Statehood, those who were laying the foundations of the State began to
turn their faces toward the future. Gradually they came to see the need
of treasuring some of its natural heritages. They recognized the fact
that California had been lavishly favored with great natural wonders.
Nevertheless, they came to realize also that she was not so rich in
these as to be careless or neglectful of their preservation. They
likewise perceived, these far-seeing ones, that although California
possessed all of the Giant Sequoias, they were the most perishable of
all her treasures if left without protection. Destructive humanity can
little change the sublime granite forms of Yosemite. They will always
remain unspoiled, and mankind can hardly mar them more than could the
clouds that hover about their summits or the butterflies that flit
about their bases. It is true that man may plow Yosemite’s meadows
and cut down wildflower gardens that have never known a mower. He can
destroy its clusters of trees, rob Mirror Lake of its reflective charm,
stop the flow of its waterfalls. All this he can do. But however much
he tries he can but little alter or disturb the majestic repose of its
rocks. Yet he can lay low in a single day a Sequoia that waved its
arms to Sierran winds when the Carpenter of Nazareth was born. In one
short season he can reduce a hallowed Sequoian grove to an expanse of
blackened stubble where only charred stumps remain to mark where trees
once stood and “looked at God all day.”
Fortunately, however, these builders of a commonwealth saw the light
in time. Nor did they wink at it. Hence, the Mariposa Grove came to be
made safe from the axe through seasonable legislation and was spared
the fate that soon befell other Sequoian groves at the hands of greed
and commercialism.
Fortunately, again, Galen Clark was appointed Guardian of the Mariposa
Grove by the Governor. The choice was well and wisely made. In fact,
when John Muir said, “Galen Clark is the sincerest tree lover I ever
knew,” he spoke with fine truth and spirit. Never will Yosemite look
again upon the likeness of such a man. In the performance of his duties
as guardian of the Yosemite Grant he was not found wanting and proved
himself sterling by every standard incident to human nature.
In 1864 when kinsmen in their bitterness and hatred were destroying
one another, Senator Conness in behalf of certain influential citizens
of California introduced a bill into Congress and the law-makers of
Washington paused for a moment in the prosecution of the Civil War to
pass the Act which granted to the State that “cleft or gorge in the
Granite Peak of the Sierra Nevada Mountains ... known as the Yosemite
Valley with its branches and spurs, in estimated length fifteen miles
and in average width one mile back from the main edge of the precipice
on each side of the valley ... and the tracts embracing what is
known as the ‘Mariposa Big Tree Grove,’ not to exceed four square
miles....” In addition to this the Act stipulated: “the said State
shall accept this Grant upon the express conditions that the premises
shall be held for public use, resort, and recreation and shall be
inalienable for all time.” President Lincoln approved the Act a few
days before he made his famous speech on the field of the battle that
broke the Southern blade. Shortly after this Governor Low of California
formally issued a proclamation accepting the Grant. In it he warned
all persons against willful and malicious trespassing and made it a
misdemeanor to injure or destroy any of its treasures. In accordance
with the terms of the Act, the Executive of California then appointed
eight Commissioners to manage the Valley and the Big Tree Grove, naming
Galen Clark as one of them. On the second of April, 1866, the State
Legislature made formal and legal acceptance of the Grant and clothed
the Commissioners with the necessary power to make such regulations
as were requisite to its administration and control. At this time the
Legislature also authorized the Governor to appoint a Guardian to take
active charge of the Grove and the Valley. A small appropriation of two
thousand dollars was made for the purpose of making improvements during
the ensuing two years and an annual salary of five hundred dollars was
voted the Guardian.
[Illustration: GALEN CLARK TREE
Rock cairn to left marks spot of discovery
MARIPOSA GROVE Photo by H. S. Hoyt]
Life is not always a picking of flowers; often it is a plowing of
meadows strewn with hidden rocks. The latter proved to be the lot of
the Commissioners in connection with the Yosemite, for their progress
was blocked by the hostility of settlers who refused to relinquish
their claims. Litigation resulted and the Commissioners encountered
only censure and antagonism in their attempts to make of the Yosemite
a playground for the people. Happily, they were not so handicapped
in their management of the Big Tree Grove, yet here, too, they had
difficulties to contend with.
