THE MENDOCINO COAST AND CLEAR LAKE--GENERAL VIEW.
Some of the most picturesque country in California lies on or near
the coast north of San Francisco. The coast counties, Marin, Sonoma,
Mendocino, Humboldt, Klamath, and Del Norte, are the least visited by
strangers, and yet with Napa, Lake, and Trinity, they make up a region
which contains a very great deal of wild and fine scenery, and which
abounds with game, and shows to the traveler many varieties of life and
several of the peculiar industries of California.
Those who have passed through the lovely Napa Valley, by way of Calistoga,
to the Geysers, or who have visited the same place by way of Healdsburg
and the pretty Russian River Valley, have no more than a faint idea of
what a tourist may see and enjoy who will devote two weeks to a journey
along the sea-coast of Marin and Mendocino counties, returning by way of
Clear Lake--a fine sheet of water, whose borders contain some remarkable
volcanic features.
The northern coast counties are made up largely of mountains, but
imbosomed in these lie many charming little, and several quite spacious,
valleys, in which you are surprised to find a multitude of farmers living,
isolated from the world, that life of careless and easy prosperity which
is the lot of farmers in the fat valleys of California.
In such a journey the traveler will see the famous redwood forests of this
State, whose trees are unequaled in size except by the gigantic sequoias;
he will see those dairy-farms of Marin County whose butter supplies not
only the Western coast, but is sent East, and competes in the markets of
New York and Boston with the product of Eastern dairies, while, sealed
hermetically in glass jars, it is transported to the most distant military
posts, and used on long sea-voyages, keeping sweet in any climate for at
least a year; he will see, in Mendocino County, one of the most remarkable
coasts in the world, eaten by the ocean into the most singular and
fantastic shapes; and on this coast saw-mills and logging camps, where
the immense redwood forests are reduced to useful lumber with a prodigious
waste of wood.
He will see, besides the larger Napa, Petaluma, Bereyessa, and Russian
River valleys, which are already connected by railroad with San Francisco,
a number of quiet, sunny little vales, some of them undiscoverable on any
but the most recent maps, nestled among the mountains, unconnected as
yet with the world either by railroad or telegraph, but fertile, rich in
cattle, sheep, and grain, where live a people peculiarly Californian in
their habits, language, and customs, great horsemen, famous rifle-shots,
keen fishermen, for the mountains abound in deer and bear, and the streams
are alive with trout.
He may see an Indian reservation--one of the most curious examples of
mismanaged philanthropy which our Government can show. And finally, the
traveler will come to, and, if he is wise, spend some days on, Clear
Lake--a strikingly lovely piece of water, which would be famous if it were
not American.
For such a journey one needs a heavy pair of colored blankets and an
overcoat rolled up together, and a leather bag or valise to contain the
necessary change of clothing. A couple of rough crash towels and a piece
of soap also should be put into the bag; for you may want to camp out, and
you may not always find any but the public towel at the inn where you dine
or sleep. Traveling in spring, summer, or fall, you need no umbrella or
other protection against rain, and may confidently reckon on uninterrupted
fine weather.
The coast is always cool. The interior valleys are warm, and during the
summer quite hot, and yet the dry heat does not exhaust or distress one,
and cool nights refresh you. In the valleys and on much-traveled roads
there is a good deal of dust, but it is, as they say, "clean dirt," and
there is water enough in the country to wash it off. You need not ride on
horseback unless you penetrate into Humboldt County, which has as yet
but few miles of wagon-road. In Mendocino, Lake, and Marin, the roads
are excellent, and either a public stage, or, what is pleasanter and but
little dearer, a private team, with a driver familiar with the country,
is always obtainable. In such a journey one element of pleasure is its
somewhat hap-hazard nature. You do not travel over beaten ground, and on
routes laid out for you; you do not know beforehand what you are to see,
nor even how you are to see it; you may sleep in a house to-day, in the
woods to-morrow, and in a sail-boat the day after; you dine one day in
a logging camp, and another in a farm-house. With the barometer at "set
fair," and in a country where every body is civil and obliging, and where
all you see is novel to an Eastern person, the sense of adventure adds a
keen zest to a journey which is in itself not only amusing and healthful,
but instructive.
