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 enjoyed on my excursion to Lake Tenaya. The dusty, noisy flock
seems outrageously foreign and out of place in these nature gardens,
more so than bears among sheep. The harm they do goes to the heart, but
glorious hope lifts above all the dust and din and bids me look forward
to a good time coming, when money enough will be earned to enable me to
go walking where I like in pure wildness, with what I can carry on my
back, and when the bread-sack is empty, run down to the nearest point on
the 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.
[Illustration: VIEW OF TENAYA LAKE SHOWING CATHEDRAL PEAK]
[Illustration: ONE OF THE TRIBUTARY FOUNTAINS OF THE TUOLUMNE CA—ON
WATERS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF THE HOFFMAN RANGE]
_August 8._ Camp at the west end of Lake Tenaya. Arriving early, I took
a walk on the glacier-polished pavements along the north shore, and
climbed the magnificent mountain rock at the east end of the lake, now
shining in the late afternoon light. Almost every yard of its surface
shows the scoring and polishing action of a great glacier that enveloped
it and swept heavily over its summit, though it is about two thousand
feet high above the lake and ten thousand above sea-level. This
majestic, ancient ice-flood came from the eastward, as the scoring and
crushing of the surface shows. Even below the waters of the lake the
rock in some places is still grooved and polished; the lapping of the
waves and their disintegrating action have not as yet obliterated even
the superficial marks of glaciation. In climbing the steepest polished
places I had to take off shoes and stockings. A fine region this for
study of glacial action in mountain-making. I found many charming
plants: arctic daisies, phlox, white spiræa, bryanthus, and
rock-ferns,—pellæa, cheilanthes, allosorus,—fringing weathered seams
all the way up to the summit; and sturdy junipers, grand old gray and
brown monuments, stood bravely erect on fissured spots here and there,
telling storm and avalanche stories of hundreds of winters. The view of
the lake from the top is, I think, the best of all. There is another
rock, more striking in form than this, standing isolated at the head
of the lake, but it is not more than half as high. It is a knob or knot
of burnished granite, perhaps about a thousand feet high, apparently as
flawless and strong in structure as a wave-worn pebble, and probably
owes its existence to the superior resistance it offered to the action
of the overflowing ice-flood.
Made sketch of the lake, and sauntered back to camp, my iron-shod shoes
clanking on the pavements disturbing the chipmunks and birds. After dark
went out to the shore,—not a breath of air astir, the lake a perfect
mirror reflecting the sky and mountains with their stars and trees and
wonderful sculpture, all their grandeur refined and doubled,—a
marvelously impressive picture, that seemed to belong more to heaven
than earth.
_August 9._ I went ahead of the flock, and crossed over the divide
between the Merced and Tuolumne Basins. The gap between the east end of
the Hoffman spur and the mass of mountain rocks about Cathedral Peak,
though roughened by ridges and waving folds, seems to be one of the
channels of a broad ancient glacier that came from the mountains on the
summit of the range. In crossing this divide the ice-river made an
ascent of about five hundred feet from the Tuolumne meadows. This entire
region must have been overswept by ice.
From the top of the divide, and also from the big Tuolumne Meadows, the
wonderful mountain called Cathedral Peak is in sight. From every point
of view it shows marked individuality. It is a majestic temple of one
stone, hewn from the living rock, and adorned 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 prayers and hear the
stone sermons.
