Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
On page 64 "Phenicians" may be a typo for "Phoenicians".
On page 78 "sterites" may be a typo for "stearites".
On page 93 "Asisis" may be a typo for "Assisi".
In the Index, hyphens indicate both a range of numbers (156-158) and
a series of numbers (157-172-174).
Inconsistent punctuation in the ads section has been retained as
printed.
The book uses both San Jose, and San Jose.
BANCROFT'S
TOURIST'S GUIDE
YOSEMITE.
SAN FRANCISCO AND AROUND THE BAY,
(SOUTH.)
SAN FRANCISCO:
A. L. BANCROFT & COMPANY,
1871.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871,
By A. L. BANCROFT & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
Bancroft's Steam Printing, Lithographing, Engraving and Book-binding
Establishment, San Francisco, Cal.
CONTENTS.
PREFACE, 4
INTRODUCTION, 7
ROUTES AND EXPENSES, 13-24
YOSEMITE VALLEY, 25
THE BIG TREES, CALAVERAS, 52
MARIPOSA, 57
OTHER GROVES, 67
BOWER CAVE, 72
ALABASTER CAVE, 77
INDEX TO SAN FRANCISCO, 89
SAN FRANCISCO, 95
EXCURSION ROUTES, 205
SACRAMENTO, 232
STOCKTON, 243
OAKLAND, 209
SAN JOSE, 212
MT. DIABLO, 227
LAKE TAHOE, 250
DONNER LAKE, 251
PREFACE.
This is a Pocket Guide to Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees, with the
best routes thither and thence. It also includes San Francisco with
the cities, towns, caves, mines and beaches within a hundred miles
south and east of this city.
We have tried to make it accurate and reliable in all statements of
routes, distances, time required, conveyances, fares, hotels, rates,
etc., making a snug, neat and tasteful book, to be sold at a low rate
on all overland trains and ocean steamers bound hither, meeting all
tourists, excursionists and travelers some hundreds of miles before
they reach San Francisco, posting them on all the most attractive
spots in the State, and answering in advance all necessary questions,
thus enabling them, before setting foot in the city, to plan their
excursions, decide upon routes, choose conveyances, select hotels, and
calculate expenses. And then, when they have actually been over the
whole ground, and thoroughly tested it, find everything "_just as the
book said_."
True, we already have three or four costly volumes, written for a
similar purpose, but we claim that for the ordinary use of the average
tourist this is superior to any or all of them in at least three
important particulars:
1st. It omits all tedious, long-drawn, and unnecessarily minute
descriptions, which may occasionally suit some very critical or
scientific tourist, but whose chief value is to _guide_ the traveler's
money into the publisher's pocket.
2d. It contains brief descriptions of all the most notable curiosities
and wonders of the State. Its statements are drawn from the latest
official scientific sources, or taken from the personal observation
and actual measurements of the writer, made expressly for this work.
3d. It is compact and economical of time, space and money, none of
which the tourist usually cares to waste or lose or throw away.
The public have called for it, and we have done our best to respond,
with the material, and in the time, at our command.
That it contains _no_ mistakes we do not claim, but that it includes
fewer than any similar book we confidently affirm. We have availed
ourselves of every practicable source of reliable information up to
date, June, 1871.
In a new and fast-growing State, like ours, where railroad companies
sometimes lay nearly a league of track a day, it is simply impossible
that any publication should remain perfectly accurate in every
particular, even for twenty-four hours after its issue.
We pledge ourselves to disappoint no reasonable expectation, and shall
thankfully receive and gratefully appreciate any correction or later
information which any traveler, railroad, stage or saddle-train agent,
or hotel manager, will kindly communicate.
In response to many calls, constantly repeated, and now pressingly
urged, we offer this little Common-sense Hand-book Guide, which
truthfully tells tourists just
WHERE TO GO; HOW FAR IT IS; HOW TO GET THERE;
WHEN TO START; WHOM TO STOP WITH;
HOW LONG IT TAKES; AND, HOW MUCH IT COSTS.
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL., June, 1871.
YOSEMITE.
You are going to Yosemite. Of course you are. What else did you come
to California for? The idea of a man in his right mind, having the
slightest love of beauty, grandeur and sublimity, coming to California
and _not_ going to Yosemite! Why, it's preposterous; it's incredible;
it's impossible. We may as well dismiss the thought at once. Of
_course_ you go. So that's settled.
Now, _when_ will you go? If you have means and are sure of time to see
all the wonders and beauties which the State offers, then might you
wisely and safely leave the best until the last; that is, reserve
Yosemite for your final trip before you return. But, lest time or cash
should fail, or sudden summons hasten your departure, it is wisest and
safest to make sure of it at once while you may. It would never do to
go back East, confront inquiring friends, and have to humbly confess
that you _had_ been to California, but had _not_ seen Yosemite.
Then, _how_ shall you go. If you are fresh and strong, with the nerve
and muscle of a young and enthusiastic college pedestrian, you can do
it on foot, as Bayard Taylor did Europe. It's the most independent and
enjoyable way of all if you have time and disposition, and no ladies
in your party. If you _should_ wish to try that, get a copy of the
Overland Monthly for July, 1870, turn to the article "Yosemite on
Foot," and you have your guide.