[Illustration: WOOD-CHOPPER AT WORK.]
Marin County, which lies across the bay from San Francisco, and of which
the pretty village of San Rafael is the county town, contains the most
productive dairy-farms in the State. When one has long read of California
as a dry State, he wonders to find that it produces butter at all; and
still more to discover that the dairy business is extensive and profitable
enough--with butter at thirty-five cents a pound at the dairy--to warrant
the employment of several millions of capital, and to enable the dairy-men
to send their product to New York and Boston for sale.
For the coast journey the best route, because it shows you much fine
scenery on your way, is by way of Soucelito, which is reached by a ferry
from San Francisco. From Soucelito either a stage or a private conveyance
carries you to Olema, whence you should visit Point Reyes, one of the most
rugged capes on the coast, where a light-house and fog-signal are placed
to warn and guide mariners. It is a wild spot, often enveloped in fogs,
and where it blows at least half a gale of wind three hundred days in
the year.
Returning from Point Reyes to Olema, your road bears you past Tomales Bay,
and back to the coast of Mendocino County; and by the time you reach the
mouth of Russian River you are in the saw-mill country. Here the road runs
for the most part close to the coast, and gives you a long succession
of wild and strange views. You pass Point Arena, where is another
light-house; and finally land at Mendocino City.
Before the stage sets you down at Mendocino, or "Big River," you will have
noticed that the coast-line is broken at frequent intervals by the mouths
of small streams, and at the available points at the mouths of these
streams saw-mills are placed. This continues up the coast, wherever a
river-mouth offers the slightest shelter to vessels loading; for the
redwood forests line the coast up to and beyond Humboldt Bay.
When you leave the coast for the interior, you ride through mile after
mile of redwood forest. Unlike the firs of Oregon and Puget Sound, this
tree does not occupy the whole land. It rears its tall head from a jungle
of laurel, madrone, oak, and other trees; and I doubt if so many as fifty
large redwoods often stand upon a single acre. I was told that an average
tree would turn out about fifteen thousand feet of lumber, and thus even
thirty such trees to the acre would yield nearly half a million feet.
The topography of California, like its climate, has decided features.
As there are but two seasons, so there are apt to be sharply-drawn
differences in natural features, and you descend from what appears to you
an interminable mass of mountains suddenly into a plain, and pass from
deep forests shading the mountain road at once into a prairie valley,
which nature made ready to the farmer's hands, taking care even to
beautify it for him with stately and umbrageous oaks. There are a number
of such valleys on the way which I took from the coast at Mendocino City
to the Nome Cult Indian Reservation, in Round Valley. The principal of
these, Little Lake, Potter, and Eden valleys, contain from five to twelve
thousand acres; but there are a number of smaller vales, little gems, big
enough for one or two farmers, fertile and easily cultivated.
A good many Missourians and other Southern people have settled in this
part of the State. The better class of these make good farmers; but the
person called "Pike" in this State has here bloomed out until, at times,
he becomes, as a Californian said to me about an earthquake, "a little
monotonous."
The Pike in Mendocino County regards himself as a laboring-man, and in
that capacity he has undertaken to drive out the Indians, just as a still
lower class in San Francisco has undertaken to drive out the laboring
Chinese. These Little Lake and Potter Valley Pikes were ruined by Indian
cheap labor; so they got up a mob and expelled the Indians, and the result
is that the work which these poor people formerly performed is now left
undone.
As for the Indians, they are gathered at the Round Valley Reservation to
the number of about twelve hundred, where they stand an excellent chance
to lose such habits of industry and thrift as they had learned while
supporting themselves. At least half the men on the reservation, the
superintendent told me, are competent farmers, and many of the women are
excellent and competent house-servants. No one disputes that while they
supported themselves by useful industry in the valleys where were their
homes they were peaceable and harmless, and that the whites stood in no
danger from them. Why, then, should the United States Government forcibly
make paupers of them? Why should this class of Indians be compelled to
live on reservations?