The big Tuolumne Meadows are flowery lawns, lying along the south fork
of the Tuolumne River at a height of about eighty-five hundred to nine
thousand feet above the sea, partially separated by forests and bars of
glaciated granite. Here the mountains seem to have been cleared away or
set back, so that wide-open views may be had in every direction. The
upper end of the series lies at the base of Mount Lyell, the lower below
the east end of the Hoffman Range, so the length must be about ten or
twelve miles. They vary in width from a quarter of a mile to perhaps
three quarters, and a good many branch meadows put out along the banks
of the tributary streams. This is the most spacious and delightful high
pleasure-ground I have yet seen. The air is keen and bracing, yet warm
during the day; and though lying high in the sky, the surrounding
mountains are so much higher, one feels protected as if in a grand
hall. Mounts Dana and Gibbs, massive red mountains, perhaps thirteen
thousand feet high or more, bound the view on the east, the Cathedral
and Unicorn Peaks, with many nameless peaks, on the south, the Hoffman
Range on the west, and a number of peaks unnamed, as far as I know, on
the north. One of these last is much like the Cathedral. The grass of
the meadows is mostly fine and silky, with exceedingly slender leaves,
making a close sod, above which the panicles of minute purple flowers
seem to float in airy, misty lightness, while the sod is enriched with
at least three species of gentian and as many or more of orthocarpus,
potentilla, ivesia, solidago, pentstemon, with their gay
colors,—purple, blue, yellow, and red,—all of which I may know better
ere long. A central camp will probably be made in this region, from
which I hope to make long excursions into the surrounding mountains.
On the return trip I met the flock about three miles east of Lake
Tenaya. Here we camped for the night near a small lake lying on top of
the divide in a clump of the two-leaved pine. We are now about nine
thousand feet above the sea. Small lakes abound in all sorts of
situations,—on ridges, along mountain sides, and in piles of moraine
boulders, most of them mere pools. Only in those cañons of the larger
streams at the foot of declivities, where the down thrust of the
glaciers was heaviest, do we find lakes of considerable size and depth.
How grateful a task it would be to trace them all and study them! How
pure their waters are, clear as crystal in polished stone basins! None
of them, so far as I have seen, have fishes, I suppose on account of
falls making them inaccessible. Yet one would think their eggs might get
into these lakes by some chance or other; on ducks’ feet, for example,
or in their mouths, or in their crops, as some plant seeds are
distributed. Nature has so many ways of doing such things. How did the
frogs, found in all the bogs and pools and lakes, however high, manage
to get up these mountains? Surely not by jumping. Such excursions
through miles of dry brush and boulders would be very hard on frogs.
Perhaps their stringy gelatinous spawn is occasionally entangled or
glued on the feet of water birds. Anyhow, they are here and in hearty
health and voice. I like their cheery tronk and crink. They take the
place of songbirds at a pinch.
_August 10._ Another of those charming exhilarating days that make the
blood dance and excite nerve currents that render one unweariable and
well-nigh immortal. Had another view of the broad ice-ploughed divide,
and gazed again and again at the Sierra temple and the great red
mountains east of the meadows.
We are camped near the Soda Springs on the north side of the river. A
hard time we had getting the sheep across. They were driven into a
horseshoe bend and fairly crowded off the bank. They seemed willing to
suffer death rather than risk getting wet, though they swim well enough
when they have to. Why sheep should be so unreasonably afraid of water,
I don’t know, but they do fear it as soon as they are born and perhaps
before. I once saw a lamb only a few hours old approach a shallow stream
about two feet wide and an inch deep, after it had walked only about a
hundred yards on its life journey. All the flock to which it belonged
had crossed this inch-deep stream, and as the mother and her lamb were
the last to cross, I had a good opportunity to observe them. As soon as
the flock was out of the way, the anxious mother crossed over and called
the youngster. It walked cautiously to the brink, gazed at the water,
bleated piteously, and refused to venture. The patient mother went back
to it again and again to encourage it, but long without avail. Like the
pilgrim on Jordan’s stormy bank it feared to launch away. At length,
gathering its trembling inexperienced legs for the mighty effort,
throwing up its head as if it knew all about drowning, and was anxious
to keep its nose above water, it made the tremendous leap, and landed in
the middle of the inch-deep stream. It seemed astonished to find that,
instead of sinking over head and ears, only its toes were wet, gazed at
the shining water a few seconds, and then sprang to the shore safe and
dry through the dreadful adventure. All kinds of wild sheep are mountain
animals, and their descendants’ dread of water is not easily accounted
for.