Chiefly among these was the problem of human vandalism. Constant
vigilance was necessary to guard against those who seemed to take an
insatiable delight in destroying all within their reach. Truly, the
besetting sin of all “pilgrims” the world over is their unquenchable
lust for “specimens.” Like priests of the Capuchin Convent who
“unfailingly show some memento of a saint—a bone of his body, a thread
of his garment, a lock of his hair, or a drop of his blood—before they
extol his miracles,” the “pilgrims” who journey to Nature’s shrines
must, at all hazard, carry away some bit of the shrine to awaken the
wonder of the rustics at home. Or, if they are thwarted in this, it
becomes imperative for them to inscribe their poor little names in
some convenient place on the shrine so that all who run may read. What
a pity some justly wrathful Sequoia cannot fall on some of these
defamers and crush their “eyeballs into dust,” thereby intimidating
them and their kind into forever desisting from such acts.
The Commissioners were plagued with vandals of yet another sort—the
camper and the sheep-herder; the one starting forest fires through
negligence, the other purposely to insure better grass for his
“hoofed locusts.” In 1889 the Grove was threatened with disaster.
A fire, started because of a camper’s carelessness or through the
deliberate design of sheep-herders, secured sovereign possession of
the surrounding forest and in one place invaded the Grove itself. In a
few days the entire annual appropriation was used in saving the Grove
from the angry flames. When their fury was finally conquered, black
scars that only time could obliterate remained. It was this memorable
fire that consumed the Lone Giant, the largest decumbent monarch in the
Grove.
Since the Commissioners had no control over outside forests bordering
on the Grove, this calamity indicated the need of building a fireline
to arrest the progress of future conflagrations. The necessity of
clearing the Grove of its dense masses of inflammable undergrowth was
also made apparent. This growth not only obstructed a view of the older
trees, but it rendered them inaccessible for close inspection. It also
made for poor reproduction by depriving seedlings of light. It choked
and starved the younger trees, while it robbed the patriarchs of their
much needed moisture and hindered their growth. Hence, to render these
harmful features negligible, the Commissioners decided to clear the
Grove of its underbrush. The appropriations of the next five years were
used toward this end. By 1895, all the acreage within the ambit of the
Big Tree Grant had been treated to the brush scythe and the grubbing
hoe, and the fire menace reduced to a minimum.
No less worthy of attention are the extensive additions and
improvements made during these years upon the roads. Each of the main
clusters of Sequoias was rendered accessible and travelers could
make a complete tour of the Grove viewing its principal wonder trees
from the stage, as they do today. The State had received the Grant
approachable only by trail. In an amazingly short time, considering
the meagerness of appropriations, the State had rendered the Grove
accessible to other than hardy travelers. Young and old, the physically
fit and the infirm, could now enter it with comfort and safety. In
all fairness it must be conceded that the State had made the Mariposa
Grant more suitable for the particular use for which it had been
appropriated. The Commissioners had administered the Grove for the
good of the greatest number. They had taken positive steps to protect
it from the carelessness of the thoughtless and the wantonness of the
ignorant. Unquestionably, they had proved scrupulously careful in their
administration of the trust imposed in them.
Yet even so commendable an accomplishment as this only aroused a storm
of criticism. The removal of the fire-inviting underbrush shocked
the nerves of sentimentalists who advocated the preservation of the
Mariposa Grove “in the condition in which it won the admiration of
its discoverer and appealed to the enthusiasm of the world.” They
lamented over the fancied catastrophe. They fell into near convulsions
over the thought that the virginal beauty of the Grove was no more,
because its “flowering shrubs” had been grubbed out. Even the _Century
Magazine_ took up the bodeful cry. Joaquin Miller’s statement that he
had travelled from Babylon to Jerusalem “without seeing so much as a
grasshopper, or a bird, or a blade of grass in a land that was once
an Eden” was quoted as a prophecy of the Grove’s condition in the
near future if these “destructive tendencies” continued. Alexander,
they pointed out, mourned because Greek ivy would not grow on the
tower of Babel and inferred that such would be California’s lot when
her eyesight sufficiently improved to see the need of enhancing the
grandeur of her Sequoias by garlands. And all the while they failed to
see the irony of their plea. They did not know that sentiment, like
ivy, can cling to a very flat surface.
