men only know it as El Capitan. If it must have a new title, I think
it should at least rank as a field-marshal in the rock-world, for
assuredly no other crag exists that can compare with it. Just try
to realize its dimensions: a massive face of smooth cream-coloured
granite, half a mile long, half a mile wide, three-fifths of a mile
high. Its actual height is 3,300 feet--(I think that 5,280 feet go to
a mile). Think of our beautiful Castle Rock in Edinburgh, with its 434
feet; or Dover Castle, 469 feet; or even Arthur’s Seat, 822 feet,--what
pigmies they would seem could some wizard transport them to the base of
this grand crag, on whose surface not a blade of grass, not a fern or a
lichen, finds holding ground, or presumes to tinge the bare, clean-cut
precipice, which, strange to tell, is clearly visible from the great
San Joaquin Valley, a distance of sixty miles!
Imagine a crag just the height of Snowdon, with a lovely snow-stream
falling perpendicularly from its summit to its base, and a second and
larger fall in the deep gorge where it meets the rock-wall of the
valley. The first is nameless, and will vanish with the snows; but the
second never dries up, even in summer. It is known to the Indians as
Lung-oo-too-koo-ya, which describes its graceful length; but white men
call it The Virgin’s Tears or The Ribbon Fall--a blending of millinery
and romance doubtless devised by the same genius who changed the Indian
name of Pohono to The Bridal Veil.
We passed close to the latter as we entered the valley--in fact, forded
the stream just below the fall--and agreed that if Pohono be in truth,
as the Indian legend tells, the spirit of an evil wind, it surely must
be repentant glorified spirit, for nothing so beautiful could be evil.
It is a sight to gladden the angels--a most ethereal fall, light as
steam, swaying with every breath.
It falls from an overhanging rock, and often the current produced by
its own rushing seems to pass beneath the rock, and so checks the whole
column, and carries it upward in a wreath of whitest vapour, blending
with the true clouds.
When the rainbow plays on it, it too seems to be wafted up, and floats
in a jewelled spray, wherein sapphires and diamonds and opals, topaz
and emeralds, all mingle their dazzling tints. At other times it
rushes down in a shower of fairy-like rockets in what appears to be a
perpendicular column 1,000 feet high, and loses itself in a cloud of
mist among the tall dark pines which clothe the base of the crag.
A very accurate gentleman has just assured me that it is not literally
perpendicular, as, after a leap of 630 feet, it strikes the rock, and
then makes a fresh start in a series of almost vertical cascades, which
form a dozen streamlets ere they reach the meadows. He adds that the
fall is about fifty feet wide at the summit.
The rock-mass over which it falls forms the other great granite portal
of the valley, not quite so imposing as its massive neighbour, but far
more shapely. In fact, it bears so strong a resemblance to a Gothic
building that it is called the Cathedral Rock. It is a cathedral for
the giants, being 2,660 feet in height; and two graceful rock-pinnacles
attached to the main rock, and known as the Cathedral Spires, are each
500 feet in height.
Beyond these, towers a truly imposing rock-needle, which has been well
named The Sentinel. It is an obelisk 1,000 feet in height, rising from
the great rock-wall, which forms a pedestal of 2,000 more.
As if to balance these three rock-needles on the right-hand side,
there are, on the left, three rounded mountains which the Indians call
Pompompasus--that is, the Leaping-Frog Rocks. They rise in steps,
forming a triple mountain 3,630 feet high. Tall frogs these, even for
California. Imaginative people say the resemblance is unmistakable, and
that all the frogs are poised as if in readiness for a spring, with
their heads all turned the same way. For my own part, I have a happy
knack of not seeing these accidental likenesses, and especially those
faces and pictures (generally grotesque) which some most aggravating
people are always discovering among the lines and weather-stains on
the solemn crags, and which they insist on pointing out to their
unfortunate companions. Our coachman seemed to consider this a
necessary part of his office, so I assume there must be some people who
like it.
Farther up the valley, two gigantic Domes of white granite are built
upon the foundation of the great encompassing wall. One stands on each
side of the valley. The North Dome is perfect, like the roof of some
vast mosque; but the South, or Half Dome, is an extraordinary freak of
nature, very puzzling to geologists, as literally half of a stupendous
mass of granite has disappeared, leaving no trace of its existence,
save a sheer precipitous rock-face, considerably over 4,000 feet in
height, from which the corresponding half has evidently broken off, and
slipped down into some fearful chasm, which apparently it has been the
means of filling up.
