it in such a remote place. They told us that the inn maintains its
own gardens and dairy, and the steamer brings supplies daily. The inn
keeps open only during the season, which usually extends from May to
October, but there is some one in charge the year round and no one who
comes seeking accommodations is ever turned away. Though completely
isolated by deep snows from all land communication, the steamer
never fails, since the lake does not freeze, even in the periods of
below-zero weather. We found the big lounging room, with its huge
chimney and crackling log fire, a very comfortable and cheery place to
pass the evening and could easily see how anyone seeking rest and quiet
might elect to sojourn many days at Glenbrook. But Glenbrook was not
always so delightfully quiet and rural. Years ago, back in the early
eighties, it was a good-sized town with a huge saw mill that converted
much of the forest about the lake into lumber. There are still hundreds
of old piles that once supported the wharves, projecting out of the
water of the little bay in front of the hotel--detracting much from the
beauty of the scene.
We were astir in the morning, wondering what the aspect of our
changeful lake might be in the dawning light; and sure enough, the
change was there--a cold, steel blue sheet of water, rippling into
silver in places. Near the shore all was quiet, not a wave lapping the
beach as on the previous night. The mountains beyond the lake were
silhouetted with startling distinctness against a silvery sky, and on
many of the summits were flecks of snow that had outlasted the summer.
We had thought to go on to Reno by the way of Carson City, but we could
not bring ourselves to leave the lake and so we decided to go by way of
Truckee, even though we had previously covered the road. It proved a
fortunate decision, for we saw another shifting of the wonderful Tahoe
scenery--the morning coloring was different from that of the afternoon
and evening. We had the good fortune to pick up an old inhabitant of
Tahoe City whose car had broken down on one of the heavy grades and
who told us much about the lake and the country around it. He had
lived near Tahoe for more than thirty-five years and could remember
the days of the prospectors and saw mills. Nearly all the timber about
the lake is of new growth since the lumbering days. This accounts for
the absence of large trees except in a few spots which escaped the
lumberman’s ax. Yellow pines, firs, and cedars prevail, with occasional
sugar pines and some deciduous varieties. It is, indeed, a pity that
Tahoe and the surrounding hills were not set aside as a national park
before so much of the country had passed into private hands.
A fairly good road has been constructed for nearly three quarters of
the distance around the lake and a very indifferent wagon road from
Tahoe City to Glenbrook completes the circuit. The latter we did not
cover, being assured that it was very difficult if not impassable for
motors. Plans are under way for a new road around the northern end of
the lake, which will enable the motorist to encircle this wonderful
body of water--a trip of about eighty miles--and will afford endless
viewpoints covering scenes of unparalleled beauty. The whole of the
road about the lake ought to be improved--widened and surfaced and some
of the steeper grades and more dangerous turns eliminated. It might
then be the “boulevard” that one enthusiastic writer characterizes it,
even in its present condition, but in our own humble opinion it has a
long way to go before it deserves such a title.
At the Tavern we reluctantly turned away from the lake--it seemed to us
as if we could never weary of its changeful beauty--and for the next
dozen miles we followed the course of the Truckee River, at no time
being more than a few rods distant from it. It is a clear, swift stream
with greenish color tones and was still of fair size, though at its
lowest ebb. Our road at times ran directly alongside within a few feet
of its banks; again a sharp pitch carried us some distance above it and
afforded fine views of valley and river. None of the grades were long,
but one or two are steep, exceeding twenty per cent. The railroad,
a flimsy, narrow-gauge affair, closely parallels the river and wagon
road, but it is kept running the year round and keeps the scanty winter
population about Tahoe in touch with the world.
