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diff --git a/old/60929-0.txt b/old/60929-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1a79639..0000000 --- a/old/60929-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10087 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our National Parks, by John Muir - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Our National Parks - -Author: John Muir - -Release Date: December 15, 2019 [eBook #60929] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR NATIONAL PARKS *** - -[Illustration] - - - - -OUR NATIONAL PARKS - -by John Muir - - -Contents - - PREFACE -Chapter I. The Wild Parks and Forest Reservations of the West -Chapter II. The Yellowstone National Park -Chapter III. The Yosemite National Park -Chapter IV. The Forests of the Yosemite Park -Chapter V. The Wild Gardens of the Yosemite Park -Chapter VI. Among the Animals of the Yosemite -Chapter VII. Among the Birds of the Yosemite -Chapter VIII. The Fountains and Streams of the Yosemite National Park -Chapter IX. The Sequoia and General Grant National Parks -Chapter X. The American Forests - Appendix - Index - -List of Illustrations - - John Muir in Muir Woods (1909) - Map showing the National Forests, Parks, and Monuments of the United - States - Cassiope - Mt. Rainier and Alpine Firs (_Abies lasiocarpa_) - The Grand Cañon of Colorado - Minerva Terrace, Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone Park - Great Falls and Grand Cañon, Yellowstone Park - Looking South from the Summit of Mt. Washburn, Yellowstone Park - A Thunder-Storm in the Sierras - Glacier Monument (Fairview Dome) - Along the Crest of the High Sierras from the Summit of Mt. Lyell - (13,090 feet) - California Cones - Yellow Pine (Yosemite Valley Form) - A California Life-Oak - A Yosemite Cañon Cliff (El Capitan) - California Azaleas - Mariposa Tulips and the Snow Plant - Alpine Phlox and _Polemonium confertum_ - A Cinnamon Bear - Deer Feeding in the Forest - A Mountain Woodchuck - A Trout Stream in the Sierra Nevada (King’s River) - Mono Desert from Mono Pass - Liberty Cap and Nevada Falls, Yosemite Valley - Water Ouzels in a Mountain Stream - “Fountain Snow” on the High Sierras (Mt. Lyell Group) - A Mountain Stream in June (Merced Creek and Vernal Falls, Yosemite) - A Sierra Cañon (King’s River Cañon from Lookout Peak) - A Giant Sequoia - Midsummer in the Sequoia Forest - “General Grant” Sequoia in General Grant National Park - In a Puget Sound Forest - Sugar Pine - -All the illustrations are from photographs made for this book by -Herbert W. Gleason. - -[Illustration: John Muir in Muir Woods (1909).] - - - - -TO -CHARLES SPRAGUE SARGENT -STEADFAST LOVER AND DEFENDER -OF OUR COUNTRY’S FORESTS -THIS LITTLE BOOK -Is Affectionately Dedicated - - - - -NOTE - - -For the tables of information concerning the National Parks and -National Monuments printed in the Appendix to this volume the reader is -indebted to Mr. ALLEN CHAMBERLAIN, who has been at much pains to -accumulate data not easily obtainable elsewhere. The map at the -beginning of the book has also been compiled by Mr. Chamberlain from -authoritative government sources. - - - - -PREFACE - - -In this book, made up of sketches first published in the Atlantic -Monthly, I have done the best I could to show forth the beauty, -grandeur, and all-embracing usefulness of our wild mountain forest -reservations and parks, with a view to inciting the people to come and -enjoy them, and get them into their hearts, that so at length their -preservation and right use might be made sure. - -Martinez, California -_September_, 1901 - -[Illustration: Map showing the National Forests, Parks, and Monuments -of the United States. - -INDEX TO THE MAP - -(There are two National Forests in Florida and two in Michigan which -are included in the table on page 373 are not shown on the map.) - -NATIONAL PARKS - -(In black on map) - -1. Yellowstone, Wyo., Mont., and Ida. -2. Hot Springs, Ark. -3. Sequoia, Cal. -4. Yosemite, Cal. -5. General Grant, Cal. -6. Casa Grande, Ariz. -7. Mt. Rainier, Wash. -8. Crater Lake, Ore. -9. Platt, Okla. -10. Wind Cave, S. D. -11. Sully’s Hill, N. D. -12. Mesa Verde, Colo. -13. Glacier (see pp. 368, 369), Mont. - -NATIONAL MONUMENTS -(Cross-hatched) -14. Devil’s Tower, Wyo. -15. Petrified Forest, Ariz. -16. Montezuma Castle, Ariz. -17. El Morro, N. M. -18. Chaco Canyon, N. M. -19. Lassen Peak, Cal. -20. Cinder Cone, Cal. -21. Gila Cliff-Dwellings, N. M. -22. Tonto, Ariz. -23. Muir Woods, Cal. -24. Grand Canyon, Ariz. -25. Pinnacles, Cal. -26. Jewel Cave, S. D. -27. Natural Bridges, Utah -28. Lewis and Clark Cavern, Mont. -29. Tumacocori, Ariz. -30. Wheeler, Colo. -31. Mt. Olympus, Wash. -32. Navajo, Ariz. -33. Oregon Caves, Ore. - -NATIONAL FORESTS -(Shaded) -34. Absaroka, Mont. -35. Alamo, N. M. -36. Angeles, Cal. -37. Apache, Ariz. -38. Arapaho, Colo. -39. Arkansas, Ark. -40. Ashley, Utah and Wyo. -41. Battlement, Colo. -42. Beartooth, Mont. -43. Beaverhead, Ida. and Mont. -44. Bighorn, Wyo. -45. Bitterroot, Mont. -46. Blackfeet, Mont. -47. Black Hills, S. D. -48. Boise, Ida. -49. Bonneville, Wyo. -50. Cabinet, Mont. -51. Cache, Ida. and Utah -52. California, Cal. -53. Caribou, Ida. and Wyo. -54. Carson, N. M. -55. Cascade, Ore. -56. Challis, Ida. -57. Chelan, Wash. -58. Cheyenne, Wyo. -59. Chiricahua, Ariz. and N. M. -60. Clearwater, Ida. -61. Cleveland, Cal. -62. Cochetopa, Colo. -63. Coconino, Ariz. -64. Cœur d’Alene, Ida. -65. Columbia, Wash. -66. Colville, Wash. -67. Coronado, Ariz. -68. Crater, Cal. and Ore. -69. Crook, Ariz. -70. Custer, Mont. -71. Dakota, N. D. -72. Datil, N. M. -73. Deerlodge, Mont. -74. Deschutes, Ore. -75. Dixie, Ariz. and Utah -76. Fillmore, Utah -77. Fishlake, Utah -78. Flathead, Mont. -79. Fremont, Ore. -80. Gallatin, Mont. -81. Garces, Ariz. -82. Gila, N. M. -83. Gunnison, Colo. -84. Hayden, Wyo. and Colo. -85. Helena, Mont. -86. Holy Cross, Colo. -87. Humboldt, Nev. -88. Idaho, Ida. -89. Inyo, Cal. and Nev. -90. Jefferson, Mont. -91. Jemez, N. M. -92. Kaibab, Ariz. -93. Kaniksu, Ida. and Wash. -94. Kansas, Kan. -95. Klamath, Cal. -96. Kootenai, Mont. -97. La Sal, Utah and Colo. -98. Las Animas, Colo, and N. M. -99. Lassen, Cal. -100. Leadville, Colo. -101. Lemhi, Ida. -102. Lewis and Clark, Mont. -103. Lincoln, N. M. -104. Lolo, Mont. -105. Madison, Mont. -106. Malheur, Ore. -107. Manti, Utah -108. Manzano, N. M. -109. Medicine Bow, Colo. -110. Minidoka, Ida. and Utah -111. Minnesota, Minn. -112. Missoula, Mont. -113. Moapa, Nev. -114. Modoc, Cal. -115. Mono, Cal. and Nev. -116. Monterey, Cal. -117. Montezuma, Colo. -118. Nebo, Utah -119. Nebraska, Neb. -120. Nevada, Nev. -121. Nezperce, Ida. -122. Olympic, Wash. -123. Oregon, Ore. -124. Ozark, Ark. -125. Payette, Ida. -126. Pecos, N. M. -127. Pend d’Oreille, Ida. -128. Pike, Colo. -129. Plumas, Cal. -130. Pocatello, Ida. and Utah -131. Powell, Utah -132. Prescott, Ariz. -133. Rainier, Wash. -134. Rio Grande, Colo. -135. Routt, Colo. -136. Salmon, Ida. -137. San Isabel, Colo. -138. San Juan, Colo. -139. San Luis, Cal. -140. Santa Barbara, Cal. -141. Sawtooth, Ida. -142. Sequoia, Cal. -143. Sevier, Utah -144. Shasta, Cal. -145. Shoshone, Wyo. -146. Sierra, Cal. -147. Sioux, Mont, and S. D. -148. Siskiyou, Ore. and Cal. -149. Sitgreaves, Ariz. -150. Siuslaw, Ore. -151. Snoqualmie, Wash. -152. Sopris, Colo. -153. Stanislaus, Cal. -154. Sundance, Wyo. -155. Superior, Minn. -156. Tahoe, Cal. and Nev. -157. Targhee, Ida. and Wyo. -158. Teton, Wyo. -159. Toiyabe, Neb. -160. Tonto, Ariz. -161. Trinity, Cal. -162. Uinta, Utah -163. Umatilla, Ore. -164. Umpqua, Ore. -165. Uncompahgre, Colo. -166. Wallowa, Ore. -167. Wasatch, Utah -168. Washington, Wash. -169. Wenaha, Ore. and Wash. -170. Wenatchee, Wash. -171. Weiser, Ida. -172. White River, Colo. -173. Whitman, Ore. -174. Wichita, Okla. -175. Wyoming, Wyo. -176. Zuñi, Ariz. and N. M. - - - - -CHAPTER I -The Wild Parks and Forest Reservations of the West - - - “Keep not standing fix’d and rooted, - Briskly venture, briskly roam; - Head and hand, where’er thou foot it, - And stout heart are still at home. - In each land the sun does visit - We are gay, whate’er betide: - To give room for wandering is it - That the world was made so wide.” - -The tendency nowadays to wander in wildernesses is delightful to see. -Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning -to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is -a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not -only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of -life. Awakening from the stupefying effects of the vice of -over-industry and the deadly apathy of luxury, they are trying as best -they can to mix and enrich their own little ongoings with those of -Nature, and to get rid of rust and disease. Briskly venturing and -roaming, some are washing off sins and cobweb cares of the devil’s -spinning in all-day storms on mountains; sauntering in rosiny pinewoods -or in gentian meadows, brushing through chaparral, bending down and -parting sweet, flowery sprays; tracing rivers to their sources, getting -in touch with the nerves of Mother Earth; jumping from rock to rock, -feeling the life of them, learning the songs of them, panting in -whole-souled exercise, and rejoicing in deep, long-drawn breaths of -pure wildness. This is fine and natural and full of promise. So also is -the growing interest in the care and preservation of forests and wild -places in general, and in the half wild parks and gardens of towns. -Even the scenery habit in its most artificial forms, mixed with -spectacles, silliness, and kodaks; its devotees arrayed more gorgeously -than scarlet tanagers, frightening the wild game with red -umbrellas,—even this is encouraging, and may well be regarded as a -hopeful sign of the times. - -All the Western mountains are still rich in wildness, and by means of -good roads are being brought nearer civilization every year. To the -sane and free it will hardly seem necessary to cross the continent in -search of wild beauty, however easy the way, for they find it in -abundance wherever they chance to be. Like Thoreau they see forests in -orchards and patches of huckleberry brush, and oceans in ponds and -drops of dew. Few in these hot, dim, strenuous times are quite sane or -free; choked with care like clocks full of dust, laboriously doing so -much good and making so much money,—or so little,—they are no longer -good for themselves. - -When, like a merchant taking a list of his goods, we take stock of our -wildness, we are glad to see how much of even the most destructible -kind is still unspoiled. Looking at our continent as scenery when it -was all wild, lying between beautiful seas, the starry sky above it, -the starry rocks beneath it, to compare its sides, the East and the -West, would be like comparing the sides of a rainbow. But it is no -longer equally beautiful. The rainbows of to-day are, I suppose, as -bright as those that first spanned the sky; and some of our landscapes -are growing more beautiful from year to year, notwithstanding the -clearing, trampling work of civilization. New plants and animals are -enriching woods and gardens, and many landscapes wholly new, with -divine sculpture and architecture, are just now coming to the light of -day as the mantling folds of creative glaciers are being withdrawn, and -life in a thousand cheerful, beautiful forms is pushing into them, and -new-born rivers are beginning to sing and shine in them. The old -rivers, too, are growing longer, like healthy trees, gaining new -branches and lakes as the residual glaciers at their highest sources on -the mountains recede, while the rootlike branches in the flat deltas -are at same time spreading farther and wider into the seas and making -new lands. - -Under the control of the vast mysterious forces of the interior of the -earth all the continents and islands are slowly rising or sinking. Most -of the mountains are diminishing in size under the wearing action of -the weather, though a few are increasing in height and girth, -especially the volcanic ones, as fresh floods of molten rocks are piled -on their summits and spread in successive layers, like the wood-rings -of trees, on their sides. New mountains, also, are being created from -time to time as islands in lakes and seas, or as subordinate cones on -the slopes of old ones, thus in some measure balancing the waste of old -beauty with new. Man, too, is making many far-reaching changes. This -most influential half animal, half angel is rapidly multiplying and -spreading, covering the seas and lakes with ships, the land with huts, -hotels, cathedrals, and clustered city shops and homes, so that soon, -it would seem, we may have to go farther than Nansen to find a good -sound solitude. None of Nature’s landscapes are ugly so long as they -are wild; and much, we can say comfortingly, must always be in great -part wild, particularly the sea and the sky, the floods of light from -the stars, and the warm, unspoilable heart of the earth, infinitely -beautiful, though only dimly visible to the eye of imagination. The -geysers, too, spouting from the hot underworld; the steady, -long-lasting glaciers on the mountains, obedient only to the sun; -Yosemite domes and the tremendous grandeur of rocky cañons and -mountains in general,—these must always be wild, for man can change -them and mar them hardly more than can the butterflies that hover above -them. But the continent’s outer beauty is fast passing away, especially -the plant part of it, the most destructible and most universally -charming of all. - -Only thirty years ago, the great Central Valley of California, five -hundred miles long and fifty miles wide, was one bed of golden and -purple flowers. Now it is ploughed and pastured out of existence, gone -forever,—scarce a memory of it left in fence corners and along the -bluffs of the streams. The gardens of the Sierra, also, and the noble -forests in both the reserved and unreserved portions are sadly hacked -and trampled, notwithstanding, the ruggedness of the topography,—all -excepting those of the parks guarded by a few soldiers. In the noblest -forests of the world, the ground, once divinely beautiful, is desolate -and repulsive, like a face ravaged by disease. This is true also of -many other Pacific Coast and Rocky Mountain valleys and forests. The -same fate, sooner or later, is awaiting them all, unless awakening -public opinion comes forward to stop it. Even the great deserts in -Arizona, Nevada, Utah, and New Mexico, which offer so little to attract -settlers, and which a few years ago pioneers were afraid of, as places -of desolation and death, are now taken as pastures at the rate of one -or two square miles per cow, and of course their plant treasures are -passing away,—the delicate abronias, phloxes, gilias, etc. Only a few -of the bitter, thorny, unbitable shrubs are left, and the sturdy -cactuses that defend themselves with bayonets and spears. - -Most of the wild plant wealth of the East also has vanished,—gone into -dusty history. Only vestiges