Nor is this all that the Commissioners accomplished. To their list of
achievements must be added yet another. In order to make the Grant of
1864 a treasure that “all shall share and none shall be the poorer for
sharing,” they warred against unscrupulous commercial enterprises.
Hawkers continually pressed forward their schemes in honeyed words to
make travelers the victims of innumerable petty charges and vexations.
However, the Commissioners who were all men of high principles would
have none of them. Concessioners who proved unprincipled in their
treatment of tourists were summarily deprived of the means with which
to accrue further ill-gotten gains. In all truthfulness it can be
stated that throughout the entire forty years of State control[1] the
various Commissioners never sullied their hands in graft. Though they
received not a penny in salary and often laid out considerable sums
to swell the meager appropriations of the State Legislature, their
office was never used for the purpose of gain. In short, they carried
a trusteeship that concerned the high honor of the Commonwealth of
California in a manner which justifies the pride of the people.
In all this glorious work Galen Clark, as Guardian, stands head
and shoulders above his colleagues. He had that desire to serve
without its selfish qualities. Not inspired by the love of fame and
reputation, he did not toil for self-aggrandizement, like many men. He
considered the interest of the people higher and purer than that of the
individual. It was this interest that he ever held paramount, that he
always best served. To him the highest patriotism was expressed by the
man who thought not of honor of self or of individual reward, but who
lost himself in the larger and dearer interests of the Commonwealth;
who so loved it for its own sake that he was content to be forgotten.
In this respect Galen Clark succeeded in a manner so striking that it
deserves the name of art, not of artifice. He is practically unknown
today. Yet he rendered the people of California, and even of America, a
singular service.
“As Guardian he enjoyed a longer contact with the management of the
Grant, off and on, than any other single individual. He was reappointed
again and again by succeeding Governors as Guardian, and after
twenty-four years of service in this capacity, he voluntarily retired,
carrying with him the respect and admiration of every member of the
Commission, of all the residents of the Valley, and of every visitor
who enjoyed the pleasure of his personal acquaintance.”
The tribute paid him on his retirement in 1897 by those with whom he
was so long officially associated is worthy of full quotation:
+Whereas+: Galen Clark has for a long number of years been closely
identified with Yosemite Valley and has for a considerable portion
of that time been its Guardian; and
+Whereas+: He has now, by his own choice and will, relinquished the
trust confided in him, and retired into private life; and
+Whereas+: His faithful and eminent services as Guardian, his
constant efforts to preserve, protect and enhance the beauties of
Yosemite; his dignified, kindly and courteous demeanor to all who
have come to see and enjoy its wonders, and his upright and noble
life, deserve from us a fitting recognition and memorial; now,
therefore, be it
+Resolved+: That the cordial assurance of the appreciation by this
Commission of the efforts and labors of +Galen Clark+, as Guardian
of Yosemite, in its behalf, be tendered and expressed to him:
That we recognize in him a faithful, efficient and worthy citizen
and officer of this Commission, and of the State; that he will be
followed into his retirement by the sincerest and best wishes of
this Commission individually, and as a body, for continued long
life and constant happiness.
Galen Clark did great things, but apparently fame accompanied him to
the grave. Few know of him today. One of the most kindly of men, he had
a simplicity so intense that at times it appeared ridiculous to men of
sense and candor. Never offending by superiority, modesty composed the
very fabric of his being. To be rather than to appear was the ruling
passion of his long life. Having an insuperable aversion for bluster
and bombast, he talked about himself rarely, and then only with the
greatest of reticence. It was only after much persuasion on the part of
friends that he was induced to write his charming and authoritative
account of the _Indians of Yosemite_ in 1904. Doing nothing for the
sake of personal display, he never forced himself into the limelight.