Above the Domes, and closing in the upper end of the valley, is a
beautiful snow mountain, called Cloud’s Rest, which, seen from afar, is
the most attractive point of all, and one which I must certainly visit
some day. But meanwhile there are nearer points of infinite interest,
the foremost being the waterfall from which the valley takes its name,
and which burst suddenly upon our amazed vision when we reached the
base of the Sentinel Rock.
It is so indescribably lovely that I altogether despair of conveying
any notion of it in words, so shall not try to do so yet a while.
[Illustration: THE YOSEMITÉ VALLEY.]
But from what I have told you, you must perceive that each step in
this strange valley affords a study for weeks, whether to an artist, a
geologist, or any other lover of beautiful and wonderful scenes; and
more than ever, I congratulate myself on having arrived here while
all the oaks, alders, willows, and other deciduous trees, are bare
and leafless, so that no curtain of dense foliage conceals the
countless beauties of the valley. Already I have seen innumerable most
beautiful views, scarcely veiled by the filmy network of twigs, but
which evidently will be altogether concealed a month hence, when these
have donned their summer dress. To me these leafless trees rank with
fires and snows. I have not seen one since I left England, so I look at
them with renewed interest, and delight in the beauty of their anatomy,
as you and I have done many a time in the larch woods and the “birken
braes” of the Findhorn (where the yellow twigs of the larch, and the
grey aspen, and claret-coloured sprays of birch, blend with russet oak
and green Scotch firs, and produce a winter colouring well-nigh as
varied as that of summer).
Here there is an enchanting reminder of home in the tall
poplar-trees--the Balm of Gilead--which are just bursting into leaf,
and fill the air with heavenly perfume. They grow in clumps all along
the course of the Merced, the beautiful “river of Mercy,” which flows
through this green level valley so peacefully, as if it was thankful
for this quiet interval in the course of its restless life.
There is no snow in the valley, but it still lies thickly on the
hills all round. Very soon it will melt, and then the falls will all
be in their glory, and the meadows will be flooded and the streams
impassable. I am glad we have arrived in time to wander about
dry-footed, and to learn the geography of the country in its normal
state.
The valley is an almost dead level, about eight miles long, and varies
in width from half a mile to two miles. It is like a beautiful park of
greenest sward, through which winds the clear, calm river--a capital
trout-stream, of about eighty feet in width. In every direction are
scattered picturesque groups of magnificent trees, noble old oaks,
and pines of 250 feet in height! The river is spanned by two wooden
bridges; and three neat hotels are well placed about the middle of the
valley, half a mile apart--happily not fine, incongruous buildings, but
wooden bungalows, well suited to the requirements of such pilgrims as
ourselves....
_May-day, 1877._
May-day! What a vision of langsyne! Of the May-dew we used to gather
from off the cowslips by the sweet burnside, in those dear old days
“When we all were young together,
And the earth was new to me.”
I dare say you forgot all about May-day this morning, in the prosaic
details of town life. But here we ran no such risk, for we had
determined to watch the Beltane sunrise, reflected in the glassiest of
mountain-tarns, known as the Mirror Lake; and as it lies about three
miles from here, in one of the upper forks of the valley, we had to
astir betimes.
So, when the stars began to pale in the eastern sky, we were astir,
and with the earliest ray of dawn set off like true pilgrims bound to
drink of some holy spring on May morning. For the first two miles our
path lay across quiet meadows, which as yet are only sprinkled with
blossom. We found no cowslips, but washed our faces in Californian
May-dew, which we brushed from the fresh young grass and ferns. Soon,
they tell me, there will be violets, cowslips, and primroses. We passed
by the orchard of the first settler in the valley; his peach and cherry
trees were laden with pink and white blossoms, his strawberry-beds
likewise promising an abundant crop.
It was a morning of calm beauty, and the massive grey crags all around
the valley lay “like sleeping kings” robed in purple gloom, while the
pale yellow light crept behind them, the tall pines forming a belt of
deeper hue round their base.
About two miles above the Great Yo-semité Falls, the valley divides
into three branches--canyons, I should say, or, more correctly cañons.