of its glorious prairie and woodland -wealth remain to bless humanity in boggy, rocky, unploughable places. -Fortunately, some of these are purely wild, and go far to keep Nature’s -love visible. White water-lilies, with rootstocks deep and safe in mud, -still send up every summer a Milky Way of starry, fragrant flowers -around a thousand lakes, and many a tuft of wild grass waves its -panicles on mossy rocks, beyond reach of trampling feet, in company -with saxifrages, bluebells, and ferns. Even in the midst of farmers -fields, precious sphagnum bogs, too soft for the feet of cattle, are -preserved with their charming plants unchanged,—chiogenes, Andromeda, -Kalmia, Linnæa, Arethusa, etc. Calypso borealis still hides in the -arbor vitæ swamps of Canada, and away to the southward there are a few -unspoiled swamps, big ones, where miasma, snakes, and alligators, like -guardian angels, defend their treasures and keep them as pure as -paradise. And beside a’ that and a’ that, the East is blessed with good -winters and blossoming clouds that shed white flowers over all the -land, covering every scar and making the saddest landscape divine at -least once a year. - -The most extensive, least spoiled, and most unspoilable of the gardens -of the continent are the vast tundras of Alaska. In summer they extend -smooth, even, undulating, continuous beds of flowers and leaves from -about lat. 62° to the shores of the Arctic Ocean; and in winter sheets -of snowflowers make all the country shine, one mass of white radiance -like a star. Nor are these Arctic plant people the pitiful -frost-pinched unfortunates they are guessed to be by those who have -never seen them. Though lowly in stature, keeping near the frozen -ground as if loving it, they are bright and cheery, and speak Nature’s -love as plainly as their big relatives of the South. Tenderly happed -and tucked in beneath downy snow to sleep through the long, white -winter, they make haste to bloom in the spring without trying to grow -tall, though some rise high enough to ripple and wave in the wind, and -display masses of color,—yellow, purple, and blue,—so rich that they -look like beds of rainbows, and are visible miles and miles away. - -As early as June one may find the showy Geum glaciale in flower, and -the dwarf willows putting forth myriads of fuzzy catkins, to be -followed quickly, especially on the dryer ground, by mertensia, -eritrichium, polemonium, oxytropis, astragalus, lathyrus, lupinus, -myosotis, dodecatheon, arnica, chrysanthemum, nardosmia, saussurea, -senecio, erigeron, matrecaria, caltha, valeriana, stellaria, Tofieldia, -polygonum, papaver, phlox, lychnis, cheiranthus, Linnæa, and a host of -drabas, saxifrages, and heathworts, with bright stars and bells in -glorious profusion, particularly Cassiope, Andromeda, ledum, pyrola, -and vaccinium,—Cassiope the most abundant and beautiful of them all. -Many grasses also grow here, and wave fine purple spikes and panicles -over the other flowers,—poa, aira, calamagrostis, alopecurus, trisetum, -elymus, festuca, glyceria, etc. Even ferns are found thus far north, -carefully and comfortably unrolling their precious fronds,—aspidium, -cystopteris, and woodsia, all growing on a sumptuous bed of mosses and -lichens; not the scaly lichens seen on rails and trees and fallen logs -to the southward, but massive, roundheaded, finely colored plants like -corals, wonderfully beautiful, worth going round the world to see. I -should like to mention all the plant friends I found in a summer’s -wanderings in this cool reserve, but I fear few would care to read -their names, although everybody, I am sure, would love them could they -see them blooming and rejoicing at home. - -[Illustration: Cassiope.] - -On my last visit to the region about Kotzebue Sound, near the middle of -September, 1881, the weather was so fine and mellow that it suggested -the Indian summer of the Eastern States. The winds were hushed, the -tundra glowed in creamy golden sunshine, and the colors of the ripe -foliage of the heathworts, willows, and birch—red, purple, and yellow, -in pure bright tones—were enriched with those of berries which were -scattered everywhere, as if they had been showered from the clouds like -hail. When I was back a mile or two from the shore, reveling in this -color-glory, and thinking how fine it would be could I cut a square of -the tundra sod of conventional picture size, frame it, and hang it -among the paintings on my study walls at home, saying to myself, “Such -a Nature painting taken at random from any part of the thousand-mile -bog would make the other pictures look dim and coarse,” I heard merry -shouting, and, looking round, saw a band of Eskimos—men, women, and -children, loose and hairy like wild animals—running towards me. I could -not guess at first what they were seeking, for they seldom leave the -shore; but soon they told me, as they threw themselves down, sprawling -and laughing, on the mellow bog, and began to feast on the berries. A -lively picture they made, and a pleasant one, as they frightened the -whirring ptarmigans, and surprised their oily stomachs with the -beautiful acid berries of many kinds, and filled sealskin bags with -them to carry away for festive days in winter. - -Nowhere else on my travels have I seen so much warm-blooded, rejoicing -life as in this grand Arctic reservation, by so many regarded as -desolate. Not only are there whales in abundance along the shores, and -innumerable seals, walruses, and white bears, but on the tundras great -herds of fat reindeer and wild sheep, foxes, hares, mice, piping -marmots, and birds. Perhaps more birds are born here than in any other -region of equal extent on the continent. Not only do strong-winged -hawks, eagles, and water-fowl, to whom the length of the continent is -merely a pleasant excursion, come up here every summer in great -numbers, but also many short-winged warblers, thrushes, and finches, -repairing hither to rear their young in safety, reinforce the plant -bloom with their plumage, and sweeten the wilderness with song; flying -all the way, some of them, from Florida, Mexico, and Central America. -In coming north they are coming home, for they were born here, and they -go south only to spend the winter months, as New Englanders go to -Florida. Sweet-voiced troubadours, they sing in orange groves and -vine-clad magnolia woods in winter, in thickets of dwarf birch and -alder in summer, and sing and chatter more or less all the way back and -forth, keeping the whole country glad. Oftentimes, in New England, just -as the last snow-patches are melting and the sap in the maples begins -to flow, the blessed wanderers may be heard about orchards and the -edges of fields where they have stopped to glean a scanty meal, not -tarrying long, knowing they have far to go. Tracing the footsteps of -spring, they arrive in their tundra homes in June or July, and set out -on their return journey in September, or as soon as their families are -able to fly well. - -This is Nature’s own reservation, and every lover of wildness will -rejoice with me that by kindly frost it is so well defended. The -discovery lately made that it is sprinkled with gold may cause some -alarm; for the strangely exciting stuff makes the timid bold enough for -anything, and the lazy destructively industrious. Thousands at least -half insane are now pushing their way into it, some by the southern -passes over the mountains, perchance the first mountains they have ever -seen,—sprawling, struggling, gasping