June, to me, is one of the most fascinating months in California--if
any of them can be set apart and called more perfect than another--for
June is a month of moods.
If you are an Easterner you would abandon your proposed picnic party,
upon rising in the morning, for fear of rain, and, being a tenderfoot,
you would be justified, for the clouds--or, more properly speaking,
the high fog--give every indication of a shower. But an old
Californian would tell you to take no thought of appearances, and to
leave your umbrella and raincoat at home, for this is one of nature's
"bluffs"; by ten o'clock the sun will be shining brightly, and the fog
dispersed under its warm rays.
Then pack your lunch basket, don your khaki suit, and strike out on
the trail, while the dew still twinkles on the grass blades like cut
diamonds, and the birds are singing their _Te Deum_ to the morning
sun.
It was on just such a day that we set out on a trip to Muir Woods and
the giant sequoias, one of the most beautiful spots in the State. From
Mill Valley the climb is a steep one, passing the picturesque ruins of
an old mill erected in 1843. We come to a sort of corduroy path, where
some enterprising landowner has placed logs across the trail, with the
object of facilitating travel. It is not a very decided improvement on
nature, however, for the steps are too far apart for comfort.
Summer cottages are scattered along the trail, perched on the
hillside, and placed in the most advantageous position to gain a view
of the bay, or on slightly higher ground, where they peek over the
tops of the trees into the valley below.
After a stiff climb we reach the top of the last range of hills and
begin our descent into the valley, where Muir Woods nestles between
the hills at the foot of Mount Tamalpais, in the beautiful Sequoia
Cañon. We look away to the right and can see the heavy clouds envelop
the summit of the mountain, but the highest stands above the clouds,
and the sun touches its stately crest with golden splendor.
[Illustration: COMRADES]
The forest always has a weird fascination for me, with its soft
whisperings, as if the trees were confiding secrets to each other. One
can become intimately acquainted with it, and learn to love its quiet
solitude, only by living in or near it, and wandering at will through
its trackless, leaf-carpeted aisles. Your eyes must be trained to
constant watching, you must learn to be a close observer, to note the
flowers, vines, and tangled shrubbery that are seldom mentioned by
botanists, and your ear must be tuned to catch the elfin music that
is heard within the confines of the forest. You cannot travel a rod
under the trees without being watched by the small forest inhabitants,
who regard you with suspicion, and peer at you from under decaying
logs or leafy covert like self-appointed detectives.
Muir Woods comprises nearly three hundred acres, the principal trees
being laurel, fir, oak, redwood, and madrone, of which the giant
redwood (Sequoia) predominates. The redwoods in Muir Woods are
thousands of years old, and rise from two to three hundred feet in
air. The bark is from one to two feet in thickness, of a cinnamon
color, and the base of the largest trees from twenty-five to thirty
feet in diameter. A clear and cold mountain brook runs through the
forest, and ferns grow in rich profusion along its margin, some of
them reaching a height of six feet.
One cannot but note the profound quiet of the forest, as if these
mighty trees that had withstood the storms of centuries were afraid
their secrets might be wrested from them.
In some past ages fire has swept through the forest, laying some of
these giants low, but other trees have sprung from their charred
stumps, and rear their straight trunks and green-crowned heads
hundreds of feet above the surrounding foliage. These stately trees
have grown and flourished like Solomon's Temple with no sound of
woodman's axe to mar the quiet solemnity of this primeval forest. One
stands in awe in the presence of these wonderful sequoias, the
greatest of trees, and we converse in low tones, as if standing in the
presence of spirits of bygone ages.
[Illustration: AMONG THE REDWOODS]
Muir Woods was accepted by the United States government as a national
monument in 1908, by special proclamation of President Theodore
Roosevelt, and was named in honor of John Muir, the celebrated
California naturalist.
There is no place in California where one can more profitably spend a
day in the enjoyment of the wonderful beauties of nature than in this
grove of giant redwoods.
[Illustration]