_August 11._ Fine shining weather, with a ten minutes’ noon thunderstorm
and rain. Rambling all day getting acquainted with the region north of
the river. Found a small lake and many charming glacier meadows
embosomed in an extensive forest of the two-leaved pine. The forest is
growing on broad, almost continuous deposits of moraine material, is
remarkably even in its growth, and the trees are much closer together
than in any of the fir or pine woods farther down the range. The
evenness of the growth would seem to indicate that the trees are all of
the same age or nearly so. This regularity has probably been in great
part the result of fire. I saw several large patches and strips of dead
bleached spars, the ground beneath them covered with a young even
growth. Fire can run in these woods, not only because the thin bark of
the trees is dripping with resin, but because the growth is close, and
the comparatively rich soil produces good crops of tall broad-leaved
grasses on which fire can travel, even when the weather is calm. Besides
these fire-killed patches there are a good many fallen uprooted trees
here and there, some with the bark and needles still on, as if they had
lately been blown down in some thunderstorm blast. Saw a large
black-tailed deer, a buck with antlers like the upturned roots of a
fallen pine.
After a long ramble through the dense encumbered woods I emerged upon a
smooth meadow full of sunshine like a lake of light, about a mile and a
half long, a quarter to half a mile wide, and bounded by tall arrowy
pines. The sod, like that of all the glacier meadows hereabouts, is made
of silky agrostis and calamagrostis chiefly; their panicles of purple
flowers and purple stems, exceedingly light and airy, seem to float
above the green plush of leaves like a thin misty cloud, while the sod
is brightened by several species of gentian, potentilla, ivesia,
orthocarpus, and their corresponding bees and butterflies. All the
glacier meadows are beautiful, but few are so perfect as this one.
Compared with it the most carefully leveled, licked, snipped artificial
lawns of pleasure-grounds are coarse things. I should like to live here
always. It is so calm and withdrawn while open to the universe in full
communion with everything good. To the north of this glorious meadow I
discovered the camp of some Indian hunters. Their fire was still
burning, but they had not yet returned from the chase.
From meadow to meadow, every one beautiful beyond telling, and from lake
to lake through groves and belts of arrowy trees, I held my way
northward toward Mount Conness, finding telling beauty everywhere, while
the encompassing mountains were calling “Come.” Hope I may climb them
all.
_August 12._ The sky-scenery has changed but little so far with the
change in elevation. Clouds about .05. Glorious pearly cumuli tinted
with purple of ineffable fineness of tone. Moved camp to the side of the
glacier meadow mentioned above. To let sheep trample so divinely fine a
place seems barbarous. Fortunately they prefer the succulent
broad-leaved triticum and other woodland grasses to the silky species of
the meadows, and therefore seldom bite them or set foot on them.
[Illustration: GLACIER MEADOW, ON THE HEADWATERS OF THE TUOLUMNE 9500
FEET ABOVE THE SEA]
The shepherd and the Don cannot agree about methods of herding. Billy
sets his dog Jack on the sheep far too often, so the Don thinks; and
after some dispute to-day, in which the shepherd loudly claimed the
right to dog the sheep as often as he pleased, he started for the
plains. Now I suppose the care of the sheep will fall on me, though Mr.
Delaney promises to do the herding himself for a while, then return to
the lowlands and bring another shepherd, so as to leave me free to rove
as I like.
Had another rich ramble. Pushed northward beyond the forests to the head
of the general basin, where traces of glacial action are strikingly
clear and interesting. The recesses among the peaks look like quarries,
so raw and fresh are the moraine chips and boulders that strew the
ground in Nature’s glacial workshops.
Soon after my return to camp we received a visit from an Indian,
probably one of the hunters whose camp I had discovered. He came from
Mono, he said, with others of his tribe, to hunt deer. One that he had
killed a short distance from here he was carrying on his back, its legs
tied together in an ornamental bunch on his forehead. Throwing down his
burden, he gazed stolidly for a few minutes in silent Indian fashion,
then cut off eight or ten pounds of venison for us, and begged a “lill”
(little) of everything he saw or could think of—flour, bread, sugar,
tobacco, whiskey, needles, etc. We gave a fair price for the meat in
flour and sugar and added a few needles. A strangely dirty and irregular
life these dark-eyed, dark-haired, half-happy savages lead in this clean
wilderness,—starvation and abundance, deathlike calm, indolence, and
admirable, indefatigable action succeeding each other in stormy rhythm
like winter and summer. Two things they have that civilized toilers
might well envy them—pure air and pure water. These go far to cover and
cure the grossness of their lives. Their food is mostly good berries,
pine nuts, clover, lily bulbs, wild sheep, antelope, deer, grouse, sage
hens, and the larvæ of ants, wasps, bees, and other insects.