Unobtrusive and unpretentious, he had all that unaffected humility that
some believe to be the essence of Lincoln’s greatness.
No account of Galen Clark would be complete if it failed to touch on
his love of Nature. “He was fond of scenery,” testifies John Muir,
“and once told me that he liked ‘nothing in the world better than to
climb to the top of a high ridge or mountain and look off.’ Oftentimes
he would take his rifle, a few pounds of bacon, a little flour and a
single blanket and go off hunting, for no other reason than to explore
and get acquainted with the most beautiful points of view. On these
trips he was always alone and indulged in the tranquil enjoyment of
Nature to his heart’s content.”
Few, indeed, have been more sincere in their love of Nature. He loved
not only all her moods, both beauteous and terrible, but all her forms
from the lowliest flower in the dust by the roadside to the loftiest of
Yosemite’s cloud-caressed cliffs. But he lacked the power of expressing
his affections. Like Muir, he “read the great book spread out before
him;” unlike Muir, he was not gifted with a magic pen. Probably he was
too sensitive to his poverty of language to attempt to describe the
fairy-like beauty, the rare delicacy, and the wondrous tints of an
Alpine blossom—“that beautiful creature that catches the smile of God
from out the sky and preserves it.”
Twenty summers in the Yosemite formed in Galen Clark an attachment for
the Valley that was deep and lasting. Nearing the sunset of his life,
like the patriarchs of old, he dug his own grave in the little cemetery
near Yosemite Falls. With his hands he hewed his own tombstone from
one of the granite blocks the elements had plucked from the cliff over
which the snowy flood of the grand Yosemite Falls descend sonorous, and
soft, and slow. Taking up a few seedling Sequoias from the Mariposa
Grove, he transplanted them at the four corners of his last resting
place so that they would shade the grave of their blessed benefactor in
the years to come. A man of great age, he must have brooded on death
and become familiar with its mystery so that the end did not come as a
surprise.
One day in 1910, at the age of ninety-six, the end came and in sorrow
and in silence all that was mortal of Galen Clark was laid in the
sacred earth, his kindly soul passing on to where, beyond the booming
voice of the great fall he so loved, there is peace.
+Chapter IV+
WONDER TREES
The Mariposa Grove belongs in the category of the world’s impressive
wonders. It presents the most remarkable exhibition of the Sequoias
growing between the American and the Kings Rivers and displays Nature’s
finest handiwork on the fraternity of the king of all trees. It
contains the essence of the most imposing qualities of the Sequoia and
is unlike any other grove in its very compactness. Concentrated in its
small extent are trees in every phase of development from nurseries
of tender seedlings obtaining their feeble hold on life and groups of
graceful saplings not half arrived at the maturity of treehood, and
just disclosing their impatience to be kings, to venerable patriarchs
that are numbered foremost in the world of living things—giants
so freighted with age that they exemplify Doctor Johnson’s famous
metaphor, “and panting Time toiled after him in vain.”
The Mariposa Grove is superior to other Sequoian tracts in its
accessibility, lying as it does in a shallow, crater-like depression
near the top of a forested ridge at an elevation of 6,000 feet above
the sea and a distance of sixteen miles as the crow flies from the
Village in Yosemite Valley. This ridge, upon which the Grove is
situated, runs in an easterly direction between Big Creek and the
South Fork of the Merced, having as its culmination Mt. Raymond, a
rocky promontory upon which the snow lingers even in July.
The Grove is approachable over the Wawona Road which winds upward
along the south rim of Yosemite Valley. After passing southward in a
meandering course through twenty-seven miles of Park forest, the road
drops to Wawona from where it again ascends 1,500 feet within eight
miles before reaching the portals of the Mariposa Grove. Once within
the Grove, but a comparatively brief period of time is required in
which to review its salient features. With little effort it may be
completely explored and studied. So harmoniously are its wonder trees
disposed within the utmost smallest space that all of them may be
viewed from a passing vehicle. In fact, even the most cursory journey
through the Mariposa Grove will suffice to give an impression of the
singular, solemn dignity of the Sequoia.
