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twg_000000040300 | I had to hammer off with stones. The situation was becoming gradually more perilous; but, having passed several dangerous spots, I dared not think of descending; for, so steep was the entire ascent, one would inevitably fall to the glacier in case a single misstep were made. Knowing, therefore, the tried danger beneath, I became all the more anxious concerning | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040301 | the developments to be made above, and began to be conscious of a vague foreboding of what actually befell; not that I was given to fear, but rather because my instincts, usually so positive and true, seemed vitiated in some way, and were leading me astray. At length, after attaining an elevation of about , feet, I found myself at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040302 | the foot of a sheer drop in the bed of the avalanche channel I was tracing, which seemed absolutely to bar further progress. It was only about forty-five or fifty feet high, and somewhat roughened by fissures and projections; but these seemed so slight and insecure, as footholds, that I tried hard to avoid the precipice altogether, by scaling the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040303 | wall of the channel on either side. But, though less steep, the walls were smoother than the obstructing rock, and repeated efforts only showed that I must either go right ahead or turn back. The tried dangers beneath seemed even greater than that of the cliff in front; therefore, after scanning its face again and again, I began to scale | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040304 | it, picking my holds with intense caution. After gaining a point about halfway to the top, I was suddenly brought to a dead stop, with arms outspread, clinging close to the face of the rock, unable to move hand or foot either up or down. My doom appeared fixed. I _must_ fall. There would be a moment of bewilderment, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040305 | then a lifeless rumble down the one general precipice to the glacier below. When this final danger flashed upon me, I became nerve-shaken for the first time since setting foot on the mountains, and my mind seemed to fill with a stifling smoke. But this terrible eclipse lasted only a moment, when life blazed forth again with preternatural clearness. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040306 | seemed suddenly to become possessed of a new sense. The other self, bygone experiences, Instinct, or Guardian Angel,call it what you will,came forward and assumed control. Then my trembling muscles became firm again, every rift and flaw in the rock was seen as through a microscope, and my limbs moved with a positiveness and precision with which I seemed to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040307 | have nothing at all to do. Had I been borne aloft upon wings, my deliverance could not have been more complete. Above this memorable spot, the face of the mountain is still more savagely hacked and torn. It is a maze of yawning chasms and gullies, in the angles of which rise beetling crags and piles of detached boulders that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040308 | seem to have been gotten ready to be launched below. But the strange influx of strength I had received seemed inexhaustible. I found a way without effort, and soon stood upon the topmost crag in the blessed light. How truly glorious the landscape circled around this noble summit!giant mountains, valleys innumerable, glaciers and meadows, rivers and lakes, with the wide | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040309 | blue sky bent tenderly over them all. But in my first hour of freedom from that terrible shadow, the sunlight in which I was laving seemed all in all. Looking southward along the axis of the range, the eye is first caught by a row of exceedingly sharp and slender spires, which rise openly to a height of about a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040310 | thousand feet, above a series of short, residual glaciers that lean back against their bases; their fantastic sculpture and the unrelieved sharpness with which they spring out of the ice rendering them peculiarly wild and striking. These are The Minarets. Beyond them you behold a sublime wilderness of mountains, their snowy summits towering together in crowded abundance, peak beyond peak, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040311 | swelling higher, higher as they sweep on southward, until the culminating point of the range is reached on Mount Whitney, near the head of the Kern River, at an elevation of nearly , feet above the level of the sea. Westward, the general flank of the range is seen flowing sublimely away from the sharp summits, in smooth undulations; a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040312 | sea of huge gray granite waves dotted with lakes and meadows, and fluted with stupendous caons that grow steadily deeper as they recede in the distance. Below this gray region lies the dark forest zone, broken here and there by upswelling ridges and domes; and yet beyond lies a yellow, hazy belt, marking the broad plain of the San Joaquin, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040313 | bounded on its farther side by the blue mountains of the coast. Turning now to the northward, there in the immediate foreground is the glorious Sierra Crown, with Cathedral Peak, a temple of marvelous architecture, a few degrees to the left of it; the gray, massive form of Mammoth Mountain to the right; while Mounts Ord, Gibbs, Dana, Conness, Tower | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040314 | Peak, Castle Peak, Silver Mountain, and a host of noble companions, as yet nameless, make a sublime show