Truckee is a typical wild western village with rather more than its
share of saloons. These are well patronized, for there is a large
working population in and about the town. It is a railroad division;
a saw mill near by employs eight hundred men and a large paper pulp
factory nearly as many. All of which contribute to make it a lively
place and its Chamber of Commerce has organized a winter Ice Carnival
for the purpose of giving those Californians who live on the coast and
in the great central valleys an opportunity of seeing what real winter
is like and enjoying its sports. The carnival opens on Christmas Day
and continues until the middle of March. A huge ice palace is devoted
to skating and dancing, while tobogganing, skiing and sleighing are the
outdoor amusements. They told us that so far the festival has proven a
great success, attracting people from every part of the state.
Out of Truckee we ran for fifteen or twenty miles through a barren
sagebrush country with only an occasional tumble-down abandoned ranch
house to break the monotony of the scene. The road was fine, but it
took a sudden turn for the worse when we entered the straggling yellow
pine forest that covers the hill range between Truckee and Reno. It was
rough and stony in spots and we climbed steadily for several miles.
We saw some pretty scenery, however, for the mighty forest rose to
the very summits of the rugged hills above us and followed the dark
canyon below downward to the river’s edge. Beyond the summit we began
the descent of Dog Canyon--whence its poetical designation we did
not learn--the longest and steepest straight grade we encountered in
several thousand miles of mountaineering. For seven miles or more it
drops down the side of the canyon without a single turn, the grades
ranging from six to twenty per cent, deep with dust and very rough
in places, a trying descent on brakes and driver. We met a few cars
scrambling wearily up with steaming radiators and growling gears, but
what more excited our sympathies were several canvas-covered wagons
drawn by reeking horses that seemed ready to drop in their tracks from
exhaustion. At the foot of the grade just beyond the Nevada line, we
came into the village of Verdi, directly on the river and evidently
the destination of many of the pine logs we had seen along our road,
for here was a large saw mill. Beyond Verdi we followed the Truckee,
bordered by emerald green alfalfa fields just being mown. The yield
was immense, indicating a rich, well-watered soil, but in the main the
ranch houses were small and poor, with squalid surroundings. Nearer
Reno, however, we noted some improvement and occasionally we passed a
neat and prosperous-looking ranch house. Coming into the town we sought
the Riverside Hotel, which is rightly named, for it stands directly on
the banks of the Truckee. We had difficulty in getting satisfactory
accommodations--court was in session and it was opening day of the
races, with a consequent influx of litigants and sports. We learned
later that Reno is always a busy town and advance hotel arrangements
should not be neglected by prospective guests.
III
RENO TO KLAMATH FALLS
Reno has acquired a nation-wide fame for its “wide open” proclivities
and we fear that much of the prosperity we saw on every hand may be due
to its liberal though generally deprecated practices. The 1910 census
gave the town a population of about ten thousand and if we allow a
gain of as much as fifty per cent since then, it is still no more than
a good-sized village so far as people are concerned. However this may
be, its buildings, public and private, its streets and residences, its
shops and hotels, would do credit to the average eastern town of from
thirty to fifty thousand. One bank building we especially noted would
not be out of place on Fifth Avenue and the courthouse, postoffice, the
Y. M. C. A. building, and the theaters are all out of the small-town
class. On the ridge east of the river, surrounded by beautiful grounds,
are numerous handsome residences built by old-time mining magnates,
most of whom are now dead.
Mining was the foundation of Reno’s prosperity and it cuts considerable
figure in the commerce of the town at present. The greater part of its
business activity, however, is due to the rich farming country that
surrounds the city, to the railroad machine shops, which employ over
two thousand men, and to several minor manufacturing establishments
which in the aggregate employ a considerable number of people. These
are resources that may be common to many other live towns, but Reno has
several sources of income quite peculiar to itself that an indulgent
state legislature, largely composed of Renoans, has made possible by
shrewd enactments. Here it is still lawful to race horses as in the
good old days with everything wide open and bookmakers galore. A solid
month each year is devoted to the speed track, during which time the
sportively inclined congregate in Reno from all parts of the West and
squander much ready cash in the town. Prize fighting is also permitted
and here it was that Robert Fitzsimmons plucked the laurel wreath from
the classic brow of Jim Corbet before an appreciative audience of fifty
thousand devotees of the manly art from every corner of the country.
