to our cheeks.
At last we reached the summit. And oh! the joy of achievement.
All Rubicon ridge and its neighbors, as far as the eye could
see, were white with snow; the lakes in the valley below
were still frozen--only one showing any blue. Clouds came up
rapidly from the west, rushed by to the Nevada side where
they piled up in great cumulous heaps. The apex of Pyramid was
cloud-capped all day. Shifting gusts drove the waters of
Tahoe scurrying first this way, then that. Where in the early
morning every tree had viewed her image among the reflected
tints of sunrise, at ten-thirty white-caps flashed and
disappeared to flash in a different place among the
everchanging eddies. Cascade and Fallen Leaf Lakes presented
a continuous procession of white-caps to the east, while Eagle
lay black and sinister in the shadow of Maggie's Peaks.
After lunch, the wind blowing too cold for comfort, we started
home, straight down--over snow, granite and underbrush--till
we hit the State Highway. Here we found a sheltered place by a
creek and talked over the day's happenings.
Along the roadside we drew up a resolution on the satisfaction
of the trip. The girl who had been cold all day didn't ever
want to see snow again, but already the others were discussing
a possible ascent from the Eagle Creek side--so great is the
lure of the high places.