for breath, as, laden with -awkward, merciless burdens of provisions and tools, they climb over -rough-angled boulders and cross thin miry bogs. Some are going by the -mountains and rivers to the eastward through Canada, tracing the old -romantic ways of the Hudson Bay traders; others by Bering Sea and the -Yukon, sailing all the way, getting glimpses perhaps of the famous -fur-seals, the ice-floes, and the innumerable islands and bars of the -great Alaska river. In spite of frowning hardships and the frozen -ground, the Klondike gold will increase the crusading crowds for years -to come, but comparatively little harm will be done. Holes will be -burned and dug into the hard ground here and there, and into the -quartz-ribbed mountains and hills; ragged towns like beaver and muskrat -villages will be built, and mills and locomotives will make rumbling, -screeching, disenchanting noises; but the miner’s pick will not be -followed far by the plough, at least not until Nature is ready to -unlock the frozen soil-beds with her slow-turning climate key. On the -other hand, the roads of the pioneer miners will lead many a lover of -wildness into the heart of the reserve, who without them would never -see it. - -In the meantime, the wildest health and pleasure grounds accessible and -available to tourists seeking escape from care and dust and early death -are the parks and reservations of the West. There are four national -parks,[1] —the Yellowstone, Yosemite, General Grant, and Sequoia,—all -within easy reach, and thirty forest reservations, a magnificent realm -of woods, most of which, by railroads and trails and open ridges, is -also fairly accessible, not only to the determined traveler rejoicing -in difficulties, but to those (may their tribe increase) who, not -tired, not sick, just naturally take wing every summer in search of -wildness. The forty million acres of these reserves are in the main -unspoiled as yet, though sadly wasted and threatened on their more open -margins by the axe and fire of the lumberman and prospector, and by -hoofed locusts, which, like the winged ones, devour every leaf within -reach, while the shepherds and owners set fires with the intention of -making a blade of grass grow in the place of every tree, but with the -result of killing both the grass and the trees. - - [1] There are now (1909) twelve parks and one hundred and fifty forest - reservations, besides twenty “national monuments.” See Appendix. - - -In the million acre Black Hills Reserve of South Dakota, the -easternmost of the great forest reserves, made for the sake of the -farmers and miners, there are delightful, reviving sauntering-grounds -in open parks of yellow pine, planted well apart, allowing plenty of -sunshine to warm the ground. This tree is one of the most variable and -most widely distributed of American pines. It grows sturdily on all -kinds of soil and rocks, and, protected by a mail of thick bark, defies -frost and fire and disease alike, daring every danger in firm, calm -beauty and strength. It occurs here mostly on the outer hills and -slopes where no other tree can grow. The ground beneath it is yellow -most of the summer with showy Wythia, arnica, applopappus, solidago, -and other sun-loving plants, which, though they form no heavy -entangling growth, yet give abundance of color and make all the woods a -garden. Beyond the yellow pine woods there lies a world of rocks of -wildest architecture, broken, splintery, and spiky, not very high, but -the strangest in form and style of grouping imaginable. Countless -towers and spires, pinnacles and slender domed columns, are crowded -together, and feathered with sharp-pointed Engelmann spruces, making -curiously mixed forests,—half trees, half rocks. Level gardens here and -there in the midst of them offer charming surprises, and so do the many -small lakes with lilies on their meadowy borders, and bluebells, -anemones, daises, castilleias, comandras, etc., together forming -landscapes delightfully novel, and made still wilder by many -interesting animals,—elk, deer, beavers, wolves, squirrels, and birds. -Not very long ago this was the richest of all the red man’s -hunting-grounds hereabout. After the season’s buffalo hunts were -over,—as described by Parkman, who, with a picturesque cavalcade of -Sioux savages, passed through these famous hills in 1846,—every winter -deficiency was here made good, and hunger was unknown until, in spite -of most determined, fighting, killing opposition, the white -gold-hunters entered the fat game reserve and spoiled it. The Indians -are dead now, and so are most of the hardly less striking free trappers -of the early romantic Rocky Mountain times. Arrows, bullets, -scalping-knives, need no longer be feared; and all the wilderness is -peacefully open. - -The Rocky Mountain reserves are the Teton, Yellowstone, Lewis and -Clark, Bitter Root, Priest River and Flathead, comprehending more than -twelve million acres of mostly unclaimed, rough, forest-covered -mountains in which the great rivers of the country take their rise. The -commonest tree in most of them is the brave, indomitable, and -altogether admirable Pinus contorta, widely distributed in all kinds of -climate and soil, growing cheerily in frosty Alaska, breathing the damp -salt air of the sea as well as the dry biting blasts of the Arctic -interior, and making itself at home on the most dangerous flame-swept -slopes and bridges of the Rocky Mountains in immeasurable abundance and -variety of forms. Thousands of acres of this species are destroyed by -running fires nearly every summer, but a new growth springs quickly -from the ashes. It is generally small, and yields few sawlogs of -commercial value, but is of incalculable importance to the farmer and -miner; supplying fencing, mine timbers, and firewood, holding the -porous soil on steep slopes, preventing landslips and avalanches, and -giving kindly, nourishing shelter to animals and the widely outspread -sources of the life-giving rivers. The other trees are mostly spruce, -mountain pine, cedar, juniper, larch, and balsam fir; some of them, -especially on the western slopes of the mountains, attaining grand size -and furnishing abundance of fine timber. - -Perhaps the least known of all this grand group of reserves is the -Bitter Root, of more than four million acres. It is the wildest, -shaggiest block of forest wildness in the Rocky Mountains, full of -happy, healthy, storm-loving trees, full of streams that dance and sing -in glorious array, and full of Nature’s animals,—elk, deer, wild sheep, -bears, cats, and innumerable smaller people. - -In calm Indian summer, when the heavy winds are hushed, the vast -forests covering hill and dale, rising and falling over the rough -topography and vanishing in the distance, seem lifeless. No moving -thing is seen as we climb the peaks, and only the low, mellow murmur of -falling water is heard, which seems to thicken the silence. -Nevertheless, how many hearts with warm red blood in them are beating -under cover of the woods, and how many teeth and eyes are shining! A -multitude of animal people, intimately related to us, but of whose -lives we know almost nothing, are as busy about their own affairs as we -are about ours: beavers are building and mending dams and huts for -winter, and storing them with food; bears are studying winter quarters -as they stand thoughtful in open spaces, while the gentle breeze -ruffles the long hair on their backs; elk and deer, assembling on the -heights, are