But Reno’s great specialty has been the loosening of the matrimonial
tie--for a consideration--and many well-known and wealthy people
became guests of the town for the six months’ period necessary to
secure a divorce. Yielding to outside public sentiment after awhile,
the legislature extended the period of residence to one year, hoping,
no doubt, to get credit for righteousness--and more cash from
seekers after matrimonial freedom. It killed the infant industry,
however; evidently the idle rich preferred to endure the tortures of
unhappy married life rather than spend a year in Reno, and they quit
coming. The legislature hastened to restore the six-month clause in
the statute and as a consequence the divorce mills are turning out
fair grist again. Our waitress at the hotel pointed out one or two
bejeweled females who were “doing time” in Reno to get rid of their
incompatible mates, and declared that there was a considerable colony
of both sexes in the town waiting for their papers. Some authorities
intimate that two thousand dollars is the minimum sum necessary for an
outsider to secure a decree in a Nevada court, but doubtless many of
the multi-millionaires leave several times that sum behind them, for
the citizens do their full duty in providing entertainment that will
separate their guests from their cash.
It would hardly be expected that the prohibition wave now sweeping the
west coast would be at all likely to cross the Nevada line--in fact, at
this writing Nevada is the only state to contest with New Jersey for
the doubtful honor of being all wet, where even local option has not
succeeded in getting a footing. The saloons of Reno are numerous and
palatial and doubtless contribute not a little to the comfort of those
of the sporting fraternity who make the town their Mecca. The only
attempt at sumptuary legislation is an “anti-treat” law which insists
that everyone must drink at his own expense. As to gambling, I was told
that this pleasant pastime has been little interfered with since the
old mining days, though it is not now conducted so openly except in
connection with the races.
As the metropolis and center of population of the state, Reno should
logically be the capital, but this honor is held by Carson, a village
of five thousand people about twenty miles to the south. Within a
radius of fifty miles is grouped perhaps half the population of the
state, which, with all its vast area of seventy-five thousand square
miles, had but seventy-five thousand people according to the last
census. No other state in the Union has such vast areas of uninhabited
desert, but the natives will strive to impress upon you that a great
future is assured--all that is necessary to make this sagebrush country
bloom like the rose is water, and water can be had from artesian wells
almost anywhere in the Nevada valleys.
However, it is quite outside my province to write a disquisition
on the resources of Nevada, and I have been dwelling on Reno only
because it seemed of unusual interest to me and was a stopping-place
on our tour. Our hotel, the Riverside, is a huge red-brick structure
standing directly on the banks of the Truckee so that its windows
overlook the swift stream, which moves so rapidly that it does not
lose its clearness even in the town limits. We found the Riverside
fairly comfortable--it would have been still more so had we made
reservations in advance--and its rates were very moderate as compared
with the average Western hotel of its class. Reno occupies an important
position in the motor world as a stopping-place on the Lincoln Highway
and an outfitting station for much of the surrounding country. It has
excellent garages with good repair facilities and its streets were
thronged with cars of all degrees.
The next morning we took the road to the north out of the town roughly
following the recently completed Northern California & Oregon Railroad,
which gives Northeastern California and Southern Oregon an outlet
to the Southern Pacific at Reno. The twenty miles in Nevada before
reaching the California line gave us an opportunity to see first-hand
some of the state’s resources of which they talked at Reno. The road
was unexpectedly good, smooth and free from dust, with gently rolling
grades. The view was quite unobstructed and permitted speed ad libitum,
keeping a sharp lookout, of course, for an occasional rough spot or
sandy stretch. A more desolate country than that which stretched away
on either hand would be hard to imagine. A wide valley, without even
sagebrush or cactus to relieve its barrenness, was guarded on both
sides by ranges of bleak, rugged hills which, near at hand, seemed more
like vast cinder heaps than anything else. Only the far distance was
able to transform the scene and to lend something of “enchantment to
the view,” softening the rough outlines with a violet haze and tinging
the desert sands with hues of mauve and lavender. Trees and shrubs
there were none and there were scant indications of vegetation at any
time of the year. At long intervals we passed little deserted ranch
houses which indicated that some hopeful soul had once endeavored to
develop the “resources” of the country, but had given up in despair and
“of his name and race had left no token and no trace.” At one point we
crossed Dry Lake, a vast, level saline deposit as hard and white and
nearly as smooth as polished marble--an ideal auto race course.