The central one is the main branch, through which the Merced itself
descends from the high Sierras, passing through the Little Yo-semité
Valley, and thence rushing down deep gorges, and leaping two precipices
of 700 and 400 feet (which form the Nevada and the Vernal Falls), and
so entering the Great Valley, where for eight miles it finds rest.
The canyon which diverges to the right is that down which rushes the
South Fork of the Merced, which bears the musical though modern name of
Illillouette. It rises at the base of Mount Starr King, and enters the
valley by the graceful falls which bear this pretty name.
At the point where we left the main valley to turn into the Tenaya
Fork, the rock-wall forms a sharp angle, ending in a huge columnar mass
of very white granite 2,400 feet in height. The Indians call it Hunto,
which means one who keeps watch; but the white men call it Washington
Column.
Beside it, the rock-wall has taken the form of gigantic arches. The
lower rock seems to have weakened and crumbled or split off in huge
flakes, while the upper portions remain, overhanging considerably, and
forming regularly arched cliffs 2,000 feet in height. I cannot think
how it has happened that in so republican a community these mighty
rocks should be known as the Royal Arches, unless from some covert
belief that they are undermined, and liable to topple over. Their
original name is To-coy-œ, which describes the arched hood of an Indian
baby’s cradle--a famous nursery for giants.
The perpendicular rock-face beneath the arches is a sheer, smooth
surface, yet seamed with deep cracks as though it would fall, were it
not for the mighty buttresses of solid rock which project for some
distance, casting deep shadows across the cliff. As a test of size, I
noticed a tiny pine growing from a crevice in the rock-face, and on
comparing it with another in a more accessible position, I found that
it was really a very large, well-grown tree.
Just at this season, when the snows on the Sierras are beginning to
melt, a thousand crystal streams find temporary channels along the high
levels till they reach the smooth verge of the crags, and thence leap
in white foam, forming temporary falls of exceeding beauty. Three such
graceful falls at present overleap the mighty arches, and, in their
turn, produce pools and exquisitely clear streams, which thread their
devious way through woods and meadows, seeking the river of Mercy.
So the air is musical with the lullaby of hidden waters, and the murmur
of the unseen river rippling over its pebbly bed.
Turning to the right, we next ascended Tenaya valley, which is
beautifully wooded, chiefly with pine and oak, and strewn with the
loveliest mossy boulders. Unfortunately, the number of rattlesnakes
is rather a drawback to perfect enjoyment here. I have so long been
accustomed to our perfect immunity from all manner of noxious creatures
in the blessed South Sea Isles, that I find it difficult at first to
recall my wonted caution, and to “gang warily.” However, to-day we saw
no evil creatures--only a multitude of the jolliest little chip-munks,
which are small grey squirrels of extreme activity. They are very tame,
and dance about the trees close to us, jerking their brush, and giving
the funniest little skips, and sometimes fairly chattering to us!
Beyond this wood we found the Mirror Lake. It is a small pool, but
exquisitely cradled in the very midst of stern granite giants, which
stand all around as sentinels, guarding its placid sleep. Willows,
already covered with downy tufts, and now just bursting into slender
leaflets, fringe its shores, and tall cedars and pines overshadow its
waters, and are therein reflected in the stillness of early dawn, when
even the granite crags far overhead also find themselves mirrored in
the calm lakelet. But with the dawn comes a whispering breeze; and just
as the sun’s first gleam kisses the waters, the illusion vanishes, and
there remains only a somewhat muddy and troubled pool.
It lies just at the base of that extraordinary Half-Dome of which I
told you yesterday--a gigantic crest of granite, which rises above
the lake almost precipitously to a height of 4,737 feet. Only think
of it!--nearly a mile! Of this the upper 2,000 feet is a sheer face
of granite crag, absolutely vertical, except that the extreme summit
actually projects somewhat; otherwise it is as clean cut as if the
mighty Dome had been cloven with a sword. A few dark streaks near
the summit (due, I believe, to a microscopic fungus or lichen) alone
relieve the unbroken expanse of glistening, creamy white.
The lower half slopes at a very slight incline, and is likewise a solid
mass of granite--not made up of broken fragments, of which there are a
wonderfully small proportion anywhere in the valley. So the inference
is, that in the tremendous convulsion this mighty chasm was created,
the great South Dome was split from the base to the summit, and that
half of it slid down into the yawning gulf: thus the gently rounded
base, between the precipice and the lake, was doubtless originally the
summit of the missing half mountain.