considering cold pastures where they will be farthest away -from the wolves; squirrels and marmots are busily laying up provisions -and lining their nests against coming frost and snow foreseen; and -countless thousands of birds are forming parties and gathering their -young about them for flight to the southlands; while butterflies and -bees, apparently with no thought of hard times to come, are hovering -above the late-blooming goldenrods, and, with countless other insect -folk, are dancing and humming right merrily in the sunbeams and shaking -all the air into music. - -Wander here a whole summer, if you can. Thousands of God’s wild -blessings will search you and soak you as if you were sponge, and the -big days will go by uncounted. If you are business-tangled, and so -burdened with duty that only weeks can be got out of the heavy-laden -year, then go to the Flathead Reserve; for it is easily and quickly -reached by the Great Northern Railroad. Get off the track at Belton -Station, and in a few minutes you will find yourself in the midst of -what you are sure to say is the best care-killing scenery on the -continent,—beautiful lakes derived straight from glaciers, lofty -mountains steeped in lovely nemophila-blue skies and clad with forests -and glaciers, mossy, ferny waterfalls in their hollows, nameless and -numberless, and meadowy gardens abounding in the best of everything. -When you are calm enough for discriminating observation, you will find -the king of the larches, one of the best of the Western giants, -beautiful, picturesque, and regal in port, easily the grandest of all -the larches in the world. It grows to a height of one hundred and fifty -to two hundred feet, with a diameter at the ground of five to eight -feet, throwing out its branches into the light as no other tree does. -To those who before have seen only the European larch or the Lyall -species of the eastern Rocky Mountains, or the little tamarack or -hackmatack of the Eastern States and Canada, this Western king must be -a revelation. - -Associated with this grand tree in the making of the Flathead forests -is the large and beautiful mountain pine, or Western white pine (Pinus -monticola), the invincible contorta or lodge-pole pine, and spruce and -cedar. The forest floor is covered with the richest beds of Linnæa -borealis I ever saw, thick fragrant carpets, enriched with shining -mosses here and there, and with Clintonia, pyrola, moneses, and -vaccinium, weaving hundred-mile beds of bloom that would have made -blessed old Linnæus weep for joy. - -Lake McDonald, full of brisk trout, is in the heart of this forest, and -Avalanche Lake is ten miles above McDonald, at the feet of a group of -glacier-laden mountains. Give a month at least to this precious -reserve. The time will not be taken from the sum of your life. Instead -of shortening, it will indefinitely lengthen it and make you truly -immortal. Nevermore will time seem short or long, and cares will never -again fall heavily on you, but gently and kindly as gifts from heaven. - -The vast Pacific Coast reserves in Washington and Oregon—the Cascade, -Washington, Mount Rainier, Olympic, Bull Run, and Ashland, named in -order of size—include more than 12,500,000 acres of magnificent forests -of beautiful and gigantic trees. They extend over the wild, unexplored -Olympic Mountains and both flanks of the Cascade Range, the wet and the -dry. On the east side of the Cascades the woods are sunny and open, and -contain principally yellow pine, of moderate size, but of great value -as a cover for the irrigating streams that flow into the dry interior, -where agriculture on a grand scale is being carried on. Along the -moist, balmy, foggy, west flank of the mountains, facing the sea, the -woods reach their highest development, and, excepting the California -redwoods, are the heaviest on the continent. They are made up mostly of -the Douglas spruce (Pseudotsuga taxifolia), with the giant arbor vitæ, -or cedar, and several species of fir and hemlock in varying abundance, -forming a forest kingdom unlike any other, in which limb meets limb, -touching and overlapping in bright, lively, triumphant exuberance, two -hundred and fifty, three hundred, and even four hundred feet above the -shady, mossy ground. Over all the other species the Douglas spruce -reigns supreme. It is not only a large tree, the tallest in America -next to the redwood, but a very beautiful one, with bright green -drooping foliage, handsome pendent cones, and a shaft exquisitely -straight and round and regular. Forming extensive forests by itself in -many places, it lifts its spiry tops into the sky close together with -as even a growth as a well-tilled field of grain. No ground has been -better tilled for wheat than these Cascade Mountains for trees: they -were ploughed by mighty glaciers, and harrowed and mellowed and -outspread by the broad streams that flowed from the ice-ploughs as they -were withdrawn at the close of the glacial period. - -In proportion to its weight when dry, Douglas spruce timber is perhaps -stronger than that of any other large conifer in the country, and being -tough, durable, and elastic, it is admirably suited for ship-building, -piles, and heavy timbers in general; but its hardness and liability to -warp when it is cut into boards render it unfit for fine work. In the -lumber markets of California it is called “Oregon pine.” When lumbering -is going on in the best Douglas woods, especially about Puget Sound, -many of the long, slender boles are saved for spars; and so superior is -their quality that they are called for in almost every shipyard in the -world, and it is interesting to follow their fortunes. Felled and -peeled and dragged to tide-water, they are raised again as yards and -masts for ships, given iron roots and canvas foliage, decorated with -flags, and sent to sea, where in glad motion they go cheerily over the -ocean prairie in every latitude and longitude, singing and bowing -responsive to the same winds that waved them when they were in the -woods. After standing in one place for centuries they thus go round the -world like tourists, meeting many a friend from the old home forest; -some traveling like themselves, some standing head downward in muddy -harbors, holding up the platforms of wharves, and others doing all -kinds of hard timber work, showy or hidden. - -This wonderful tree also grows far northward in British Columbia, and -southward along the coast and middle regions of Oregon and California; -flourishing with the redwood wherever it can find an opening, and with -the sugar pine, yellow pine, and libocedrus in the Sierra. It extends -into the San Gabriel, San Bernardino, and San Jacinto Mountains of -southern California. It also grows well on the Wasatch Mountains, where -it is called “red pine,” and on many parts of the Rocky Mountains and -short interior ranges of the Great Basin. But though thus widely -distributed, only in Oregon, Washington, and some parts of British -Columbia does it reach perfect development. - -To one who looks from some high standpoint over its vast breadth, the -forest on the west side of the Cascades seems all one dim, dark, -monotonous field, broken only by the white volcanic cones along the -summit of the range. Back in the untrodden wilderness a deep furred -carpet of brown and yellow mosses covers the ground like a garment, -pressing about the feet of the trees, and rising in rich bosses softly -and kindly over every rock and mouldering trunk, leaving no spot -uncared