Possibly much of the world-wide fame of this Grove is due to the fact
that it has been brought the nearest to civilization of the several
Big Tree groves. Yet interest in it should not spring merely from such
a consideration, for it lies in happy proximity to the grandeur of
Yosemite’s cliffs and domes. Indeed, it is as distinctive a feature
of Yosemite National Park as the Valley itself. Time was when the
importance of the Mariposa Grove was little if at all recognized. In
the last decades of the nineteenth century the Calaveras Grove held the
center of the stage. The latter was then the most accessible. Because
of this it became the Mecca of naturalists and celebrities of the
day who made pilgrimages across the continent in order to visit it.
Therefore, the Calaveras giants loom large in the earlier literature of
the Sequoia. But with the passing of the stagecoach and the hitching
post—with the coming of the “winged wheels” and the “iron horse,”
the Mariposa Grove ceased to bloom unseen. Instead of the Calaveras
Grove it became the more easily reached. Inevitably the pendulum of
popularity swung toward it and yearly the tide of travel that flows its
way increases.
The tendency to wander into the wilderness that obtains in these
feverish times is advancing the popularity of the Mariposa Grove.
Mankind is coming more and more into sympathetic contact with Nature.
Yearly thousands of over-civilized people are discovering that nothing
so renews the health of the body, so refines the mind, so affords
a margin of leisure for the soul, or so has the power to quiet the
“restless pulse of care” as communion with Nature. They are discovering
that real recreation and enjoyment are not found in crowded cities or
fashion-hampered hotels. As a result, unspoiled woods and mountain
solitudes, brawling brooks and soundless lakes, flowers and stars, rosy
dawns, sunset golds and twilight purples are fast becoming the wealth
of nations. All this is glorious and full of promise. It lends a happy
tone to the times. Truly, if it persists in increasing, the Mariposa
Grove is destined to enjoy a tremendous tomorrow.
The Grant made by Congress in 1864 really embraced two distinct groups
of the Giant Sequoia. Because these approach within but a few yards
of each other, they have come to be looked upon as a single body. The
Upper Grove, according to Whitney, contains 365 trees of a diameter
of one foot and over. This makes, as the old guide books were wont
to point out, “a tree for every day in the year.” The Lower Grove is
smaller in area and contains but 182 trees, which are more scattered
than those of the Upper Grove. In both groves there are hardly
more than 125 Sequoias over 40 feet in circumference, yet these in
themselves are so imposing that to view them is compensation for a
journey half the circuit of the globe.
The road enters the Lower Grove, describing a figure eight in passing
through it and the Upper Grove. The Sergeant of the Guard and the
Four Sentinels guard the gateway. Their bright color and port, rather
than their size, at once attract the eye. Soon other monarchs, among
them the prostrate Father of the Forest, are passed. Then the Grizzly
Giant, standing alone in the grandeur of its own solitude, chains
the attention. Upward wanders the road, passing from one marvel to
another. Each seems to surpass its predecessor, and finally, when
the road passes through the Wawona Tree, it seems the chief wonder
of them all. But when this Highway of the Giants winds back again to
the Log Cabin, the traveller learns that the real wonder has been
reserved for the last. Here he will find himself in the midst of a
most magnificent grouping of Sequoias. Over half a hundred are within
sight of the Cabin. But not until, after examining one after another,
letting the eye roam over their fluted columns and upward into the
blue-green depths of their far-away tops, walking around some and into
the enormous hollows of others, climbing up the sides of still other
prostrate trunks and stepping them off from end to end, will a proper
realization of the immensity of the Sequoia be possible.
The more remarkable trees of the Mariposa Grove have received names
to individualize them. But even this practice of late has been
carried too far. The names of states, cities, and persons have been
indiscriminately tacked to trees that were on earth when the stones
of Rome were laid. That such comparatively trivial and frivolous
designations so inconsistent with the grandeur and nobility of the
Sequoia should be permitted is amazing and regrettable. It detracts
seriously from the finer appreciation of the tree and renders its
groves “freak museums” which are looked upon with a “Barnum eye”
as merely “side-show curiosities and big things.” Assuredly, such a
practice is to be unreservedly condemned.