Under the best management which we have ever had in the Indian Bureau--let
us say under its present management--a reservation containing tame or
peaceable Indians is only a pauper asylum and prison combined, a nuisance
to the respectable farmers, whom it deprives of useful and necessary
laborers, an injury to the morals of the community in whose midst it is
placed, an injury to the Indian, whom it demoralizes, and a benefit only
to the members of the Indian ring.
Round Valley is occupied in part by the Nome Cult Reservation, and in part
by farmers and graziers. In the middle of the valley stands Covelo, one
of the roughest little villages I have seen in California, the
gathering-place for a rude population, which inhabits not only the valley,
but the mountains within fifty miles around, and which rides into Covelo
on mustang ponies whenever it gets out of whisky at home or wants a spree.
The bar-rooms of Covelo sell more strong drink in a day than any I have
ever seen elsewhere; and the sheep-herder, the vaquero, the hunter, and
the wandering rough, descending from their lonely mountain camps, make
up as rude a crowd as one could find even in Nevada. Being almost without
exception Americans, they are not quarrelsome in their cups. I was told,
indeed, by an old resident, that shooting was formerly common, but it
has gone out of fashion, mainly, perhaps, because most of the men are
excellent shots, and the amusement was dangerous. At any rate, I saw not a
single fight or disturbance, though I spent the Fourth of July at Covelo;
and it was, on the whole, a surprisingly well-conducted crowd, in spite
of a document which I picked up there, and whose directions were but too
faithfully observed by a large majority of the transient population. This
was called a "toddy time-table," and I transcribe it here from a neat
gilt-edged card for the warning and instruction of Eastern topers.
TODDY TIME-TABLE.
6 A.M. Eye-opener. 3 P.M. Cobbler.
7 " Appetizer. 4 " Social Drink.
8 " Digester. 5 " Invigorator.
9 " Big Reposer. 6 " Solid Straight.
10 " Refresher. 7 " Chit-chat.
11 " Stimulant. 8 " Fancy Smile.
12 " Ante-lunch. 9 " Entire Acte _(sic)_.
1 P.M. Settler. 10 " Sparkler.
2 " A la Smythe. 11 " Rouser.
12 P.M. Night-cap.
GOOD-NIGHT.
My impression is that this time-table was not made for the latitude of
Covelo, for they began to drink much earlier than 6 A.M. at the bar, near
which I slept, and they left off later than midnight. It would be unjust
for me not to add that, for the amount of liquor consumed, it was the
soberest and the best-natured crowd I ever saw. I would like to write
"respectable" also, but it would be ridiculous to apply that term to
men whose every word almost is an oath, and whose language in many cases
corresponds too accurately with their clothes and persons.
From Round Valley there is a "good enough" horseback trail, as they call
it, over a steep mountain into the Sacramento Valley; but a pleasanter
journey, and one, besides, having more novelty, is by way of Potter
Valley to Lakeport, on Clear Lake. The road is excellent; the scenery is
peculiarly Californian. Potter Valley is one of the richest and also
one of the prettiest of the minor valleys of this State, and your way
to Lakeport carries you along the shores of two pleasant mountain
lakelets--the Blue Lakes, which are probably ancient craters.
Two days' easy driving, stopping overnight in Potter Valley, brings you
to Lakeport, the capital of Lake County, and the only town I have seen in
California where dogs in the square worry strangers as they are entering
the place. As the only hotel in the town occupies one corner of this
square, and as in Californian fashion the loungers usually sit in the
evening on the sidewalk before the hotel, the combined attack of these
dogs occurs in their view, and perhaps affords them a pleasing and
beneficial excitement. The placid and impartial manner with which the
landlord himself regards the contest between the stranger and the
town dogs will lead you to doubt whether his house is not too full to
accommodate another guest, and whether he is not benevolently letting
the dogs spare him the pain of refusing you a night's lodging; but it is
gratifying to be assured, when you at last reach the door, that the dogs
"scarcely ever bite any body."