I believe that geologists are now satisfied that this strange valley,
with its clean-cut, vertical walls, was produced by what is called in
geology “a fault,”--namely, that some of the earth’s ribs having given
away internally, a portion of the outer crust has subsided, leaving an
unoccupied space. That such was the case in Yo-semité, is proved by
much scientific reasoning. It is shown that the two sides of the valley
in no way correspond, so the idea of a mere gigantic fissure cannot
be entertained. Besides, as the valley is as wide at the base as at
the summit, the vertical walls must have moved apart bodily,--a theory
which would involve a movement of the whole chain of the Sierras for a
distance of a half a mile.
There is not trace of any glacier having passed through the valley, so
that the Ice-giants have had no share in making it. Neither can it have
been excavated by the long-continued action of rushing torrents, such
as have carved great canyons in many parts of the Sierra Nevada. These
never have vertical walls; and besides, the smoothest faces of granite
in Yo-semité are turned towards the lower end of the valley, proving at
once that they were never produced by forces moving downward.
So it is simply supposed that a strip of the Sierras caved in, and
that in time the melting snows and streams formed a great deep lake,
which filled up the whole space now occupied by the valley. In the
course of ages the _débris_ of the hills continually falling into the
lake, must have filled up the chasm to a level with the canyon, which
is the present outlet from the valley; and as the glaciers on the
upper Sierras disappeared, and the water-supply grew less, the lake
must have gradually dried up (and that in comparatively recent times),
and its bed of white granite sand, mingled with vegetable mould, was
transformed into a green meadow, through which the quiet river now
glides peacefully.
This evening the sun set in a flood of crimson and gold--such a
glorious glow as would have dazzled an eagle. It paled to a soft
primrose, then ethereal green. Later, the pearly-grey clouds were
rose-flushed by an afterglow more vivid than the sunset itself--a rich
full carmine, which quickly faded away to the cold, intense blue of a
Californian night. It was inexpressibly lovely.
Then the fitful wind rose in gusts--a melancholy, moaning wail,
vibrating among rocks, forests, and waters, with a low, surging
sound--a wild mountain melody.
No wonder the Indians reverence the beautiful Yo-semité Falls. Even the
white settlers in the valley cannot resist their influence, but speak
of them with an admiration that amounts to love. Some of them have
spent the winter here, and seem almost to have enjoyed it.
They say that if I could see the falls in their winter robes, all
fringed with icicles, I should gain a glimpse of fairyland. At the base
of the great fall the fairies build a real ice-palace, something more
than a hundred feet high. It is formed by the ever falling, freezing
spray; and the bright sun gleams on this glittering palace of crystal,
and the falling water, striking upon it, shoots off in showers like
myriad opals and diamonds.
Now scarcely an icicle remains, and the falls are in their glory. I had
never dreamt of anything so lovely.... Here we stand in the glorious
sunlight, among pine-trees a couple of hundred feet in height; and
they are pigmies like ourselves in presence of even the lowest step of
the stately fall, which leaps and dashes from so vast a height that it
loses all semblance of water. It is a splendid bouquet of glistening
rockets, which, instead of rushing heavenward, shoot down as if from
the blue canopy, which seems to touch the brink nearly 2,700 feet above
us.
Like myriad falling stars they flash, each keeping its separate course
for several hundred feet, till at length it blends with ten thousand
more, in the grand avalanche of frothy, fleecy foam, which for ever and
for ever falls, boiling and raging like a whirlpool, among the huge
black boulders in the deep cauldron below, and throwing back clouds of
mist and vapour.
The most exquisite moment occurs when you reach some spot where the
sun’s rays, streaming past you, transform the light vapour into
brilliant rainbow-prisms, which gird the falls with vivid iris-bars. As
the water-rockets flash through these radiant belts, they seem to carry
the colour onwards as they fall; and sometimes it wavers and trembles
in the breeze, so that the rainbow knows not where to rest, but forms a
moving column of radiant tri-colour.
So large a body of water rushing through the air, naturally produces
a strong current, which, passing between the face of the rock and the
fall, carries the latter well forward, so that it becomes the sport of
every breeze that dances through the valley; hence this great column is
forever vibrating from side to side, and often it forms a semi-circular
curve.