If you haven't time or ambition to distinguish yourself by emulating
Weston, you may possibly contemplate an excursion on hoofs. Several
parties have done Yosemite on all fours, and report a tough American
nag, or a wiry little Mexican mustang as an indispensable auxiliary.
Parties who wish to avoid the sense of dependence, as well as the
pecuniary expense of hiring a stable horse, frequently buy a tough
native horse for seventy-five or a hundred dollars, use him for the
entire trip, with no expense beyond that of daily feeding, keep him
until they have finished their tour, and then sell him for nearly as
much, in some cases even more, than they paid.
Mounted in this way you accomplish a sort of vicarious pedestrianism,
gladly substituting equine hoofs for human heels, while the animal
himself rejoices in a responsible backer in the bifurcated person of
your bestriding self; or, still again, it may be--it probably _does_
be, as our little four-year-old says--that you are too fashionably
_lazy_,--I beg pardon, I meant to say, it is possible that you have
inherited a constitutional aversion to protracted exertion, which, by
long indulgence, has quite unfitted you for the thoroughly manly or
womanly pursuit of grandeur, beauty, and pleasure in the
saddle--chasing health on horseback.
One other way remains, before you fall back upon the fashionable and
feeble way of "being carried" in the regular, orthodox and popular
style, which suffers you to attempt no personal exercise beyond "the
heavy looking on." You may combine saddle and wagon: that is, take a
strong wagon, carrying tent, provisions and cooking apparatus, with
one or two of the more unskillful riders on the seat, while the others
in the saddle revolve as equestrian satellites around.
But if you decide, as most do, and as you probably will, to take no
responsibility and cumber yourself with no care, you select one of the
various public routes, seek out its agent, make your contract, give up
all planning and providing on your own part, pay over your coin, take
your tickets for the round trip, commit yourself to one of the various
lines of public conveyances, dismiss all anxiety and give yourself up
to receive and absorb all the pleasure that may lie along the route,
or await you at its end.
And if your object is simply enjoyment, untroubled by exertion, and
unmixed with anxiety, that is, undoubtedly, the best way.
You are in San Francisco, at the Grand, at the Occidental, at the Lick
House or the Cosmopolitan. In their luxurious beds you have slept off
the fatigue of thirty-three hundred miles across the continent, and at
their bountiful tables you have fed yourself into courage and spirit
for new and further enterprise. You have come forth so fresh and brave
that you feel ready for eight thousand miles more, straight across the
tranquil Pacific; or climbing, unaided, the loftiest vertebral peak of
that spinal range which furnishes the backbone of the continent. Your
new vigor has let off its frothy effervescence in sundry spasmodic
dashes about the city and around its suburbs. You have driven to the
Cliff House, interviewed the seals, climbed Telegraph hill, rusticated
at Woodward's, spent an afternoon at Bancroft's, crossed to Oakland,
inspected Alcatraz and Fort Point, and, in short, completed the little
day-trips and half-day tours which so restfully entertain the
newly-arrived traveler, gradually acclimate him to our occidental air
and familiarize him with our cosmopolitan people. You feel strong and
fresh: ready for the grand excursion. All your drawing-room and
dining-table suits are snugly packed in trunks, folded away in drawers
or carefully hung in wardrobe or clothespress. The roughest, strongest
and warmest suit in your possession you have donned. Specially provide
good stout, yet easy, boots or shoes, with the softest and most
comfortable of socks or stockings. Remember that every day brings two
climates, a cool or even cold one for morning and evening, with a hot
and dusty noon sandwiched between. Umbrellas and rubber blankets you
won't need, though a good traveling shawl will serve you frequently
and well. Stovepipe hats are an abomination--a hard hat of any shape,
first cousin to it, and the extra wide brimmed ladies' picnic hat,
closely akin to both. Browns, drabs and grays are your best colors;
linens and woolens your best materials; fine flannels next the skin,
and especially provide plenty of something soft and thick to come
between you and the horse, during the necessary miles in the saddle.
This last is not a matter of choice, but of necessity. Calculate to
spend at least two weeks in the valley, and allow two or even three
days each way for your trip in and out. Of course you can go faster
and quicker if you wish or must, but of all excursions imaginable,
Yosemite most needs deliberation and leisure. These are precisely the
two things of which the average American tourist has the least. Whence
it has happened that very few indeed, especially of our own
countrymen, have ever really _visited_ Yosemite. Hundreds have dashed
in, plunged around and rushed out. Horace Greeley staid about as long
as it would take him to rush off one of his patent chain-lightning,
hieroglyphic Tribune editorials.
He rode in at midnight, reached his lodging at one o'clock in the
morning, too tired to eat, and too sore to tell of it; went to bed,
sick, sore and disgusted. Up late next morning, so lame he could
hardly sit in his saddle, hobbled hurriedly around three or four
hours, and was on his way out again at a little after noon.
Many of the grandest sights he didn't even catch the remotest glimpse
of; those he did see he just glanced at, too weary to appreciate their
slightest beauty, and too hurried to allow himself time to begin to
grow to the true scale of their grandeur; and having given to the
whole valley about one quarter of the time necessary to thoroughly
study, intelligently enjoy and heartily appreciate the least of its
wonders, he has the presumption to fancy he has "been to Yosemite."