Our first town was Doyle, a lonely little place of half a dozen
buildings forty-eight miles north of Reno. Beyond here we entered Long
Creek Valley, our road climbing short, sharp pitches and winding about
sandstone bluffs with stretches of heavy sand here and there. However,
the country soon showed much improvement; there were well-tilled fields
and frequent ranch houses, some of them surrounded by green lawns,
beautified with flowers. Orchards were common and we saw many apple and
pear trees loaded with luscious-looking fruit. The road through this
section was fair, though little had been done in the way of permanent
improvement. There is only one long grade and when we reached the
summit of the hills which it surmounts, we saw a circular valley before
us with an irregular hazy-blue sheet of water in the center. Somehow we
had pictured the northeastern lakes in our minds as rivals of Tahoe in
beauty and color, but never was greater delusion than in the case of
Honey Lake, which lay before us. It is a shallow, characterless expanse
of shimmering water set in the midst of a great basin surrounded on
all sides by naked hills. The shores are flat and marshy and entirely
devoid of trees. It is redeemed from complete unattractiveness by a
narrow ring of fertile and highly cultivated land from one to three
miles wide that completely surrounds it, sloping upwards from the
shore line to the hillsides. Fronting the lake at frequent intervals
are fairly prosperous-looking farmhouses in the midst of poplar and
walnut groves. Cattle raising appeared to be the chief industry, for we
saw many herds grazing in the green meadows around the lake. The name,
they told us, came from the honey-dew which gathers on the grasses
in the vicinity. The lake was alive with wild fowl--ducks, mud hens,
herons, and pelicans--but the frequent “No Hunting” signs apprised the
sportsman that he was not welcome here. The road runs entirely around
the lake, but we chose the west side through Milford, which was fair
though very dusty; in wet weather it must be practically impassable for
motor cars. In winter there is much snow here, the temperature going
sometimes as low as fifteen or twenty degrees below zero, and the lake
usually freezes quite solid. Like all the lakes of this section, it is
said to be gradually receding, due to the drain of numerous artesian
irrigating wells.
Fifteen miles beyond Honey Lake we came into Susanville, where we
planned to stop for the night. We had no very pleasant anticipations,
to be sure, for the town was rated at one thousand people and we were
resigned to put up with primitive accommodations without complaint.
We experienced a pleasant surprise on entering the St. Francis, a
well-kept hotel where we found all modern conveniences. We narrowly
missed being shut out because we failed to make reservations and we
saw other would-be guests turned away later in the day.
Susanville is the capital and metropolis of Lassen, a county of
vast extent but scant population. Here and in Modoc, the county to
the north, the soil is of volcanic origin and Mt. Lassen, the only
active volcano in the United States, is just beyond the hills to the
west. Serving as a center for such a wide tract of country, the town
naturally outclasses places of a thousand people in more populous
sections. It has better stores, theaters, garages, and hotels than are
usually found in places of its size. The most pretentious residence
stands at the head of the main street, a large, crotchety building
which they told us was the home of the chief saloonkeeper, who runs
a palatial bar down the street. North and west of the town the hills
are covered with a magnificent pine forest--a favorite haunt, a local
sportsman informed us, of deer and other game. He also told us that we
would find a good road through the forest to Eagle Lake, some fifteen
miles to the northwest, which he declared the equal of Tahoe for scenic
beauty. We had arrived in the town shortly after noon; there was still
time to drive to Eagle Lake and the car was ordered forthwith.