along the axis of the range. Eastward, the whole region seems a land of desolation covered with beautiful light. The torrid volcanic basin of Mono, with its one bare lake fourteen miles long; Owens Valley and the broad lava table-land at its | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040315 | head, dotted with craters, and the massive Inyo Range, rivaling even the Sierra in height; these are spread, map-like, beneath you, with countless ranges beyond, passing and overlapping one another and fading on the glowing horizon. [Illustration: MAP OF THE YOSEMITE VALLEY] At a distance of less than feet below the summit of Mount Ritter you may find tributaries of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040316 | the San Joaquin and Owens rivers, bursting forth from the ice and snow of the glaciers that load its flanks; while a little to the north of here are found the highest affluents of the Tuolumne and Merced. Thus, the fountains of four of the principal rivers of California are within a radius of four or five miles. Lakes are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040317 | seen gleaming in all sorts of places,round, or oval, or square, like very mirrors; others narrow and sinuous, drawn close around the peaks like silver zones, the highest reflecting only rocks, snow, and the sky. But neither these nor the glaciers, nor the bits of brown meadow and moorland that occur here and there, are large enough to make any | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040318 | marked impression upon the mighty wilderness of mountains. The eye, rejoicing in its freedom, roves about the vast expanse, yet returns again and again to the fountain peaks. Perhaps some one of the multitude excites special attention, some gigantic castle with turret and battlement, or some Gothic cathedral more abundantly spired than Milans. But, generally, when looking for the first | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040319 | time from an all-embracing standpoint like this, the inexperienced observer is oppressed by the incomprehensible grandeur, variety, and abundance of the mountains rising shoulder to shoulder beyond the reach of vision; and it is only after they have been studied one by one, long and lovingly, that their far-reaching harmonies become manifest. Then, penetrate the wilderness where you may, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040320 | main telling features, to which all the surrounding topography is subordinate, are quickly perceived, and the most complicated clusters of peaks stand revealed harmoniously correlated and fashioned like works of arteloquent monuments of the ancient ice-rivers that brought them into relief from the general mass of the range. The caons, too, some of them a mile deep, mazing wildly through | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040321 | the mighty host of mountains, however lawless and ungovernable at first sight they appear, are at length recognized as the necessary effects of causes which followed each other in harmonious sequenceNatures poems carved on tables of stonethe simplest and most emphatic of her glacial compositions. Could we have been here to observe during the glacial period, we should have overlooked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040322 | a wrinkled ocean of ice as continuous as that now covering the landscapes of Greenland; filling every valley and caon with only the tops of the fountain peaks rising darkly above the rock-encumbered ice-waves like islets in a stormy seathose islets the only hints of the glorious landscapes now smiling in the sun. Standing here in the deep, brooding silence | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040323 | all the wilderness seems motionless, as if the work of creation were done. But in the midst of this outer steadfastness we know there is incessant motion and change. Ever and anon, avalanches are falling from yonder peaks. These cliff-bound glaciers, seemingly wedged and immovable, are flowing like water and grinding the rocks beneath them. The lakes are lapping their | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040324 | granite shores and wearing them away, and every one of these rills and young rivers is fretting the air into music, and carrying the mountains to the plains. Here are the roots of all the life of the valleys, and here more simply than elsewhere is the eternal flux of nature manifested. Ice changing to water, lakes to meadows, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040325 | mountains to plains. And while we thus contemplate Natures methods of landscape creation, and, reading the records she has carved on the rocks, reconstruct, however imperfectly, the landscapes of the past, we also learn that as these we now behold have succeeded those of the pre-glacial age, so they in turn are withering and vanishing to be succeeded by others | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040326 | yet unborn. But in the midst of these fine lessons and landscapes, I had to remember that the sun was wheeling far to the west, while a new way down the mountain had to be discovered to some point on the timber line where I could have a fire; for I had not even burdened myself with a coat. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040327 | first scanned the western spurs, hoping some way might appear through which I might reach the northern glacier, and cross its snout; or pass around the lake into which it flows, and thus strike my morning track. This route was soon sufficiently unfolded to show that, if practicable at all, it would require so much time that reaching camp that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040328 | night would be out of the question. I therefore scrambled back eastward, descending the southern slopes obliquely at the same time. Here the crags seemed less formidable, and the head of a glacier that flows northeast came in sight, which I determined to follow as far as possible, hoping thus to make my way to the foot of the peak | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040329 | on the east side, and thence across the intervening caons and ridges to camp. The inclination of the glacier is quite moderate at the head, and, as the sun had softened the _nv_, I made safe and rapid progress, running and sliding, and keeping up a sharp outlook for crevasses. About half a mile from the head, there is an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040330 | ice-cascade, where the glacier pours over a sharp declivity and is shattered into massive blocks separated by deep, blue fissures. To thread my way through the slippery mazes of this crevassed portion seemed impossible, and I endeavored to avoid it by climbing off to the shoulder of the mountain. But the slopes rapidly steepened and at length fell away in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040331 | sheer precipices, compelling a return to the ice. Fortunately, the day had been warm enough to loosen the ice-crystals so as to admit of hollows being dug in the rotten portions of the blocks, thus enabling me to pick my way with far less difficulty than I had anticipated. Continuing down over the snout, and along the left lateral moraine, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040332 | was only a confident saunter, showing that the ascent of the mountain by way of this glacier is easy, provided one is armed with an ax to cut steps here and there. The lower end of the glacier was beautifully waved and barred by the outcropping edges of the bedded ice-layers which represent the annual snowfalls, and to some extent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040333 | the irregularities of structure caused by the weathering of the walls of crevasses, and by separate snowfalls which have been followed by rain, hail, thawing and freezing, etc. Small rills were gliding and swirling over the melting surface with a smooth, oily appearance, in channels of pure icetheir quick, compliant movements contrasting most impressively with the rigid, invisible flow of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040334 | the glacier itself, on whose back they all were riding. Night drew near before I reached the eastern base of the mountain, and my camp lay many a rugged mile to the north; but ultimate success was assured. It was now only a matter of endurance and ordinary mountain-craft. The sunset was, if possible, yet more beautiful than that of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040335 | the day before. The Mono landscape seemed to be fairly saturated with warm, purple light. The peaks marshaled along the summit were in shadow, but through every notch and pass streamed vivid sun-fire, soothing and irradiating their rough, black angles, while companies of small, luminous clouds hovered above them like very angels of light. Darkness came on, but I found | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040336 | my way by the trends of the caons and the peaks projected against the sky. All excitement died with the light, and then I was weary. But the joyful sound of the waterfall across the lake was heard at last, and soon the stars were seen reflected in the lake itself. Taking my bearings from these, I discovered the little | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040337 | pine thicket in which my nest was, and then I had a rest such as only a tired mountaineer may enjoy. After lying loose and lost for awhile, I made a sunrise fire, went down to the lake, dashed water on my head, and dipped a cupful for tea. The revival brought about by bread and tea was as complete | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040338 | as the exhaustion from excessive enjoyment and toil. Then I crept beneath the pine-tassels to bed. The wind was frosty and the fire burned low, but my sleep was none the less sound, and the evening constellations had swept far to the west before I awoke. After thawing and resting in the morning sunshine, I sauntered home,that is, back to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040339 | the Tuolumne camp,bearing away toward a cluster of peaks that hold the fountain snows of one of the north tributaries of Rush Creek. Here I discovered a group of beautiful glacier lakes, nestled together in a grand amphitheater. Toward evening, I crossed the divide separating the Mono waters from those of the Tuolumne, and entered the glacier basin that now | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040340 | holds the fountain snows of the stream that forms the upper Tuolumne cascades. This stream I traced down through its many dells and gorges, meadows and bogs, reaching the brink of the main Tuolumne at dusk. A loud whoop for the artists was answered again and again. Their camp-fire came in sight, and half an hour afterward I was with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040341 | them. They seemed unreasonably glad to see me. I had been absent only three days; nevertheless, though the weather was fine, they had already been weighing chances as to whether I would ever return, and trying to decide whether they should wait longer or begin to seek their way back to the lowlands. Now their curious troubles were over. They | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040342 | packed their precious sketches, and next morning we set out homeward bound, and in two days entered the Yosemite Valley from the north by way of Indian Caon. THE PASSES The sustained grandeur of the High Sierra is strikingly illustrated by the great height of the passes. Between latitude and the lowest pass, gap, gorge, or notch of any