The fact is, he never really _saw_ a single object about the valley,
except, possibly, the giant cliff, Tu-toch-ah-nu-lah, which, as he
says, looked as if it might have leaned over and buried him beneath
its vastness, and which, as I say, _would_, doubtless, have done so
speedily, had it known that the shabby rider who shambled along under
its base that moonlight night, sore at one end, sleepy at the other,
and sick all the way between, was going to rush off and talk so
inadequately, unworthily and even untruthfully about objects which no
human eye ever did see or could see in the condition of his
sleep-oppressed optics on that slumbrous August morning. He has the
cheek to declare that the fall of Yosemite is a humbug. It would be
interesting to know what the fall thought of Greeley. One thing is
sure, all earlier and later visitors unite in the opinion that the
only humbug in the valley that year went out of it in his saddle about
three o'clock on that drowsy August afternoon, and has never since
marred the measureless realities which he sleepily slandered. The
simple fact is, Mr. Greeley saw the little which he did see three or
four months too late in the season. If he ever comes again, at the
right time, and stays to really _see_ the wonders of the valley, he
will be heartily ashamed of what he then wrote, and freely pardon his
present critic. Meantime, exit H. G. We bear thee no malice. The soul
that can see and feel as little as thine did in Yosemite provokes no
anger, but only sorrow and compassion. For the sake of thy sore and
raw and sadly-pummeled body, we freely forgive the terribly shaken
soul that inhabited it on that memorable midnight when horse and
saddle maliciously united in assault and battery on the most sensitive
portion of thine editorial corporosity. Vale, Greeley, vale. The next
time thou comest hither, wear what hat thou likest and match it with
what suit may please thee best, but if thou lovest life, and wouldst
see good days, tell, oh Horace, tell the truth.
Pardon our digression to Greeley. We have spent so much time on him,
not because he occasionally scribbles illegible manuscript for a new
and struggling paper in a small eastern village, but because he came
faster, arrived sorer, stayed fewer hours, saw less of the valley, and
slandered it more than any one else has ever attempted.
Olive Logan spoke disparagingly of the Yosemite Fall, but the Fall is
still there. She adds some slanderous remarks about the conduct of the
drivers along the route, to which the only fitting answer would be
these questions: "When a man or a woman, all alone in a room, looks
into a mirror, and doesn't see a gentleman or lady reflected
therein--_whose fault is it?_ Is the difficulty in the glass or in
_front_ of it?"
But let us start. From San Francisco to Yosemite there are three
routes. All of them carry one, first, to or near Stockton, which city
we reach by rail or river, and all of them bring us, at last, into the
valley by one of the only two trails which enter it. Between the outer
ends of these trails and Stockton, or vicinity, lie the various
intermediate places or way stations which have given name to the
routes which pass through them, and concerning which the tourist
chiefly needs reliable information.
Looking upon any good map, not drawn in the exclusive interest of some
one of these rival routes, you can easily see for yourself, spite of
all agents' representations, which is the most direct way,
geographically or topographically.
We now mention these in regular order, reckoning from north to south;
that is, _down the map_, as we used to say at school. For convenience,
we may distinguish the three routes as the upper or north route, the
middle route, and the lower or south route.
Big Oak Flat Route.
The upper or north route is commonly called the Big Oak Flat, or the
Hutchings route. If we go by this, we can either go directly into the
valley, or make a detour by way of the Calaveras Big Trees. The
following table showing distances, times and conveyances, by the
straight and quick way.
TO YOSEMITE VALLEY--DIRECT.
==========================================================
From | To | Miles.| Hours. | By
---------------+--------------+-------+--------+----------
San Francisco | Stockton | 90 | 10 | Steamer.
Stockton | Milton | 28 | 1-1/4 | Car.
Milton | Chinese Camp | 24 | 4 | Stage.
Chinese Camp | Garrote | 14 | 2-1/2 | "
Garrote | Tamarack | 32 | 6 | "
Tamarack | Yosemite | 11 | 4 | Saddle.
| +-------+--------+
| | 199 | 27-3/4 |
---------------+--------------+-------+--------+----------
By the above way you leave San Francisco at four o'clock P.M., from
the wharf, at the foot of Broadway, by one of the California Pacific
Railroad Company's steamers for Stockton. You have a fine afternoon
and sunset view of San Francisco, the shipping, Oakland, Yerba Buena
and Alcatraz Islands, the Golden Gate, Angel Island, Mount Tamalpais,
San Quentin, San Pablo Bay, Vallejo, Mare Island, Suisun Bay, Benicia,
Martinez, and Mount Diablo. Those who have crossed the continent by
rail find this sail a pleasant change. They avoid the dust, get a good
night's rest on the steamer, reach Stockton at from two to three
o'clock in the morning, breakfast at six, and at seven take the cars
of the Stockton and Copperopolis Railroad from the station near the
landing. We reach Milton, twenty-eight miles, at 8.20, find the stage
waiting, and immediately embark, and are off at once. The road lies
through a mountainous country, well timbered. The air is clear and
invigorating, and the scenery sublime. The road is good, the stages
first-class, and the drivers obliging.
