Sissons Station,
November 1st, 1874.
Here is icy Shasta fifteen miles away yet at the very door. It is all
close wrapt in clean young snow down to the very base, one mass of white
from the dense black forest girdle at an elevation of five or six thousand
feet to the very summit. The extent of its individuality is perfectly
wonderful.
When I first caught sight of it over the braided folds of the Sacramento
valley, I was fifty miles away and afoot, alone, and weary, yet all my
blood turned to wine and I have not been weary since. Stone was to have
accompanied me, but has failed of course. The last storm was severe,
and all the mountains shake their heads and say impossible, etc., but
you know I will meet all its icy snows lovingly.
I set out in a few minutes for the edge of the timber-line. Then upwards,
if unstormy, in the early morning. If the snow proves to be mealy and
loose, it is barely possible that I may be unable to urge my way through
so many upward miles, as there is no intermediate camping-ground. Yet I
am feverless and strong now and can spend two days with their intermediate
nights in one deliberate, unstrained effort.
I am the more eager to ascend to study the mechanical conditions of the
fresh snow at so great an elevation; also to obtain clear views of the
comparative quantities of lava inundation northward and southward; also
general views of the channels of the ancient Shasta glaciers, etc.; many
other lesser problems, besides the fountains of the rivers here and the
living glaciers. I would like to remain a week or two and may have to
return next year in summer.
I wrote a short letter a few days ago which was printed in the “Evening
Bulletin,” which I suppose you have seen.
I wonder how you all are faring in your wilderness educational
departmental institutional, etc. Write me a line here in care of Sisson.
I think it will reach me on my return from icy Shasta.
Farewell.
Ever cordially yours,
JOHN MUIR.
Love to all,--Keith and the boys and McChesney, etc.
Don’t forward any letters from the Oakland office. I want only mountains
until my return to civilization.
Sissons Station,
December 9th, 1874.
Coming in for a sleep and rest, I was glad to receive your card. I seem
to be more than married to icy Shasta.
One yellow, mellow morning six days ago, when Shasta snows were looming
and blooming, I slept outside the bar-room door to gaze and was instantly
drawn up over the meadows, over the forests, to the main Shasta glacier
in one rushing cometic whizz, then, swooping to Shasta valley, whirled
off around the base like a satellite of the grand icy sun. I have just
completed my first revolution. Length of orbit, 100 miles; time, one
Shasta day.
For two days and a half I had nothing in the way of food, yet suffered
nothing and was finely nerved for the most delicate work of mountaineering
both among crevasses and lava cliffs. Now I am sleeping and _eating_. I
found some geological facts that are perfectly glorious, and botanical
ones too.