_August 13._ Day all sunshine, dawn and evening purple, noon gold, no
clouds, air motionless. Mr. Delaney arrived with two shepherds, one of
them an Indian. On his way up from the plains he left some provisions at
the Portuguese camp on Porcupine Creek near our old Yosemite camp, and I
set out this morning with one of the pack animals to fetch them. Arrived
at the Porcupine camp at noon, and might have returned to the Tuolumne
late in the evening, but concluded to stay over night with the
Portuguese shepherds at their pressing invitation. They had sad stories
to tell of losses from the Yosemite bears, and were so discouraged they
seemed on the point of leaving the mountains; for the bears came every
night and helped themselves to one or several of the flock in spite of
all their efforts to keep them off.
I spent the afternoon in a grand ramble along the Yosemite walls. From
the highest of the rocks called the Three Brothers, I enjoyed a
magnificent view comprehending all the upper half of the floor of the
valley and nearly all the rocks of the walls on both sides and at the
head, with snowy peaks in the background. Saw also the Vernal and Nevada
Falls, a truly glorious picture,—rocky strength and permanence combined
with beauty of plants frail and fine and evanescent; water descending in
thunder, and the same water gliding through meadows and groves in
gentlest beauty. This standpoint is about eight thousand feet above the
sea, or four thousand feet above the floor of the valley, and every
tree, though looking small and feathery, stands in admirable clearness,
and the shadows they cast are as distinct in outline as if seen at a
distance of a few yards. They appeared even more so. No words will ever
describe the exquisite beauty and charm of this mountain park—Nature’s
landscape garden at once tenderly beautiful and sublime. No wonder it
draws nature-lovers from all over the world.
Glacial action even on this lofty summit is plainly displayed. Not only
has all the lovely valley now smiling in sunshine been filled to the
brim with ice, but it has been deeply overflowed.
I visited our old Yosemite camp-ground on the head of Indian Creek, and
found it fairly patted and smoothed down with bear-tracks. The bears had
eaten all the sheep that were smothered in the corral, and some of the
grand animals must have died, for Mr. Delaney, before leaving camp, put
a large quantity of poison in the carcasses. All sheep-men carry
strychnine to kill coyotes, bears, and panthers, though neither coyotes
nor panthers are at all numerous in the upper mountains. The little
dog-like wolves are far more numerous in the foothill region and on the
plains, where they find a better supply of food,—saw only one
panther-track above eight thousand feet.
[Illustration: _The Three Brothers, Yosemite National Park_]
On my return after sunset to the Portuguese camp I found the shepherds
greatly excited over the behavior of the bears that have learned to like
mutton. “They are getting worse and worse,” they lamented. Not
willing to wait decently until after dark for their suppers, they come
and kill and eat their fill in broad daylight. The evening before my
arrival, when the two shepherds were leisurely driving the flock toward
camp half an hour before sunset, a hungry bear came out of the chaparral
within a few yards of them and shuffled deliberately toward the flock.
“Portuguese Joe,” who always carried a gun loaded with buckshot, fired
excitedly, threw down his gun, fled to the nearest suitable tree, and
climbed to a safe height without waiting to see the effect of his shot.
His companion also ran, but said that he saw the bear rise on its hind
legs and throw out its arms as if feeling for somebody, and then go into
the brush as if wounded.