About one we reach Chinese Camp, and after twenty-four miles staging
are ready for a half-hour's rest and a good dinner; or, we may wait
for both until we reach Garrote, fourteen miles farther. Here either
of two good hotels will feed and lodge us. Next morning we'd better
dress for the horse-back ride in the afternoon. Lay aside all
superfluous luggage and pack your extra nice clothing, if you have
been foolish enough to bring any, in your valise. A small hand-satchel
you can pack behind you on the horse, or take it before you. Let it be
as small and snugly-packed as possible. One word further, and a most
important one, especially to ladies. Calculate to _ride astride_, and
dress for it. You can wear a long skirt to Tamarack, but beyond it is
a nuisance. A woman who has only one leg, or has two on one side, may
have some excuse for the unnatural, ungraceful, dangerous and
barbarous side-saddle. The last word was prompted by remembering the
raw back of the beautiful horse which carried Miss Dix into the
valley, under the old, conventional, side-saddle. The lady is,
unquestionably, a noted philanthropist, but that poor horse probably
never suspected it. Anna Dickinson rode in man-fashion, arrived fresh
and strong, and so did her horse. Ask her animal if he wants to carry
that lady again and he'll never say nay (neigh). On a trip like this
the side-saddle is barbarous to the horse and dangerous to the rider.
The only good thing about it is that it jolts and racks and strains
and tires the rider so outrageously, that it is fast converting many
women to the sensible and safe way.
From Tamarack Flat the road dwindles to a trail, winds among pine
trees, crosses an occasional rivulet, commands a fine outlook through
the trees, now and then, and finally, almost before you know it,
brings you to the brink of the valley. Thence let your horse have his
head. He'll take care of himself and you too--land you safely at the
foot of the trail, and deposit you at Hutchings' by five or six
o'clock, in good time for the ample dinner which will be waiting.
If you wish to take the Calaveras Big Trees on your way, you can do
so, either going or coming, by taking the same general route as far as
Milton, to which place the times, distances, and conveyances are the
same as in the table already given. From Milton you take stage through
Murphy's to Sperry & Perry's hotel, where you dine in the very shadows
of the Big Tree grove. Having stayed among the vegetable monsters as
long as you can, you return thence by stage to Sonora, twenty-nine
miles; time six hours; from Sonora to Garrote, also by stage,
twenty-five miles in five hours, and then you strike the same road
which you would travel by going directly in, so that the conveyances,
time and distances of the former table will also serve you hence. As
we said a few paragraphs back, these two routes are not really
separate and distinct routes, as nearly one hundred and twenty miles
on the western end, and about fifty miles at the eastern end, are the
same in both. The time occupied in going or coming by the way of the
trees is twelve and one half hours more than by the direct route, and
the fare is seven dollars more, besides, of course, the expense of one
night's lodging and two meals more on the route, than will be
necessary to one going directly in.
The second route, the middle one, is the
Coulterville Route,
so named from the principal town through which it passes, which took
its own name from General Coulter, who still manages the business of
the line.
By this route you leave San Francisco at four P.M., by cars on Central
Pacific Railroad; change cars at Lathrop for Modesto, arriving same
evening. Remain over night at the Ross House, James Cole, proprietor,
and leave by stage at eight A.M. for Coulterville, forty-eight miles,
ten hours, arriving at six P.M.
You dine at La Grange, twenty-eight miles from Modesto. Stay all night
at Wagner's Hotel, Coulterville, where supper, lodging and breakfast
cost you $2.50.
Next morning rise early, take a good hot breakfast, leave Coulterville
at five o'clock for Gobin's Ranch at Crane's Flat, thirty miles, where
you are due at twelve. Dine at Gobin's for $1.00. At one o'clock leave
Gobin's by saddle train, arriving at Black's Hotel, in the valley,
fifteen miles, at six P.M., thus taking it leisurely, especially down
the mountain-side trail into the valley, where no animal can go fast
and keep his feet, and no rider can hurry and save his neck.
Returning, leave the valley at six in the morning, and reach Gobin's,
Crane Flat, at eleven, taking five hours, the same time as when going
in, as horses can go full as fast _up_ the trail as down. Dine at
Gobin's, as when going in. Leave Crane Flat at twelve, and reach
Coulterville at half past five, where the same hotel, Wagner's,
accommodates you with supper, lodging and breakfast, and at the same
rates as before.
Leave Coulterville at six next morning, and drive twenty-eight miles
to Roberts', where we dine, at noon. From Roberts' to Modesto is
twenty miles. We are due at Modesto at from four to half past four
P.M. From Modesto we may take cars for Stockton and Sacramento, at
five, and go through direct to either of those places. But if we wish
to return to San Francisco, we stop at Lathrop, in a station where an
excellent dinner or supper can be had for 75 or 50 cents; and wait
until eleven P.M., when a freight train, with sleeping car attached,
comes along and bring us to San Francisco at half past seven next
morning.
This route gives regular rest, takes one through a beautiful and
picturesque country, from the fact that, after striking the foothills,
it lies along the dividing ridge between the Tuolumne and Merced
rivers. On the east lies the Sierra Nevada, with Castle Peak, Mount
Dana, and other prominent points, while westward it commands a view of
the San Joaquin Valley and the Coast Range. To this may be added the
fact that as a good part of the road runs east and west, and as the
prevailing winds are northerly, the dust is blown away to one side
instead of along with you.
Another and very great advantage of this route is that, from and after
the fifteenth of this month, June, 1871, it will run stages to the
very brink of the valley, leaving but two and a half miles of saddle
riding to the valley below, and only seven miles on horseback to the
hotels. This same advantage will then be true, also, of the Big Oak
Flat, or Hutchings' route, which enters the valley by the same trail.
Mariposa Route.