for; and dotting small prairies, and fringing the meadows and -the banks of streams not seen in general views, we find, besides the -great conifers, a considerable number of hard-wood trees,—oak, ash, -maple, alder, wild apple, cherry, arbutus, Nuttall’s flowering dogwood, -and in some places chestnuts. In a few favored spots the broad-leaved -maple grows to a height of a hundred feet in forests by itself, sending -out large limbs in magnificent interlacing arches covered with mosses -and ferns, thus forming lofty sky-gardens, and rendering the underwoods -delightfully cool. No finer forest ceiling is to be found than these -maple arches, while the floor, ornamented with tall ferns and rubus -vines, and cast into hillocks by the bulging, moss-covered roots of the -trees, matches it well. - -Passing from beneath the heavy shadows of the woods, almost anywhere -one steps into lovely gardens of lilies, orchids, heathworts, and wild -roses. Along the lower slopes, especially in Oregon, where the woods -are less dense, there are miles of rhododendron, making glorious masses -of purple in the spring, while all about the streams and the lakes and -the beaver meadows there is a rich tangle of hazel, plum, cherry, -crab-apple, cornel, gaultheria, and rubus, with myriads of flowers and -abundance of other more delicate bloomers, such as erythronium, -brodiæa, fritillaria, calochortus, Clintonia, and the lovely hider of -the north, Calypso. Beside all these bloomers there are wonderful -ferneries about the many misty waterfalls, some of the fronds ten feet -high, others the most delicate of their tribe, the maidenhair fringing -the rocks within reach of the lightest dust of the spray, while the -shading trees on the cliffs above them, leaning over, look like eager -listeners anxious to catch every tone of the restless waters. In the -autumn berries of every color and flavor abound, enough for birds, -bears, and everybody, particularly about the stream-sides and meadows -where sunshine reaches the ground: huckleberries, red, blue, and black, -some growing close to the ground others on bushes ten feet high; -gaultheria berries, called “sal-al” by the Indians; salmon berries, an -inch in diameter, growing in dense prickly tangles, the flowers, like -wild roses, still more beautiful than the fruit; raspberries, -gooseberries, currants, blackberries, and strawberries. The underbrush -and meadow fringes are in great part made up of these berry bushes and -vines; but in the depths of the woods there is not much underbrush of -any kind,—only a thin growth of rubus, huckleberry, and vine-maple. - -Notwithstanding the outcry against the reservations last winter in -Washington, that uncounted farms, towns, and villages were included in -them, and that all business was threatened or blocked, nearly all the -mountains in which the reserves lie are still covered with virgin -forests. Though lumbering has long been carried on with tremendous -energy along their boundaries, and home-seekers have explored the woods -for openings available for farms, however small, one may wander in the -heart of the reserves for weeks without meeting a human being, Indian -or white man, or any conspicuous trace of one. Indians used to ascend -the main streams on their way to the mountains for wild goats, whose -wool furnished them clothing. But with food in abundance on the coast -there was little to draw them into the woods, and the monuments they -have left there are scarcely more conspicuous than those of birds and -squirrels; far less so than those of the beavers, which have dammed -streams and made clearings that will endure for centuries. Nor is there -much in these woods to attract cattle-keepers. Some of the first -settlers made farms on the small bits of prairie and in the -comparatively open Cowlitz and Chehalis valleys of Washington; but -before the gold period most of the immigrants from the Eastern States -settled in the fertile and open Willamette Valley of Oregon. Even now, -when the search for tillable land is so keen, excepting the -bottom-lands of the rivers around Puget Sound, there are few cleared -spots in all western Washington. On every meadow or opening of any sort -some one will be found keeping cattle, raising hops, or cultivating -patches of grain, but these spots are few and far between. All the -larger spaces were taken long ago; therefore most of the newcomers -build their cabins where the beavers built theirs. They keep a few -cows, laboriously widen their little meadow openings by hacking, -girdling, and burning the rim of the close-pressing forest, and scratch -and plant among the huge blackened logs and stamps, girdling and -killing themselves in killing the trees. - -Most of the farm lands of Washington and Oregon, excepting the valleys -of the Willamette and Rogue rivers, lie on the east side of the -mountains. The forests on the eastern slopes of the Cascades fail -altogether ere the foot of the range is reached, stayed by drought as -suddenly as on the west side they are stopped by the sea; showing -strikingly how dependent are these forest giants on the generous rains -and fogs so often complained of in the coast climate. The lower -portions of the reserves are solemnly soaked and poulticed in rain and -fog during the winter months, and there is a sad dearth of sunshine, -but with a little knowledge of woodcraft any one may enjoy an excursion -into these woods even in the rainy season. The big, gray days are -exhilarating, and the colors of leaf and branch and mossy bole are then -at their best. The mighty trees getting their food are seen to be -wide-awake, every needle thrilling in the welcome nourishing storms, -chanting and bowing low in glorious harmony, while every raindrop and -snowflake is seen as a beneficent messenger from the sky. The snow that -falls on the lower woods is mostly soft, coming through the trees in -downy tufts, loading their branches, and bending them down against the -trunks until they look like arrows, while a strange muffled silence -prevails, making everything impressively solemn. But these lowland -snowstorms and their effects quickly vanish. The snow melts in a day or -two, sometimes in a few hours, the bent branches spring up again, and -all the forest work is left to the fog and the rain. At the same time, -dry snow is falling on the upper forests and mountain tops. Day after -day, often for weeks, the big clouds give their flowers without -ceasing, as if knowing how important is the work they have to do. The -glinting, swirling swarms thicken the blast, and the trees and rocks -are covered to a depth of ten to twenty feet. Then the mountaineer, -snug in a grove with bread and fire, has nothing to do but gaze and -listen and enjoy. Ever and anon the deep, low roar of the storm is -broken by the booming of avalanches, as the snow slips from the -overladen heights and crushes down the long white slopes to fill the -fountain hollows. All the smaller streams are crushed and buried, and -the young groves of spruce and fir near the edge of the timber-line are -gently bowed to the ground and put to sleep, not again to see the light -of day or stir branch or leaf until the spring. - -These grand reservations should draw thousands of admiring visitors at -least in summer, yet they are neglected as if of no account, and -spoilers are allowed to ruin them as fast as they like.