Clear Lake is a large and picturesque sheet of water, twenty-five miles
long by about seven wide, surrounded by mountains, which in many places
rise from the water's edge. At Lakeport you can hire a boat at a very
reasonable price, and I advise the traveler to take his blankets on board,
and make this boat his home for two or three days. He will get food
at different farm-houses on the shore; and as there are substantial,
good-sized sail-boats, he can sleep on board very enjoyably. Aside from
its fine scenery, and one or two good specimens of small Californian
farms, the valley is remarkable for two borax lakes and a considerable
deposit of sulphur, all of which lie close to the shore.
At one of the farm-houses, whose owner, a Pennsylvanian, has made himself
a most beautiful place in a little valley hidden by the mountains which
butt on the lake, I saw the culture of silk going on in that way in
which only, as I believe, it can be made successful in California. He
had planted about twenty-five hundred mulberry-trees, built himself an
inexpensive but quite sufficient little cocoonery, bought an ounce and
a half of eggs for fifteen dollars, and when I visited him had already
a considerable quantity of cocoons, and had several thousand worms then
feeding.
It was his first attempt; he had never seen a cocoonery, but had read all
the books he could buy about the management of the silk-worm; and, as
his grain harvest was over, he found in the slight labor attending the
management of these worms a source of interest and delight which was alone
worth the cost of his experiment. But he is successful besides; and his
wife expressed great delight at the new employment her husband had found,
which, as she said, had kept him close at home for about two months.
She remarked that all wives ought to favor the silk culture for their
husbands; but the old man added that some husbands might recommend it to
their wives.
Certainly I had no idea how slight and pleasant is the labor attending
this industry up to the point of getting cocoons. If, however, you mean to
raise eggs, the work is less pleasant.
This farmer, Mr. Alter, had chosen his field of operations with
considerable shrewdness. He planted his mulberry-trees on a dry side-hill,
and found that it did not hurt his worms to feed to them, under this
condition, even leaves from the little shrubs growing in his nursery rows.
His cocoonery was sheltered from rude winds by a hill and a wood, and thus
the temperature was very equal. He had no stove in his house, the shelves
were quite rough, and the whole management might have been called careless
if it were not successful.
I believe that the country about Clear Lake and in the Napa and Sonoma
valleys will be found very favorable to the culture of the silk-worm;
but I believe also that this industry will not succeed except where it is
carried on by farmers and their families in a small way.
[Illustration: MOUNT HOOD, OREGON.]
Boat life on Clear Lake is as delightful an experience as a traveler or
lounger can get anywhere. The lake is placid; there is usually breeze
enough to sail about; and you need not fear storms or rainy weather in the
dry season. If it should fall calm, and you do not wish to be delayed, you
can always hire an Indian to row the boat, and there is sufficient to
see on the lake to pleasantly detain a tourist several days, besides fine
fishing and hunting in the season, and lovely views all the time.
Going to the Sulphur Banks on a calm morning, I hired an Indian from a
rancheria upon Mr. Alter's farm to row for us, and my Indian proved to be
a prize. His name was Napoleon, and he was a philosopher. Like his greater
namesake, he had had two wives. Of the first one he reported that "Jim
catchee him," by which I was to understand that he had tired of her,
and had sold her to "Jim;" and he had now taken number two, a moderately
pretty Digger girl, of whom he seemed to be uncommonly fond. As he rowed
he began to speak of his former life, when he had served a white farmer.
"Him die now," said Napoleon; adding, in a musing tone, "he very good man,
plenty money; give Injun money all time. Him very good white man, that
man; plenty money all a time."
Napoleon dwelt upon the wealth of his favorite white man so persistently
that presently it occurred to me to inquire a little further.
"Suppose a white man had no money," said I, "what sort of a man would you
think him?"
My philosopher's countenance took on a fine expression of contempt.
"Suppose white man no got money?" he asked. "Eh! suppose he no got
money--him dam fool!" And Napoleon glared upon us, his passengers, as
though he wondered if either of us would venture to contradict so plain a
proposition.
The sulphur bank is a remarkable deposit of decomposed volcanic rock and
ashes, containing so large a quantity of sulphur that I am told that at
the refining-works, which lie on the bank of the lake, the mass yields
eighty per cent. of pure sulphur. The works were not in operation when I
was there.