This is the lower, or southern route, taking its name from that of its
chief town, Mariposa, once famous as the seat of Fremont's famous
"estate," with its gold mines of supposed exhaustless wealth.
This route takes one by California Pacific Railroad from San
Francisco, through Lathrop to Modesto, one hundred and one miles;
thence ninety-six miles of staging, through Snelling's, Hornitos,
Bear Valley, and White & Hatch's (stop over night) to Clark & Moore's,
at the end of staging. From Clark's to the brink of the valley, by
saddle, is twenty-three miles, and thence to the hotels, seven miles;
making a total of thirty miles horseback riding. As an offset to this
the Mariposa Route claims the advantage of the view from Inspiration
Point, which lies nearly a mile off the direct trail, and for grandeur
and beauty is certainly all that can be claimed or desired.
Besides the view from Inspiration Point, this route also presents the
attraction of the Mariposa Big Trees, six miles from Clark's, and
requiring an additional expense of $2.50 for each horse, besides the
cost of another day's board and the fee of the guide.
The Calaveras trees, while equally grand and beautiful and even
loftier, have the great advantage of an excellent hotel in the very
midst of them, so that the tourist can spend much more time in
rambling among their monumental bulks.
Besides the three routes already named, two others have been opened
during the present season. The first of these may be called the
Mokelumne Hill Route.
Parties of eight, leaving San Francisco on the morning train, or
Sacramento on the noon train, can take stage at Mokelumne station, at
1.30 P.M., reach Mokelumne Hill the same evening at seven o'clock,
stay all night, and reach the Calaveras Big Trees at noon next day.
Price, from San Francisco to the Trees, and return, $17.00; from
Sacramento to the Trees and back, $15.50. Parties of four will be
taken for $15.00 each from Mokelumne station to the trees and back, in
first class coaches and carriages. Any wishing to try this route can
address Peck & Co., Mokelumne Hill.
From the trees one can go on to the valley by regular stages, and
come out by any trail he likes, by making previous arrangements
accordingly.
The second additional route is known as
Hamilton's New Route.
By this route the tourist from either San Francisco or Stockton takes
the Western Pacific Railroad to Galt, whence stages leaving at one
P.M., carry him by the way of Ione City and Valley, through Jackson to
Mokelumne Hill, where he arrives at 7 P.M., and stays over night.
Leave Mokelumne Hill at 6.30 next morning; take the direct route
through Railroad Flat and reach the Big Trees at noon. Fare, for the
round trip from San Francisco or Sacramento, $20.00. From either city
to the Big Trees, $12.00, leaving one free to go from the grove to
Yosemite, when and as he likes.
Independent Trips,
Are commonly made in one of three ways:
1st. By private wagons, taking camping apparatus, cooking utensils and
provisions along.
2d. In the saddle, taking apparatus, utensils and food along on pack
horses.
3d. On foot, taking as little as possible, and depending mainly on
hotels and wayside ranches or farm houses for the necessary meals and
lodging, unless you choose to lodge in your own blankets.
I. BY PRIVATE WAGONS.
Parties of from four to thirty try this method every season, and
report themselves delighted with the enjoyment of it, and subjected to
an average expense not exceeding $2.00 a day for each one of a party
less than eight, or $1.50, or even less, a day for a party of from
twelve to thirty.
II. BY SADDLE AND PACK ANIMALS.
By this method the party is still more independent than by wagons, as
hoofs can go where wheels cannot. The expense is about the same, as
what is saved in the hire of wagons is balanced by the cost of the
greater number of horses where there must be one animal for each
person in the party, besides from one to four, or even six, animals to
carry camp equipage and food.
III. ON FOOT.
For complete independence, combined with the ability to go where and
as you please, unconfined by roads or trails, this is the best way of
all. You can feed and lodge at hotels and wayside houses, or you can
take along blankets and lodge where night overtakes you. To the
untrained this may seem exceedingly rough and uncomfortable; to those
who have fairly tried it, you will have no need to recommend it.
Hotel Rates along these Routes.
The hotel rates vary but little by whatever route you may go or come.
You will seldom find a meal or a lodging as low as fifty cents,
especially among the mountains and at the places most frequented by
summer travel. The more common price is seventy-five cents for either,
and as we approach the Valley, or the Big Trees, we may calculate on
that figure as the usual cost. The reasonable tourist,--and those who
have souls great enough to lead them to nature's wonders are supposed
to be reasonable at least,--will readily see two good reasons why the
charges along routes like these must be relatively higher than along
the more frequently and permanently traveled routes of the thickly
settled portions of the State: 1st, Everything which requires
transportation, furniture, carpets, and all articles of food which
cannot be raised in the immediate vicinity, necessarily cost much more
for transportation than where steamers or cars bring them almost to
the door. 2nd, The travel along all such routes, and the consequent
profit upon that travel, must be made within less than one third of
the year. During the remaining two thirds, furniture must stand
unused, and nearly the whole amount invested for the accommodation of
tourists must remain idle, not only yielding no income, but actually
becoming a source of additional expense until the opening of a new
season.
We have no disposition to apologize for any extortionate or
unreasonable charges; for we are very happy to say that any such
apology is rarely needed. Every experienced and fair-minded traveler
knows that his fellow passengers are unreasonable and extortionate in
_their_ demands fully as often as the transportation companies and
their agents are in theirs. The various lines into the Valley and the
Big Trees are managed by men who realize perfectly well that the
amount of patronage they receive, and consequently, the profits which
they make, must depend upon their gaining and keeping the good will of
the traveling public. There is plenty of opposition; among the rival
lines, no one has or can obtain any monopoly.