[2] A few peeled -spars cut here were set up in London, Philadelphia, and Chicago, where -they excited wondering attention; but the countless hosts of living -trees rejoicing at home on the mountains are scarce considered at all. -Most travelers here are content with what they can see from car windows -or the verandas of hotels, and in going from place to place cling to -their precious trains and stages like wrecked sailors to rafts. When an -excursion into the woods is proposed, all sorts of dangers are -imagined,—snakes, bears, Indians. Yet it is far safer to wander in -God’s woods than to travel on black highways or to stay at home. The -snake danger is so slight it is hardly worth mentioning. Bears are a -peaceable people, and mind their own business, instead of going about -like the devil seeking whom they may devour. Poor fellows, they have -been poisoned, trapped, and shot at until they have lost confidence in -brother man, and it is not now easy to make their acquaintance. As to -Indians, most of them are dead or civilized into useless innocence. No -American wilderness that I know of is so dangerous as a city home “with -all the modern improvements.” One should go to the woods for safety, if -for nothing else. Lewis and Clark, in their famous trip across the -continent in 1804-1805, did not lose a single man by Indians or -animals, though all the West was then wild. Captain Clark was bitten on -the hand as he lay asleep. That was one bite among more than a hundred -men while traveling nine thousand sand miles. Loggers are far more -likely to be met than Indians or bears in the reserves or about their -boundaries, brown weather-tanned men with faces furrowed like bark, -tired-looking, moving slowly, swaying like the trees they chop. A -little of everything in the woods is fastened to their clothing, rosiny -and smeared with balsam, and rubbed into it, so that their scanty outer -garments grow thicker with use and never wear out. Many a forest giant -have these old woodmen felled, but, round-shouldered and stooping, they -too are leaning over and tottering to their fall. Others, however, -stand ready to take their places, stout young fellows, erect as -saplings; and always the foes of trees outnumber their friends. Far up -the white peaks one can hardly fail to meet the wild goat, or American -chamois,—an admirable mountaineer, familiar with woods and glaciers as -well as rocks,—and in leafy thickets deer will be found; while gliding -about unseen there are many sleek furred animals enjoying their -beautiful lives, and birds also, notwithstanding few are noticed in -hasty walks. The ousel sweetens the glens and gorges where the streams -flow fastest, and every grove has its singers, however silent it -seems,—thrushes, linnets, warblers; humming-birds glint about the -fringing bloom of the meadows and peaks, and the lakes are stirred into -lively pictures by water-fowl. - - [2] The outlook over forest affairs is now encouraging. Popular - interest, more practical than sentimental in whatever touches the - welfare of the country’s forests, is growing rapidly, and a hopeful - beginning has been made by the Government in real protection for the - reservations as well as for the parks. From July 1, 1900, there have - been 9 superintendents, 39 supervisors, and from 330 to 445 rangers of - reservations. - - -The Mount Rainier Forest Reserve should be made a national park and -guarded while yet its bloom is on;[3] for if in the making of the West -Nature had what we call parks in mind,—places for rest, inspiration, -and prayers,—this Rainier region must surely be one of them. In the -centre of it there is a lonely mountain capped with ice; from the -ice-cap glaciers radiate in every direction, and young rivers from the -glaciers; while its flanks, sweeping down in beautiful curves, are clad -with forests and gardens, and filled with birds and animals. Specimens -of the best of Nature’s treasures have been lovingly gathered here and -arranged in simple symmetrical beauty within regular bounds. - - [3] This was done shortly after the above was written. “One of the - most important measures taken during the past year in connection with - forest reservations was the action of Congress in withdrawing from the - Mount Rainier Forest Reserve a portion of the region immediately - surrounding Mount Rainier and setting it apart as a national park.” - (_Report of Commissioner of General Land Office_, for the year ended - June, 1899.) But the park as it now stands is far too small. - - -Of all the fire-mountains which, like beacons, once blazed along the -Pacific Coast, Mount Rainier is the noblest in form, has the most -interesting forest cover, and, with perhaps the exception of Shasta, is -the highest and most flowery. Its massive white dome rises out of its -forests, like a world by itself, to a height of fourteen thousand to -fifteen thousand feet. The forests reach to a height of a little over -six thousand feet, and above the forests there is a zone of the -loveliest flowers, fifty miles in circuit and nearly two miles wide, so -closely planted and luxuriant that it seems as if Nature, glad to make -an open space between woods so dense and ice so deep, were economizing -the precious ground, and trying to see how many of her darlings she can -get together in one mountain wreath,—daisies, anemones, geraniums, -columbines, erythroniums, larkspurs, etc., among which we wade -knee-deep and waist-deep, the bright corollas in myriads touching petal -to petal. Picturesque detached groups of the spiry Abies lasiocarpa -stand like islands along the lower margin of the garden zone, while on -the upper margin there are extensive beds of bryanthus, Cassiope, -Kalmia, and other heathworts, and higher still saxifrages and drabas, -more and more lowly, reach up to the edge of the ice. Altogether this -is the richest subalpine garden I ever found, a perfect floral elysium. -The icy dome needs none of man’s care, but unless the reserve is -guarded the flower bloom will soon be killed, and nothing of the -forests will be left but black stump monuments. - -[Illustration: Mt. Rainier and Alpine Firs (_Abies lasiocarpa_).] - -The Sierra of California is the most openly beautiful and useful of all -the forest reserves, and the largest excepting the Cascade Reserve of -Oregon and the Bitter Root of Montana and Idaho. It embraces over four -million acres of the grandest scenery and grandest trees on the -continent, and its forests are planted just where they do the most -good, not only for beauty, but for farming in the great San Joaquin -Valley beneath them. It extends southward from the Yosemite National -Park to the end of the range, a distance of nearly two hundred miles. -No other coniferous forest in the world contains so many species or so -many large and beautiful trees,—Sequoia gigantea, king of conifers, -“the noblest of a noble race,” as Sir Joseph Hooker well says; the -sugar pine, king of all the world’s pines, living or extinct; the -yellow pine, next in rank, which here reaches most perfect development, -forming noble towers of verdure two hundred feet high; the mountain -pine, which braves the coldest blasts far up the mountains on grim, -rocky slopes; and five others, flourishing each in its place, making -eight species of pine in one forest, which is still further enriched by -the great Douglas spruce, libocedrus, two species of silver fir, large -trees and exquisitely beautiful, the Paton hemlock, the most graceful -of evergreens, the curious tumion, oaks of many species, maples, -alders, poplars, and flowering dogwood, all fringed with flowery -underbrush, manzanita, ceanothus, wild