The width of the stream at the summit is about twenty to thirty feet,
but at the base of the upper fall it has expanded to a width of fully
300 feet; and, as the wind carries it to one side or the other, it
plays over a space of fully 1,000 feet in width, of a precipitous
rock-face 1,600 feet in depth. That is the height of the upper fall.
As seen from below the Yo-semité, though divided into three distinct
falls, is apparently all on one plane. It is only when you reach
some point from which you see it sideways, that you realize that the
great upper fall lies fully a quarter of a mile farther back than the
middle and lower falls, and that it rushes down this space in boiling
cascades, till it reaches a perpendicular rock, over which it leaps
about 600 feet, and then gives a third and final plunge of about 500,
making up a total of little under 2,700 feet.
When we came to the head of the valley, whence diverge the three rocky
canyons, we bade adieu to the green meadows, and passing up a most
exquisite gorge, crossed the Illillouette by a wooden bridge, and
followed the main fork of the Merced, up the central canyon. I do not
anywhere know a lovelier mile of river scenery than on this tumultuous
rushing stream, leaping from rock to rock, sweeping around mossy
boulders and falling in crystalline cascades--the whole fringed with
glittering icicles, and overshadowed by tall pine-trees, whose feathery
branches fringe the steep cliffs and wave in the breeze.
Presently a louder roar of falling water told us that we were nearing
the Vernal Falls, and through a frame of dark pines we caught a glimpse
of the white spirit-like spray-cloud. Tying up my pony, we crept to
the foot of the falls, whence a steep flight of wooden steps has been
constructed, by which a pedestrian can ascend about 400 feet to the
summit, and thence resume his way, thus saving a very long round. But
of course four-footed creatures must be content to go by the mountain;
and so the pony settled our route, greatly to our advantage, for the
view thence, looking down the canyon and across to Glacier Point,
proved to be about the finest thing we had seen, as an effect of
mountain gloom.
Just above the Vernal Falls comes a reach of the river known as The
Diamond Race,--a stream so rapid and so glittering, that it seems like
a shower of sparkling crystals, each drop a separate gem. I have never
seen a race which, for speed and dazzling light, could compare with
these musical, glancing waters.
For half a mile above it, the river is a tumultuous raging flood,
rushing at headlong speed down a boulder-strewn channel. At the most
beautiful point it is crossed by a light wooden bridge; and on the
green mountain-meadow just beyond, stands the wooden house, to which a
kindly landlord gave us a cheery, hearty welcome.
Here the lullaby for the weary is the ceaseless roar of the mighty
Nevada Falls, which come thundering down the cliffs in a sheer leap
of 700 feet, losing themselves in a deep rock-pool, fringed with
tall pines, which loom ghostly and solemn through the ever-floating
tremulous mists of fine spray.
It is a fall so beautiful as fairly to divide one’s allegiance to
Yo-semité, especially as we first beheld it at about three in the
afternoon, when the western rays of the lowering sun lighted up
the dark firs with a golden glow, and dim rainbows played on the
spray-clouds. It was as if fairy weavers had woven borders of purple
and blue, green and gold, orange and delicate rose-colour, on a tissue
of silvery gauze; and each dewy drop that rested on the fir-needles
caught the glorious light, and became a separate prism, as though the
trees were sprinkled with liquid radiant gems.
Anything more wonderful than the beauty of the Diamond Race in the
evening light, I never dreamt of. It is like a river in a fairy tale,
all turned to spray--jewelled, glittering spray--rubies, diamonds, and
emeralds, all dancing and glancing in the sunlight.
Just below this comes a little reach of the smoothest, clearest water,
which seems to calm and collect itself ere gliding over the edge of a
great square-hewn mass of granite 400 feet deep, forming the Vernal
Falls. Along the summit of this rock there runs a very remarkable
natural ledge about four feet in height, so exactly like the stone
parapet of a cyclopean rampart that it is scarcely possible to believe
it is not artificial. Here you can lean safely within a few feet of the
fall, looking straight down the perpendicular crag. But for this ledge,
it would be dangerous even to set foot on that smooth, polished rock,
which is as slippery as ice.
Early rising here is really no exertion, and it brings its own reward,
for there is an indescribable charm in the early gloaming as it steals
over the Sierras--a freshness and an exquisite purity of atmosphere
which thrills through one’s being like a breath of the life celestial.