The sensible and safe way, here, as everywhere, is to make a definite
agreement beforehand. Don't trust _any_ stranger's assurance that
"we'll make _that all right_." That very fair sounding phrase has made
more trouble than almost any other of equal length. The trouble is
that it has two meanings. The speaker's "all right" means, for
himself, and the hearer's "all right" means for _himself_, too; hence
the frequent upshot of such loose understanding is, that it proves a
complete _mis_understanding, when they come to settle. Distinctly
specify what is to be done; how it is to be done; by whom and when;
and then add at least ten per cent. to the specified cost for those
little extras which will inevitably force themselves upon you in
almost every trip. Thus you may escape adding yourself to the list of
those improvident ones whose usual exclamation at the close of any
pleasure trip is "It cost me a great deal more than I _expected_; _and
I always thought it would_."
Valley Hotels.
There are three--Hutching's, Black's, and Liedig's. Any of them will
keep you well for from $3.00 to $3.50 a day, or $20.00 a week.
Hutchings' is the farthest up the valley and nearer the greater number
of points of interest. Hutchings himself, as poor Dan Setchell used to
make Captain Cuttle say of his friend "Ole Sol Gills," is the
"chuck-fulledest man o' science," in all matters pertaining to the
valley and its history, that one can find in the State. He keeps an
excellent house and usually entertains the more distinguished literary
and scientific tourists. The Yosemite branch of the Western Union
Telegraph now completed and working as far as Garrote, will be
extended into the valley and have its office at Hutchings, by July
1st.
Black's is a new house, built expressly for the increased travel of
late years--having excellent bath and other accommodations, with
well-finished and furnished rooms. It stands three quarters of a mile
nearer the west end of the valley.
Liedig's is also new, and is specially noted for the bountiful supply
of well-cooked food which usually loads its hospitable table, under
the immediate and personal superintendence of its obliging hostess. It
is situated nearly in front of the base of Sentinel Rock.
Each of these houses, of course, has its warm friends, loud in its
praises. All of them do their best for the satisfaction of guests and
any one of them will provide the tourist with a comfortable home.
Horses and Guides in the Valley.
For a good horse and saddle the charge is $2.50 a day, or for a trip,
if it occupies such part of the day that the animal cannot go out on
any other one the same day. If you propose to stay a week or more, and
wish to engage the same horse for your regular and exclusive use
every day during that time, you can do so for one fifth less;
sometimes lower than that.
The horses are good, trusty, serviceable beasts, trained to their
business and generally safe and reliable.
Going into or coming out from the valley with any regular trip, over
any route, you have nothing to do with providing or paying for a
guide. One accompanies the saddle-train each way.
In and about the valley, you can have the company and attention of a
practiced and competent guide for $3.00 a day--or, a trip. The guide's
fee is the same whether the party be small or large.
No tourist who has the nerve and muscle of an average man or woman
really _needs_ either horse or guide. The valley is only seven miles
long and but a mile wide. The perpendicular walls, from three to five
thousand feet high, shut you in all around. You certainly can't get
_out_; and with so many prominent landmarks all about you, you can't
get _lost_, unless you try very hard indeed. With a good guide-book
before you and well-rested legs under you, a very moderate exercise of
common sense will take you all about the valley, and enable you
thoroughly to explore its wonders "on foot and alone" if you choose so
to go.
Bear in mind, however, that you are nearly a mile--in some places more
than a mile--above the sea; that the atmosphere is rare and light;
that you need to restrain your impulse to _dash_ about, especially at
first. For the first two or three days "go slow"--take it moderately;
see _less_ than you think you might, rather than more. As you become
more familiar with the character of the rocks and ravines and
accustomed to the exertion of climbing about them, you can extend your
excursions and attempt harder things.
For the longer trips, such as the ascent of the Sentinel Rock, it may
be safer and wiser to employ a good guide.
Expenses.
The total necessary expenses by each route are:
1st. By Big Oak Flat (Hutchings') Route:
From San Francisco to Yosemite Valley, _or_ return $20
From San Francisco to Yosemite _and_ return 38
From San Francisco to the Calaveras Big Trees, _or_ return 10
From San Francisco to the Calaveras Big Trees and Valley,
_or_ return 25
From San Francisco to the Calaveras Big Trees and Valley,
_and_ return 45
Thomas Houseworth & Co., Agents, 317 and 319 Montgomery
street, San Francisco.
2d. By the Coulterville Route:
From San Francisco to Yosemite Valley, _or_ return $20
From San Francisco to Yosemite Valley, _and_ return 38
G. W. Coulter, Agent, 214 Montgomery street, San Francisco.
3d. By Mariposa Route:
From San Francisco to Yosemite Valley, _or_ return $25
From San Francisco to Yosemite Valley, _and_ return 45
Ed. Harrison, Agent, Grand Hotel, San Francisco.
Board and Lodging en route, per day $3 00
Board and Lodging in the Valley, per day 3 00
Board and Lodging at Big Trees, per day 3 00
Board and Lodging in either place, per week 20 00
Horses in Valley, or to Big Trees, per day 2 50
Guides in Valley or to Big Trees, per day 3 00
TOTAL EXPENSES OF EXCURSION.
