“The Spirit” has again led me into the wilderness, in opposition to all
counter attractions, and I am once more in the glory of the Yosemite.
Your very cordial invitation to your home reached me as I was preparing
to ascend and my whole being was possessed with visions of snowy forests
of the pine and spruce, and of mountain spires beyond, pearly and half
transparent, reaching into heavens blue not purer than themselves.
In company with another young fellow whom I persuaded to walk, I left
the plains just as the first gold sheets were being outspread. My first
plan was to follow the Tuolumne upward as I had followed the Merced
downward, and, after reaching the Hetch Hetchy Valley, which has about
the same altitude as Yosemite, and spending a week or so in sketching
and examining its falls and rocks, to cross the high mountains past the
west end of the Hoffman Range and go down into Yosemite by Indian Cañon,
passing thus a glorious month with the mountains and all their snows and
crystal brightness, and all the nameless glories of their magnificent
winter; but my plan went agley. I lost a week’s sleep by the pain of a
sore hand, and I became unconfident in my strength when measured against
weeks of wading in snow up to my neck. Therefore I reluctantly concluded
to push directly for the valley and Tamarac.
Our journey was just a week in length, including one day of rest in the
Crane’s Flat Cabin. Some of our nights were cold, and we were hungry
once or twice. We crossed the snow-line on the flank of Pilot Peak Ridge
six or eight miles below Crane’s Flat. From Crane’s Flat to brim of the
valley the snow was about five feet in depth, and as it was not frozen
or compacted in any way we of course had a splendid season of wading.
I wish that you could have seen the edge of the snow-cloud which hovered,
oh, so soothingly, down to the grand Pilot Peak brows, discharging
its heaven-begotten snows with such unmistakable gentleness and moving
perhaps with conscious love from pine to pine as if bestowing separate
and independent blessings upon each. In a few hours we climbed under and
into this glorious storm-cloud. What a harvest of crystal flowers and
what wind songs were gathered from the spiry firs and the long fringy
arms of the Lambert pine! We could not see far before us in the storm,
which lasted until some time in the night, but as I was familiar with
the general map of the mountain we had no difficulty in finding our way.
Crane’s Flat Cabin was buried, and we had to grope about for the door.
After making a fire with some cedar rails, I went out to watch the
coming-on of the darkness, which was most impressively sublime. Next
morning was every way the purest creation I ever beheld. The little
flat, spot-like in the massive spiring woods, was in splendid vesture of
universal white, upon which the grand forest-edge was minutely repeated
and covered with a close sheet of snow flowers.
Some mosses grow luxuriantly upon the dead generations of their own
species. The common snow flowers belong to the sky and in storms are
blown about like ripe petals in an orchard. They settle on the ground,
the bottom of the atmospheric sea, like mud or leaves in a lake, and upon
this soil, this field of broken sky flowers, grows a luxuriant carpet
of crystal vegetation complete and ripe in a single night.
I never before knew that these mountain snow plants were so variable
and abundant, forming such bushy clumps and thickets and palmy, ferny
groves. Wading waist-deep, I had a fine opportunity for observing
them, but they shrink from human breath,--not the only flowers which do
so,--evidently not made for man, neither the flowers composing the snow
which came drifting down to us broken and dead, nor the more beautiful
crystals which vegetate upon them. A great many storms have come to
these mountains since I passed them, and they can hardly be less than
ten feet; at the altitude of Tamarac still more.
The weather here is balmy now, and the falls are glorious. Three weeks
ago the thermometer at sunrise stood at 12 degrees.
I have repaired the mill and dam, and the stream is in no danger of
drying up and is more dammed than ever.
To-day has been cloudy and rainy. Tissiack and Starr King are grandly
dipped in white cloud.
I sent you my plants by express. I am sorry that my Yosemite specimens
are not with the others.
I left a few notes with Mrs. Yelverton when I left the valley in the
fall. I wish that you would ask her, if you should see her, where she
left them, as Mrs. Hutchings does not know.
I shall be happy to join Stoddard in anything whatever. Mrs. H. had a
letter from him lately, part of which she read to me. And now, Mrs. Carr,
you must see the upper mountains and meadows back of Yosemite. You have
seen nothing as yet, and I will guide you a whole summer if you wish.
I am very happy here and cannot break for the Andes just yet.
Squirrel is at my knee. She says, “Tell Mrs. Carr to come here to-morrow
and tell her to bring her little boy when she comes.” If you will come,
she says that she will guide you to the falls and give you lots of
flowers. Mrs. H. tells me to say that she has received a very kind letter
from you, which she will answer. Sends thus her kindest regards. If she
can find a chance, she will send bulbs of lily by mail.