At another of their camps in this neighborhood, a bear with two cubs
attacked the flock before sunset, just as they were approaching the
corral. Joe promptly climbed a tree out of danger, while Antone,
rebuking his companion for cowardice in abandoning his charge, said that
he was not going to let bears “eat up his sheeps” in daylight, and
rushed towards the bears, shouting and setting his dog on them. The
frightened cubs climbed a tree, but the mother ran to meet the shepherd
and seemed anxious to fight. Antone stood astonished for a moment,
eyeing the oncoming bear, then turned and fled, closely pursued. Unable
to reach a suitable tree for climbing, he ran to the camp and scrambled
up to the roof of the little cabin; the bear followed, but did not climb
to the roof,—only stood glaring up at him for a few minutes,
threatening him and holding him in mortal terror, then went to her cubs,
called them down, went to the flock, caught a sheep for supper, and
vanished in the brush. As soon as the bear left the cabin, the trembling
Antone begged Joe to show him a good safe tree, up which he climbed like
a sailor climbing a mast, and remained as long as he could hold on, the
tree being almost branchless. After these disastrous experiences the two
shepherds chopped and gathered large piles of dry wood and made a ring
of fire around the corral every night, while one with a gun kept watch
from a comfortable stage built on a neighboring pine that commanded a
view of the corral. This evening the show made by the circle of fire was
very fine, bringing out the surrounding trees in most impressive relief,
and making the thousands of sheep eyes glow like a glorious bed of
diamonds.
_August 14._ Up to the time I went to bed last night all was quiet,
though we expected the shaggy freebooters every minute. They did not
come till near midnight, when a pair walked boldly to the corral between
two of the great fires, climbed in, killed two sheep and smothered ten,
while the frightened watcher in the tree did not fire a single shot,
saying that he was afraid he might kill some of the sheep, for the bears
got into the corral before he got a good clear view of them. I told the
shepherds they should at once move the flock to another camp. “Oh, no
use, no use,” they lamented; “where we go, the bears go too. See my poor
dead sheeps—soon all dead. No use try another camp. We go down to the
plains.” And as I afterwards learned, they were driven out of the
mountains a month before the usual time. Were bears much more numerous
and destructive, the sheep would be kept away altogether.
It seems strange that bears, so fond of all sorts of flesh, running the
risks of guns and fires and poison, should never attack men except in
defense of their young. How easily and safely a bear could pick us up as
we lie asleep! Only wolves and tigers seem to have learned to hunt man
for food, and perhaps sharks and crocodiles. Mosquitoes and other
insects would, I suppose, devour a helpless man in some parts of the
world, and so might lions, leopards, wolves, hyenas, and panthers at
times if pressed by hunger,—but under ordinary circumstances, perhaps,
only the tiger among land animals may be said to be a man-eater,—unless
we add man himself.
Clouds as usual about .05. Another glorious Sierra day, warm, crisp,
fragrant, and clear. Many of the flowering plants have gone to seed, but
many others are unfolding their petals every day, and the firs and pines
are more fragrant than ever. Their seeds are nearly ripe, and will soon
be flying in the merriest flocks that ever spread a wing.
On the way back to our Tuolumne camp, I enjoyed the scenery if possible
more than when it first came to view. Every feature already seems
familiar as if I had lived here always. I never weary gazing at the
wonderful Cathedral. It has more individual character than any other
rock or mountain I ever saw, excepting perhaps the Yosemite South Dome.
The forests, too, seem kindly familiar, and the lakes and meadows and
glad singing streams. I should like to dwell with them forever. Here
with bread and water I should be content. Even if not allowed to roam
and climb, tethered to a stake or tree in some meadow or grove, even
then I should be content forever. Bathed in such beauty, watching, the
expressions ever varying on the faces of the mountains, watching the
stars, which here have a glory that the lowlander never dreams of,
watching the circling seasons, listening to the songs of the waters and
winds and birds, would be endless pleasure. And what glorious cloudlands
I should see, storms and calms,—a new heaven and a new earth every day,
aye and new inhabitants. And how many visitors I should have. I feel
sure I should not have one dull moment. And why should this appear
extravagant? It is only common sense, a sign of health, genuine,
natural, all-awake health. One would be at an endless Godful play, and
what speeches and music and acting and scenery and lights!—sun, moon,
stars, auroras. Creation just beginning, the morning stars “still
singing together and all the sons of God shouting for joy.”