kind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040343 | cutting across the axis of the range, as far as I have discovered, exceeds feet in height above the level of the sea; while the average height of all that are in use, either by Indians or whites, is perhaps not less than , feet, and not one of these is a carriage-pass. Farther north a carriage-road has been constructed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040344 | through what is known as the Sonora Pass, on the head waters of the Stanislaus and Walkers rivers, the summit of which is about , feet above the sea. Substantial wagon-roads have also been built through the Carson and Johnson passes, near the head of Lake Tahoe, over which immense quantities of freight were hauled from California to the mining | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040345 | regions of Nevada, before the construction of the Central Pacific Railroad. Still farther north, a considerable number of comparatively low passes occur, some of which are accessible to wheeled vehicles, and through these rugged defiles during the exciting years of the gold period long emigrant-trains with foot-sore cattle wearily toiled. After the toil-worn adventurers had escaped a thousand dangers and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040346 | had crawled thousands of miles across the plains the snowy Sierra at last loomed in sight, the eastern wall of the land of gold. And as with shaded eyes they gazed through the tremulous haze of the desert, with what joy must they have descried the pass through which they were to enter the better land of their hopes and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040347 | dreams! Between the Sonora Pass and the southern extremity of the High Sierra, a distance of nearly miles, there are only five passes through which trails conduct from one side of the range to the other. These are barely practicable for animals; a pass in these regions meaning simply any notch or caon through which one may, by the exercise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040348 | of unlimited patience, make out to lead a mule, or a sure-footed mustang; animals that can slide or jump as well as walk. Only three of the five passes may be said to be in use, viz.: the Kearsarge, Mono, and Virginia Creek; the tracks leading through the others being only obscure Indian trails, not graded in the least, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040349 | scarcely traceable by white men; for much of the way is over solid rock and earthquake avalanche taluses, where the unshod ponies of the Indians leave no appreciable sign. Only skilled mountaineers are able to detect the marks that serve to guide the Indians, such as slight abrasions of the looser rocks, the displacement of stones here and there, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040350 | bent bushes and weeds. A general knowledge of the topography is, then, the main guide, enabling one to determine where the trail ought to go_must_ go. One of these Indian trails crosses the range by a nameless pass between the head waters of the south and middle forks of the San Joaquin, the other between the north and middle forks | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040351 | of the same river, just to the south of The Minarets; this last being about feet high, is the lowest of the five. The Kearsarge is the highest, crossing the summit near the head of the south fork of Kings River, about eight miles to the north of Mount Tyndall, through the midst of the most stupendous rock-scenery. The summit | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040352 | of this pass is over , feet above sea-level; nevertheless, it is one of the safest of the five, and is used every summer, from July to October or November, by hunters, prospectors, and stock-owners, and to some extent by enterprising pleasure-seekers also. For, besides the surpassing grandeur of the scenery about the summit, the trail, in ascending the western | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040353 | flank of the range, conducts through a grove of the giant Sequoias, and through the magnificent Yosemite Valley of the south fork of Kings River. This is, perhaps, the highest traveled pass on the North American continent. [Illustration: MAP OF THE YOSEMITE VALLEY, SHOWING PRESENT RESERVATION BOUNDARY.] The Mono Pass lies to the east of Yosemite Valley, at the head | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040354 | of one of the tributaries of the south fork of the Tuolumne. This is the best known and most extensively traveled of all that exist in the High Sierra. A trail was made through it about the time of the Mono gold excitement, in the year , by adventurous miners and prospectorsmen who would build a trail down the throat | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040355 | of darkest Erebus on the way to gold. Though more than a thousand feet lower than the Kearsarge, it is scarcely less sublime in rock-scenery, while in snowy, falling water it far surpasses it. Being so favorably situated for the stream of Yosemite travel, the more adventurous tourists cross over through this glorious gateway to the volcanic region around Mono | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040356 | Lake. It has therefore gained a name and fame above every other pass in the range. According to the few barometrical observations made upon it, its highest point is , feet above the sea. The other pass of the five we have been considering is somewhat lower, and crosses the axis of the range a few miles to the north | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040357 | of the Mono Pass, at the head of the southernmost tributary of Walkers River. It is used chiefly by roaming bands of the Pah Ute Indians and sheepmen. But, leaving