We had proceeded but a little way when we came upon a force of men
working upon the new state road which is to connect Susanville with the
Pacific Highway at Red Bluff, a distance of about one hundred miles,
making this country far more accessible to the motorist than at the
time of our visit. Three or four miles out of the town we turned from
the highway into the forest, following an excellent mountain road which
climbs a steady but moderate grade for a distance of twelve miles. On
either hand towered gigantic yellow pines, many of which were devoid
of branches for a height of nearly one hundred feet. It was clear
that a fire had swept through them not so very long ago, destroying
the smaller trees and shrubbery and giving the forest a wonderfully
cleaned-up appearance. It had apparently done little damage to the big
trees, though some of the trunks were charred to a considerable height.
Some distance beyond the summit we saw the lake far below us, gleaming
in the low afternoon sun and reminding us of a great gem set in the
dark pines that crowd up to its shores. It was too late in the day to
get much in color effects, but we agreed that Eagle Lake, lovely as
it is, has no claim for comparison with Tahoe. The shores of the lake
abound with curious caves extending for miles underground, some filled
with perpetual ice and others through which icy winds continually roar.
Many have never been fully explored and some of the strange phenomena
have never been satisfactorily accounted for. The lake teems with
trout and bass, affording far better sport for fishermen than the more
frequented waters and its shores, still in their native wildness, offer
ideal camping sites. Returning to the town, we saw a wonderful sunset
through the pines and from occasional points of vantage caught long
vistas of wooded hills stretching away to the crimson sky.
The northbound road out of Susanville climbs a barren hill range with
grades up to fifteen per cent and there is scarcely a downward dip
for over seven miles. Not a tree or shrub obstructs the view from
the long switchbacks and we had a magnificent panorama of the town
and Honey Lake Valley and the far-reaching wooded hills to the south
and west. The road, though unimproved, was excellent and as volcanic
rock is the base, it is probably good the year round except when snow
prevails. It was not so good beyond the hillcrest; boulders began to
crop out, making the descent to Merrillville pretty rough. At the
summit we ran into a fine forest of yellow pine, which continued
for several miles. We then crossed stony, desolate hill ranges--one
after another--alternating with basin-shaped valleys. In one of these
valleys, thirty miles from Susanville, is Horse Lake, an ugly, shallow
sheet of water three or four miles long with barren, alkali-encrusted
shores. A notice was posted by the roadside warning passersby that the
water of the lake is poisonous and it certainly looked like it. The
soil of some of the valleys looked as if it might be fertile if well
watered, but the greater part of it was strewn with ragged volcanic
rocks. There were occasional miserable little huts, apparently long
deserted, which indicated that at some time a settler had endeavored
to wring an existence from the inhospitable earth, and had given up
in despair. A few of the more persistent were still engaged in the
struggle, but there was little indication of prosperity.
Beyond Horse Lake we climbed a second mighty hill range and from the
summit beheld the Madeline Plains, a valley far larger than the ones we
had passed. This wide level tract, comprising over one hundred square
miles, is encircled by volcanic hills which, despite their ugliness and
barrenness when viewed near at hand, faded away in the distance in a
wild riot of coloring. Lavender merged into purple and purple deepened
to dark blue, which finally shrouded the hills from our view. Farming
in this valley appeared to be conducted more successfully, though there
is as yet much unimproved land and none of the ranch houses or their
surroundings showed signs of prosperity. Madeline, on the edge of
the plain, is a dilapidated village of a few dozen people and the big
yellow wooden hotel seemed out of all proportion to any business it
could hope for. Beyond this for many miles the characteristics of the
country continued much the same, hills and valleys alternating until
we entered the Pitt River Valley, a dozen miles from Alturas. Here
the country began to show considerable improvement, which gradually
increased until we came into the town.