That evening as the daylight waned, while sky and stream, trees,
mountains and jagged peaks were still gloriously tinted with the sun's
last rays, Mr. Chris. Jorgenson, the artist, brought out a "Claude
Lorraine glass." We stood upon the bridge of the Merced river and caught
upon the glass the Half Dome, bathed in mellow light; the Yosemite Falls
with its great mass of falling waters exquisitely illuminated; Sentinel
Peak, the swiftly moving river fringed with green trees, the grassy
meadows and the fleecy clouds. The picture of reflected beauty so
produced, such tints and colors, such glints of stream and forest, such
a glorified reproduction of the beauties of the Valley can only be
imagined, they can not be described.
There were enough Los Angeles people in the Yosemite at the time to have
voted a bond issue. They were all out for a good time, and were having
it.
Our Return to Wawona.
Not wishing to undergo the torture of the noon-day ride back to Wawona,
a party of us chartered a stage to leave the Valley at six o'clock a. m.
We got off next morning at six-forty and had a delightful drive, making
Wawona before noon. Thus a few hours' difference in the time of starting
made a pleasure of what otherwise would have been a torment. While we
were in the Valley some Los Angeles friends had arrived at Wawona and
were in camp near the hotel.
Signal Peak.
We rested at Wawona several days. During one of these I went with the
boys on horseback to Signal Peak, whose elevation is seven thousand and
ninety-three feet. The San Joaquin valley was enveloped in haze, but the
mountain ranges east of us were in plain sight. We could see all the
peaks from Tallac at Lake Tahoe to Mt. Whitney. Mt. Ritter, Mt. Dana,
Mt. Hamilton, Galen Clarke, Star King, Lyell, the Gale Group, and others
whose names I do not now recall, stood out in bold relief, encased in
snowy mantles. The view from Signal Peak is well worth the trip. We
enjoyed it so much that we persuaded Mrs. Graves and some ladies to take
it next day by carriage, which is easily done.
On June twenty-third the boys went to Empire Meadows, some eleven miles
distant, with a fishing party. They had fair luck, the entire party
taking nearly two hundred eastern brook trout.
Homeward Bound.
On the morning of June twenty-fourth, at six o'clock, we started on our
homeward journey. We had carburetor trouble coming up--we still had it
going out, until at last our driver discovered that one of the
insulating wires had worn through its covering and, coming in contact
with metal, had resulted in a short circuit. When this was remedied our
troubles were over, and our machine performed handsomely. The first
forty-four miles to Raymond were all downhill, over a very rough road,
with sharp turns and depressions every one hundred feet or so, to allow
the rainwater to run off of the road, which rendered the going very
slow. We were three hours and a half reaching Raymond. Passing this
point we sped into Madera, then to Firebaugh. During the morning we saw
a stately pair of wild pigeons winging their swift flight in and out of
some tall pine trees.
Water High in San Joaquin Valley.
The San Joaquin river was very high and had overflowed thousands of
acres of land. Our road, slightly elevated, passed for miles through an
inland sea. To reach Los Banos, we made a wide detour to the left. We
crossed the Pacheco Pass into the Santa Clara valley. We had intended to
go to Holister by way of San Felipe. Some three miles from the latter
place we saw a sign reading "Hollister nine miles." We took the road
indicated and must have saved six or seven miles.
Hollister.
This portion of the country is largely given over to fruit growing and
raising flower and garden seed, acres and acres of which were in full
bloom, and the mingled colors were exceedingly charming. We reached
Holister in good time, one hundred and seventy miles from Wawona. We
found good accommodations at the Hotel Hartman. Bright and early next
morning we were off. We went due west. We found the bridge over the
Pajaro river utterly destroyed by last winter's rains. We crossed
through the bed of the stream without difficulty and were soon upon the
main road to Salinas, just below San Juan. As we ascended the San Juan
hills, we paused at a turn in the road and got a view of the beautiful
valley in which Hollister lies. No more peaceful landscape ever greeted
mortal eye. Every acre as far as one could see, not devoted to
pasturage, was cultivated. There were grain and hay fields, orchards by
the mile, and the seed farms in full bloom, while cattle and horses
grazed peacefully in many pastures. We turned away with regret at
leaving a land so beautiful, so happy and contented looking.
"The Ferryman."
At Salinas river we found a man with a good-sized team of horses, who,
for one dollar and fifty cents, hauled us through a little water which
we could have crossed without difficulty, and a quarter of a mile of
loose, shifting sand which we could never have crossed without his aid.
He has a tent in which he has lived since last winter, and he gets them
"coming and going," as no machine can negotiate that stretch of road
unassisted. He earns his money, and I wish him well.
Fine Run to Los Olivos.
Taking out the time spent at lunch and in taking on gasoline, we reached
Los Olivos, two hundred and thirty-one miles from Hollister, in eleven
hours' running time. We again had good accommodations at Los Olivos and
were off next morning on the final "leg" of our journey. The road from
the north side of Gaviote Pass to within a few miles of Santa Barbara is
a disgrace to Santa Barbara county. I prefer the valley route with its
heat to the coast route, and I warn all automobilists to avoid the
latter route.
We had a good lunch at Shepherd's Inn, and then ran home in time for
dinner. We came by Calabasas, and just before we reached the Cahuenga
Pass we turned off and went through Lankershim on our way to Alhambra.
We all remarked that in no section of the state we had visited did the
trees look as healthy, the alfalfa as luxuriant, the garden truck as
vigorous, as they did at Lankershim. Every inch of the ground there is
cultivated; there are no waste spots.
"Home Again."
Home looked better and dearer to us when we reached it than it ever did
before. We had traveled one thousand and forty-five miles and used on
the trip one hundred and four gallons of gasoline, thus averaging over
all sorts of roads, including several mountain ranges, a little better
than ten miles to the gallon. I defy any six cylinder car in America to
beat this record. I used the same old Franklin car, in which I have made
four tours of California. I have no apology to offer for breaking the
driveshaft. The parts of any car will stand just so much. Pass this
point and trouble ensues. This grand old car has run over eighty
thousand miles and seen much hardship. I salute it!
The End.