wheels and animals out of the question, the free mountaineer with a sack of bread on his shoulders and an ax to cut steps in ice and frozen snow can | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040358 | make his way across the range almost everywhere, and at any time of year when the weather is calm. To him nearly every notch between the peaks is a pass, though much patient step-cutting is at times required up and down steeply inclined glaciers, with cautious climbing over precipices that at first sight would seem hopelessly inaccessible. In pursuing my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040359 | studies, I have crossed from side to side of the range at intervals of a few miles all along the highest portion of the chain, with far less real danger than one would naturally count on. And what fine wildness was thus revealedstorms and avalanches, lakes and waterfalls, gardens and meadows, and interesting animalsonly those will ever know who give | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040360 | the freest and most buoyant portion of their lives to climbing and seeing for themselves. To the timid traveler, fresh from the sedimentary levels of the lowlands, these highways, however picturesque and grand, seem terribly forbiddingcold, dead, gloomy gashes in the bones of the mountains, and of all Natures ways the ones to be most cautiously avoided. Yet they are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040361 | full of the finest and most telling examples of Natures love; and though hard to travel, none are safer. For they lead through regions that lie far above the ordinary haunts of the devil, and of the pestilence that walks in darkness. True, there are innumerable places where the careless step will be the last step; and a rock falling | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040362 | from the cliffs may crush without warning like lightning from the sky; but what then! Accidents in the mountains are less common than in the lowlands, and these mountain mansions are decent, delightful, even divine, places to die in, compared with the doleful chambers of civilization. Few places in this world are more dangerous than home. Fear not, therefore, to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040363 | try the mountain-passes. They will kill care, save you from deadly apathy, set you free, and call forth every faculty into vigorous, enthusiastic action. Even the sick should try these so-called dangerous passes, because for every unfortunate they kill, they cure a thousand. All the passes make their steepest ascents on the eastern flank. On this side the average rise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040364 | is not far from a thousand feet to the mile, while on the west it is about two hundred feet. Another marked difference between the eastern and western portions of the passes is that the former begin at the very foot of the range, while the latter can hardly be said to begin lower than an elevation of from seven | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040365 | to ten thousand feet. Approaching the range from the gray levels of Mono and Owens Valley on the east, the traveler sees before him the steep, short passes in full view, fenced in by rugged spurs that come plunging down from the shoulders of the peaks on either side, the courses of the more direct being disclosed from top to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040366 | bottom without interruption. But from the west one sees nothing of the way he may be seeking until near the summit, after days have been spent in threading the forests growing on the main dividing ridges between the river caons. It is interesting to observe how surely the alp-crossing animals of every kind fall into the same trails. The more | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040367 | rugged and inaccessible the general character of the topography of any particular region, the more surely will the trails of white men, Indians, bears, wild sheep, etc., be found converging into the best passes. The Indians of the western slope venture cautiously over the passes in settled weather to attend dances, and obtain loads of pine-nuts and the larvae of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040368 | a small fly that breeds in Mono and Owens lakes, which, when dried, forms an important article of food; while the Pah Utes cross over from the east to hunt the deer and obtain supplies of acorns; and it is truly astonishing to see what immense loads the haggard old squaws make out to carry bare-footed through these rough passes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040369 | oftentimes for a distance of sixty or seventy miles. They are always accompanied by the men, who stride on, unburdened and erect, a little in advance, kindly stooping at difficult places to pile stepping-stones for their patient, pack-animal wives, just as they would prepare the way for their ponies. Bears evince great sagacity as mountaineers, but although they are tireless | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040370 | and enterprising travelers they seldom cross the range. I have several times tracked them through the Mono Pass, but only in late years, after cattle and sheep had passed that way, when they doubtless were following to feed on the stragglers and on those that had been killed by falling over the rocks. Even the wild sheep, the best mountaineers | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040371 | of all, choose regular passes in making journeys across the summits. Deer seldom cross the range in either direction. I have never yet observed a single specimen of the mule-deer of the Great Basin west of the summit, and rarely one of the black-tailed species on the eastern slope, notwithstanding many of the latter