1. To Yosemite Valley, direct, by Big Oak or Coulterville,
stay one week in the Valley, hiring guide and horse three
days, and returning by same route $80
2. Above excursion, including Calaveras Big Trees 90
3. To Yosemite Valley direct, by Mariposa, staying a week
in the Valley, hiring guide and horse three days, and coming
out same way 87
4. Above excursion, including Mariposa Big Trees 93
5. In by Big Oak Flat or Coulterville, and out by Mariposa,
or _vice versa_, other conditions as above 87
6. In by Mariposa, and out by Big Oak Flat, visiting _both_
groves of Big Trees, same conditions as above 110
In the above statement the expense for guide is based on the
supposition that the party includes at least three persons.
YOSEMITE VALLEY.
The name is Indian. Pronounce it in four syllables, accenting the
second. It means "Big Grizzly Bear."
The valley lies very near the centre of the State, reckoning north and
south, about one fifth the way across from east to west, and almost
exactly in the middle of the high Sierras which inclose it. Its
direction from San Francisco is a little south of east, and its
distance about one hundred and forty miles in an air line. The valley
itself lies nearly east and west. Its main axis runs a little north of
east by a little south of west.
It consists of three parts:
1st. The surrounding wall of solid rock, nearly vertical, and varying
in height from one thousand to four and even five thousand feet.
2d. The slope of rocky masses and fragments which have fallen from the
face of the cliffs, forming a sort of _talus_ or escarpment along the
foot of this wall, from seventy-five to three hundred and fifty feet
high, throughout the greater part of its extent.
3d. The nearly level bottom land, lying between these slopes, forming
the valley proper, and divided into two unequal parts by the Merced
River flowing through westerly, from end to end.
The main valley is seven miles long; though one may make it longer if
he estimates the branches or divisions at the upper or eastern end.
Its width varies from a few feet on either side of the stream, to a
full mile and a quarter in its broadest part. It contains over a
thousand acres; two thirds meadow, and the rest a few feet higher,
somewhat sandy, gravelly, and, in places, covered with rocks and
boulders from the surrounding cliffs. Over the latter portion, at
irregular intervals, trees, shrubs and ferns are sparsely sprinkled or
set in irregular groups. The richer bottom supports several fine
clumps and groves of graceful trees.
The bottom of the valley is four thousand feet above the level of the
sea, and has an average fall, towards the west, of about six feet to
the mile. The river varies in width from fifty to seventy feet, and in
depth from six to twelve feet. Its bottom is gravelly, its current
remarkably swift, its waters clear as crystal. Trout, of delicious
quality, abound, but seldom allow white men to catch them.
The rocky wall which shuts it in, averages over three quarters of a
mile in perpendicular height. Nothing on wheels has ever gone up or
down this tremendous precipice, and in only two places have the
surest-footed horses or mules been able to find a safe trail.
Yosemite Valley is really a huge sink or cleft in a tangle of
rock-mountains; a gigantic trough, not scooped or hollowed out from
above, but sunk straight down, as if the bottom had dropped plumb
toward the centre, leaving both walls so high that if either should
fall, its top would reach clear across the valley and crash against
the opposite cliff several hundred feet above its base.
In many places these cliffs rise into rock-mountains, or swell into
huge mountainous domes, two or three of which have been split squarely
in two, or cleft straight down from top to bottom, and the two halves,
still standing straight up, have been heaved or thrown a half-mile
asunder, whence each looks wistfully across at its old mate, or frowns
sternly and gloomily down upon the beautiful valley which quietly
keeps them apart.
Here and there they tower into lofty spires, shoot up in shattered or
splintered needles, or solemnly stand in stately groups of massive
turrets. High bastions surmount steep precipices, and both look down
on awful chasms.
Back from the edge of the valley, behind these cliffs, the rock
country stretches away in every direction through leagues of solid
granite, rising irregularly into scattered hills, peaks and mountains,
between which run the various snow-fed streams, whose final, sudden
plunge over the valley's sharp and rocky brink makes the numerous
falls of such wonderful height.
Coming in by either trail, one enters the western or lower end of the
valley. We will suppose ourselves entering by the Mariposa trail. We
have clambered, or allowed our animals to clamber, safely down the
rocky, steep, and crooked trail, which lands us finally at the foot of
the precipitous slope of two thousand seven hundred feet. As we follow
the trail up the valley, that is, bearing away to the right, going
eastward along the foot of the south wall, we encounter the falls,
mountains, spires and domes in the following order:
One coming in by the Coulterville, Hardin's or Big Oak Flat trail,
finds himself at the same end of the valley, directly opposite the
foot of the Mariposa trail, having the river between; and as he bears
away to the left, along the base of the north wall, he would, of
course, meet all these wonders in exactly the reverse order. But to
return to the foot of the Mariposa or Clark's trail:
First, the
Bridal Veil Fall,
Indian name Po-ho-no, meaning, "The Spirit of the Evil Wind." The fall
is over nine hundred feet high, and of indescribable beauty. The
stream which forms it has an average width of some sixty-five feet at
the edge of the cliff where it breaks over the brink. It is narrower
in summer and wider in winter. For six hundred and thirty feet the
stream leaps clear of the cliff in one unbroken fall. Thence it rushes
down the steep slope of broken rocks in a confusion of intermingled
cascades nearly three hundred feet more.