Several large hot springs burst out from the bank, and gas and steam
escape with some violence from numerous fissures. The deposit looks very
much like a similar one on the edge of the Kilauea crater, on the island
of Hawaii, but is, I should think, richer in sulphur. Near the sulphur
bank, on the edge of the lake, is a hot borate spring, which is supposed
to yield at times three hundred gallons per minute, and which Professor
Whitney, the State Geologist, declares remarkable for the extraordinary
amount of ammoniacal salts its waters contain--more than any natural
spring water that has ever been analyzed.
There is abundant evidence of volcanic action in all the country about
Clear Lake. A dozen miles from Lakeport, not far from the shore of the
lake, the whole mountain side along which the stage-road runs is covered
for several miles with splinters and fragments of obsidian or volcanic
glass, so that it looks as though millions of bottles had been broken
there in some prodigious revelry; and where the road cuts into the side
of the mountain you see the osidian lying in huge masses and in boulders.
Joining this, and at one point interrupting it, is a tract of volcanic
ashes stratified, and the strata thrown up vertically in some places, as
though after the volcano had flung out the ashes there had come a terrific
upheaval of the earth.
The two borax lakes lie also near the shore of Clear Lake; the largest
one, which is not now worked, has an area of about three hundred acres.
Little Borax Lake covers only about thirty acres, and this is now worked.
The efflorescing matter is composed of carbonate of soda, chloride of
sodium, and biborate of soda. The object of the works is, of course, to
separate the borax, and this is accomplished by crystallizing the borax,
which, being the least soluble of the salts, is the first to crystallize.
The bottom of the lake was dry when I was there; it was covered all over
with a white crust, which workmen scrape up and carry to the works, where
it is treated very successfully. My nose was offended by the fetid stench
which came from the earth when it was first put in the vats with hot
water; and I was told by the foreman of the works that this arose from
the immense number of flies and other insects which fly upon the lake
and perish in it. Chinese are employed as laborers here, and give great
satisfaction; and about eight days are required to complete the operation
of extracting the borax in crystals.
Earth containing biborate of lime is brought to this place all the way
from Wadsworth, in the State of Nevada--a very great distance, with
several transhipments--to be reduced at these works; and it seems that
this can be more cheaply done here than there, where they have neither
wood for the fires nor soda for the operation.
Clear Lake is but twelve hours distant from San Francisco; the journey
thither is full of interest, and the lake itself, with the natural wonders
on its shores, is one of the most interesting and enjoyable spots in
California to a tourist who wishes to breathe fresh mountain air and enjoy
some days of free, open-air life.
The visitor to Clear Lake should go by way of the Napa Valley, taking
stage for Lakeport at Calistoga, and return by way of the Russian River
Valley, taking the railroad at Cloverdale. Thus he will see on his journey
two of the richest and most fertile of the minor valleys of California,
both abounding in fruit and vines as well as in grain.
As there are two sides to Broadway, so there are two sides to the Bay of
San Francisco. On the one side lies the fine and highly-cultivated Santa
Clara Valley, filling up fast with costly residences and carefully-kept
country places. Opposite, on the other side of the bay, lies the Russian
River Valley, as beautiful naturally as that of the Santa Clara, and
of which Petaluma, Santa Rosa, Healdsburg, and Cloverdale are the chief
towns. It is a considerable plain, bounded by fine hills and distant
mountains, which open up, as you pass by on the railroad, numerous
pretty reaches of subsidiary vales, where farmers live protected by the
projecting hills from all harsh sea-breezes, and where frost is seldom if
ever felt.
As you ascend the valley, the madrone, one of the most striking trees
of California, becomes abundant and of larger growth, and its dark-green
foliage and bright cinnamon-colored bark ornament the landscape. The
laurel, too, or California bay-tree, grows thriftily among the hills, and
the plain and foot-hills are dotted with oak and redwood. This valley is
as yet somewhat thinly peopled, but it has the promise of a growth which
will make it the equal some day of the Santa Clara, and the superior,
perhaps, of the Napa Valley.
[Illustration: INDIANS SPEARING SALMON, COLUMBIA RIVER.]