ascend the range nearly to the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040372 | summit every summer, to feed in the wild gardens and bring forth their young. The glaciers are the pass-makers, and it is by them that the courses of all mountaineers are predestined. Without exception every pass in the Sierra was created by them without the slightest aid or predetermining guidance from any of the cataclysmic agents. I have seen elaborate | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040373 | statements of the amount of drilling and blasting accomplished in the construction of the railroad across the Sierra, above Donner Lake; but for every pound of rock moved in this way, the glaciers which descended east and west through this same pass, crushed and carried away more than a hundred tons. The so-called practicable road-passes are simply those portions of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040374 | the range more degraded by glacial action than the adjacent portions, and degraded in such a way as to leave the summits rounded, instead of sharp; while the peaks, from the superior strength and hardness of their rocks, or from more favorable position, having suffered less degradation, are left towering above the passes as if they had been heaved into | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040375 | the sky by some force acting from beneath. The scenery of all the passes, especially at the head, is of the wildest and grandest description,lofty peaks massed together and laden around their bases with ice and snow; chains of glacier lakes; cascading streams in endless variety, with glorious views, westward over a sea of rocks and woods, and eastward over | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040376 | strange ashy plains, volcanoes, and the dry, dead-looking ranges of the Great Basin. Every pass, however, possesses treasures of beauty all its own. Having thus in a general way indicated the height, leading features, and distribution of the principal passes, I will now endeavor to describe the Mono Pass in particular, which may, I think, be regarded as a fair | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040377 | example of the higher alpine passes in general. The main portion of the Mono Pass is formed by Bloody Caon, which begins at the summit of the range, and runs in a general east-northeasterly direction to the edge of the Mono Plain. The first white men who forced a way through its somber depths were, as we have seen, eager | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040378 | gold-seekers. But the caon was known and traveled as a pass by the Indians and mountain animals long before its discovery by white men, as is shown by the numerous tributary trails which come into it from every direction. Its name accords well with the character of the early times in California, and may perhaps have been suggested by the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040379 | predominant color of the metamorphic slates in which it is in great part eroded; or more probably by blood-stains made by the unfortunate animals which were compelled to slip and shuffle awkwardly over its rough, cutting rocks. I have never known an animal, either mule or horse, to make its way through the caon, either in going up or down, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040380 | without losing more or less blood from wounds on the legs. Occasionally one is killed outrightfalling headlong and rolling over precipices like a boulder. But such accidents are rarer than from the terrible appearance of the trail one would be led to expect; the more experienced when driven loose find their way over the dangerous places with a caution and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040381 | sagacity that is truly wonderful. During the gold excitement it was at times a matter of considerable pecuniary importance to force a way through the caon with pack-trains early in the spring while it was yet heavily blocked with snow; and then the mules with their loads had sometimes to be let down over the steepest drifts and avalanche beds | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040382 | by means of ropes. A good bridle-path leads from Yosemite through many a grove and meadow up to the head of the caon, a distance of about thirty miles. Here the scenery undergoes a sudden and startling condensation. Mountains, red, gray, and black, rise close at hand on the right, whitened around their bases with banks of enduring snow; on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040383 | the left swells the huge red mass of Mount Gibbs, while in front the eye wanders down the shadowy caon, and out on the warm plain of Mono, where the lake is seen gleaming like a burnished metallic disk, with clusters of lofty volcanic cones to the south of it. When at length we enter the mountain gateway, the somber | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040384 | rocks seem aware of our presence, and seem to come thronging closer about us. Happily the ouzel and the old familiar robin are here to sing us welcome, and azure daisies beam with trustfulness and sympathy, enabling us to feel something of Natures love even here, beneath the gaze of her coldest rocks. The effect of this expressive outspokenness on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040385 | the part of the caon-rocks is greatly enhanced by the quiet aspect of the alpine meadows through which we pass just before entering the narrow gateway. The forests in which they lie, and the mountain-tops rising beyond them, seem quiet and tranquil. We catch their restful spirit, yield to the soothing influences of the sunshine, and saunter dreamily on through | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040386 | flowers and bees, scarce touched by a definite thought; then suddenly we find ourselves in the shadowy caon, closeted with Nature in one of her wildest strongholds. After the first bewildering impression begins to wear off, we perceive that it is not altogether terrible; for besides the reassuring birds and flowers we discover a chain of shining lakelets hanging down | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040387 | from the very summit of the pass, and linked together by a silvery stream. The highest are set in bleak, rough bowls, scantily fringed with brown and yellow sedges. Winter storms blow snow through the caon in blinding drifts, and avalanches shoot from the heights. Then are these sparkling tarns filled and buried, leaving not a hint of their existence. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040388 | In June and July they begin to blink and thaw out like sleepy eyes, the carices thrust up their short brown spikes, the daisies bloom in turn, and the most profoundly buried of them all is at length warmed and summered as if winter were only a dream. Red Lake is the lowest of the chain, and also the largest. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040389 | It seems rather dull and forbidding at first sight, lying motionless in its deep, dark bed. The caon wall rises sheer from the waters edge on the south, but on the opposite side there is sufficient space and sunshine for a sedgy daisy garden, the center of which is brilliantly lighted with lilies, castilleias, larkspurs, and columbines, sheltered from the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040390 | wind by leafy willows, and forming a most joyful outburst of plant-life keenly emphasized by the chill baldness of the onlooking cliffs. After indulging here in a dozing, shimmering lake-rest, the happy stream sets forth again, warbling and trilling like an ouzel, ever delightfully confiding, no matter how dark the way; leaping, gliding, hither, thither, clear or foaming: manifesting the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040391 | beauty of its wildness in every sound and gesture. One of its most beautiful developments is the Diamond Cascade, situated a short distance below Red Lake. Here the tense, crystalline water is first dashed into coarse, granular spray mixed with dusty foam, and then divided into a diamond pattern by following the diagonal cleavage-joints that intersect the face of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040392 | precipice over which it pours. Viewed in front, it resembles a strip of embroidery of definite pattern, varying through the seasons with the temperature and the volume of water. Scarce a flower may be seen along its snowy border. A few bent pines look on from a distance, and small fringes of cassiope and rock-ferns are growing in fissures near | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040393 | the head, but these are so lowly and undemonstrative that only the attentive observer will be likely to notice them. On the north wall of the caon, a little below the Diamond Cascade, a glittering side stream makes its appearance, seeming to leap directly out of the sky. It first resembles a crinkled ribbon of silver hanging loosely down the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040394 | wall, but grows wider as it descends, and dashes the dull rock with foam. A long rough talus curves up against this part of the cliff, overgrown with snow-pressed willows, in which the fall disappears with many an eager surge and swirl and plashing leap, finally beating its way down to its confluence with the main caon stream. Below this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040395 | point the climate is no longer arctic. Butterflies become larger and more abundant, grasses with imposing spread of panicle wave above your shoulders, and the summery drone of the bumblebee thickens the air. The Dwarf Pine, the tree-mountaineer that climbs highest and braves the coldest blasts, is found scattered in storm-beaten clumps from the summit of the pass about half-way | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040396 | down the caon. Here it is succeeded by the hardy Two-leaved Pine, which is speedily joined by the taller Yellow and Mountain Pines. These, with the burly juniper, and shimmering aspen, rapidly grow larger as the sunshine becomes richer, forming groves that block the view; or they stand more apart here and there in picturesque groups, that make beautiful and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040397 | obvious harmony with the rocks and with one another. Blooming underbrush becomes abundant,azalea, spiraea, and the brier-rose weaving fringes for the streams, and shaggy rugs to relieve the stern, unflinching rock-bosses. [Illustration: RANCHERIA FALLS, HETCH-HETCHY VALLEY] Through this delightful wilderness, Caon Creek roves without any constraining channel, throbbing and wavering; now in sunshine, now in thoughtful shade; falling, swirling, flashing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040398 | from side to side in weariless exuberance of energy. A glorious milky way of cascades is thus developed, of which Bower Cascade, though one of the smallest, is perhaps the most beautiful of them all. It is situated in the lower region of the pass, just where the sunshine begins to mellow between the cold and warm climates. Here the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000040399 | glad creek, grown strong with tribute gathered from many a snowy fountain on the heights, sings richer strains, and becomes more human and lovable at every step. Now you may by its side find the rose and homely yarrow, and small meadows full of bees and clover. At the head of a low-browed rock, luxuriant dogwood bushes and willows arch | 60 | gutenberg |
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