The varying pressure of the changeful wind causes a veil-like waving,
swaying and fluttering, which readily suggests the obviously fitting
and most appropriate name.
What could a bride be made of,
Who would wear a veil like this?
No sooner asked than answered,
She must be "Maid o' the Mist."
This fall presents its greatest beauty in May or June when the volume
of water is not too great. The situation of Pohono, added to its
intrinsic beauty, waving a welcome as the tourist enters and
fluttering a farewell as he leaves, make it the universal favorite.
Ladies especially love to linger at its foot, feasting their eyes with
its marvelous and changeful beauty, and delighting their hearts with
the delicious suggestiveness of its most appropriate name. The
honeymoon can nowhere be more fittingly or happily spent than within
sight of Pohono.
Half a mile further the cliff rounds outward and swells upward into
an enormous double, rocky bastion, the
Cathedral Rocks.
Two thousand six hundred and sixty feet above the valley. Indian name,
Po-see-nah Choock-kah, meaning a large store or hoard of acorns. From
certain points of sight the form of these rocks readily suggests the
outline of a dilapidated Gothic cathedral. Only the superior grandeur
of Tu-toch-ah-nu-lah and the South Dome, prevent this rock from
greater fame. Outside of Yosemite it would quickly attain a world-wide
celebrity.
Just beyond these rocks the cliff bears away to the southeast and
sends up two slender, graceful pinnacles of splintered granite, rising
five hundred feet above the main wall, which supports them. These are
the
Cathedral Spires.
Their summits are twenty-four hundred feet above the valley. Seen from
the northeast, a mile distant, these spires appear symmetrical, of
equal height, squarely hewn and rising above the edge of the cliff
behind, exactly like two towers of a Gothic cathedral. One who doubts
the appropriateness of their name, has only to view them from this
point, whence a single glance will end his skepticism. Beyond the
spires the wall runs southeasterly a quarter of a mile, then curves
through an easterly and northerly sweep into a north and south line.
The whole sweep forms a sort of precipitous coast with its rocky
headlands, inclosing the valley between like an emerald bay. Beyond
this bay the rocky wall gradually curves again, and resumes its
easterly trend. An eighth of a mile further brings us to
The Fissure.
This is a cleft or split in the rock, running back southeasterly at
nearly a right angle with the face of the cliff. It is one thousand
feet deep, five feet wide at the top and front, and grows gradually
narrower as it extends downward and backward into the mountain.
Several boulders have fallen into it and lodged at different depths.
A third of a mile east of this fissure, and a mile and three quarters
from the Cathedral Rocks, another rocky promontory projects
northwesterly, like a huge buttress, a third of a mile into the
valley, crowned with a lofty granite obelisk, three hundred feet
thick, and standing straight up twelve hundred feet above the giant
cliff which supports it. This is the famous
Sentinel Rock,
so named from its resemblance to a gigantic watchtower or signal
station, for which, the legends say, the Indians formerly used it. The
Indian name was Loya. Its top is three thousand and forty-three feet
above the river at its foot. The sides show plainly-marked
perpendicular cleavages in the granite.
Although so steep in front and at the sides, a strong grasp, a sure
foot, a cool nerve and a calm head can safely climb it from the rear,
that is, the southwest side. At least they have done so more than
once, and planted a flag to wave in triumph from its summit. By the
unanimous and unquestioned verdict of all tourists, this rock is one
of the grandest and most beautiful even in Yosemite itself. Its
striking prominence has made it a favorite subject with all artists
who have visited the valley.
Three quarters of a mile southeast of the sentinel tower, half a mile
back from the brink of the precipice, and partially or totally hidden
by it, according as the spectator stands nearer to or farther from the
foot of the cliff, the
Sentinel Dome
lifts its hemispherical bulk four thousand one hundred and fifty feet.
This is one of the most regularly formed of all of the peculiar
dome-like peaks about the valley. The Indian name was Loy-e-ma. A
horseman can reach the very summit by a trail up the eastern slope,
and enjoy a most extensive view as his reward. From this dome, the
profile of the South Dome and strongly marked moraines of the
Too-loo-le-wack Canyon appear to better advantage than from any other
point.
A mile east of Sentinel Rock the face of the cliff becomes less
precipitous, bends sharply around to the south, and thence back
towards the southwest, forming an angular and sloping rocky bluff
known as
Glacier Rock,
called by the Indians, Oo-woo-yoo-wah, which means, the "Great Rock of
the Elk." The story has it that during one of the expeditions of
troops into the valley, a party of soldiers, searching for Indians,
undertook to climb this rock, and while, slowly and with great labor,
working their way up its smooth and steep slope, the hunted red men
suddenly appeared upon its summit, and began to roll large stones down
upon them. These came thundering down with terrific noise and
frightful speed. The pale faces turned and fled with headlong haste,
but the destructive missiles smote several of them with instant death.
From the point of Glacier Rock one has a fine view of the valley. All
the domes, with the Yosemite, Vernal and Nevada Falls are plainly
visible thence.
For nearly a mile southeast of Glacier Rock the cliff becomes steeper
and more precipitous, forming the western wall of a wild, rough canon,
stretching away southeasterly for nearly a mile. Over the cliff at
the head of this canyon the south fork of the Merced plunges six
hundred feet in the
Illilouette Fall.