rose, cherry, chestnut, and -rhododendron. Wandering at random through these friendly, approachable -woods, one comes here and there to the loveliest lily gardens, some of -the lilies ten feet high, and the smoothest gentian meadows, and -Yosemite valleys known only to mountaineers. Once I spent a night by a -camp-fire on Mount Shasta with Asa Gray and Sir Joseph Hooker, and, -knowing that they were acquainted with all the great forests of the -world, I asked whether they knew any coniferous forest that rivaled -that of the Sierra. They unhesitatingly said: “No. In the beauty and -grandeur of individual trees, and in number and variety of species, the -Sierra forests surpass all others.” - -This Sierra Reserve, proclaimed by the President of the United States -in September, 1893, is worth the most thoughtful care of the government -for its own sake, without considering its value as the fountain of the -rivers on which the fertility of the great San Joaquin Valley depends. -Yet it gets no care at all. In the fog of tariff, silver, and -annexation politics it is left wholly unguarded, though the management -of the adjacent national parks by a few soldiers shows how well and how -easily it can be preserved. In the meantime, lumbermen are allowed to -spoil it at their will, and sheep in uncountable ravenous hordes to -trample it and devour every green leaf within reach; while the -shepherds, like destroying angels, set innumerable fires, which burn -not only the undergrowth of seedlings on which the permanence of the -forest depends, but countless thousands of the venerable giants. If -every citizen could take one walk through this reserve, there would be -no more trouble about its care; for only in darkness does vandalism -flourish.[4] The reserves of southern California,—the San Gabriel, San -Bernardino, San Jacinto, and Trabuco,—though not large, only about two -million acres together, are perhaps the best appreciated. Their slopes -are covered with a close, almost impenetrable growth of flowery bushes, -beginning on the sides of the fertile coast valleys and the dry -interior plains. Their higher ridges, however, and mountains are open, -and fairly well forested with sugar pine, yellow pine, Douglas spruce, -libocedrus, and white fir. As timber fountains they amount to little, -but as bird and bee pastures, cover for the precious streams that -irrigate the lowlands, and quickly available retreats from dust and -heat and care, their value is incalculable. Good roads have been graded -into them, by which in a few hours lowlanders can get well up into the -sky and find refuge in hospitable camps and club-houses, where, while -breathing reviving ozone, they may absorb the beauty about them, and -look comfortably down on the busy towns and the most beautiful orange -groves ever planted since gardening began. - - [4] See footnote 2. - - -The Grand Cañon Reserve of Arizona, of nearly two million acres, or the -most interesting part of it, as well as the Rainier region, should be -made into a national park, on account of their supreme grandeur and -beauty. Setting out from Flagstaff, a station on the Atchison, Topeka, -and Santa Fé Railroad, on the way to the cañon you pass through -beautiful forests of yellow pine,—like those of the Black Hills, but -more extensive,—and curious dwarf forests of nut pine and juniper, the -spaces between the miniature trees planted with many interesting -species of eriogonum, yucca, and cactus. After riding or walking -seventy-five miles through these pleasure-grounds, the San Francisco -and other mountains, abounding in flowery parklike openings and smooth -shallow valleys with long vistas which in fineness of finish and -arrangement suggest the work of a consummate landscape artist, watching -you all the way, you come to the most tremendous cañon in the world. It -is abruptly countersunk in the forest plateau, so that you see nothing -of it until you are suddenly stopped on its brink, with its -immeasurable wealth of divinely colored and sculptured buildings before -you and beneath you. No matter how far you have wandered hitherto, or -how many famous gorges and valleys you have seen, this one, the Grand -Cañon of the Colorado, will seem as novel to you, as unearthly in the -color and grandeur and quantity of its architecture, as if you had -found it after death, on some other star; so incomparably lovely and -grand and supreme is it above all the other cañons in our fire-moulded, -earthquake-shaken, rain-washed, wave-washed, river and glacier -sculptured world. It is about six thousand feet deep where you first -see it, and from rim to rim ten to fifteen miles wide. Instead of being -dependent for interest upon waterfalls, depth, wall sculpture, and -beauty of parklike floor, like most other great cañons, it has not -waterfalls in sight, and no appreciable floor spaces. The big river has -just room enough to flow and roar obscurely, here and there groping its -way as best it can, like a weary, murmuring, overladen traveler trying -to escape from the tremendous, bewildering labyrinthic abyss, while its -roar serves only to deepen the silence. Instead of being filled with -air, the vast space between the walls is crowded with Nature’s grandest -buildings,—a sublime city of them, painted in every color, and adorned -with richly fretted cornice and battlement spire and tower in endless -variety of style and architecture. Every architectural invention of man -has been anticipated, and far more, in this grandest of God’s -terrestrial cities. - -[Illustration: The Grand Cañon of Colorado.] - - - - -CHAPTER II -The Yellowstone National Park - - -Of the four national parks of the West, the Yellowstone is far the -largest. It is a big, wholesome wilderness on the broad summit of the -Rocky Mountains, favored with abundance of rain and snow,—a place of -fountains where the greatest of the American rivers take their rise. -The central portion is a densely forested and comparatively level -volcanic plateau with an average elevation of about eight thousand feet -above the sea, surrounded by an imposing host of mountains belonging to -the subordinate Gallatin, Wind River, Teton, Absaroka, and snowy -ranges. Unnumbered lakes shine in it, united by a famous band of -streams that rush up out of hot lava beds, or fall from the frosty -peaks in channels rocky and bare, mossy and bosky, to the main rivers, -singing cheerily on through every difficulty, cunningly dividing and -finding their way east and went to the two far-off seas. - -Glacier meadows and beaver meadows are out-spread with charming effect -along the banks of the streams, parklike expanses in the woods, and -innumerable small gardens in rocky recesses of the mountains, some of -them containing more petals than leaves, while the whole wilderness is -enlivened with happy animals. - -Beside the treasures common to most mountain regions that are wild and -blessed with a kind climate, the park is full of exciting wonders. The -wildest geysers in the world, in bright, triumphant bands, are dancing -and singing in it amid thousands of boiling springs, beautiful and -awful, their basins arrayed in gorgeous colors like gigantic flowers; -and hot paint-pots, mud springs, mud volcanoes, mush and broth caldrons -whose contents are of every color and consistency, plash and heave and -roar in bewildering abundance. In the adjacent mountains, beneath the -living trees the edges of petrified forests are exposed to view, like -specimens on the shelves of a museum, standing on ledges tier above -tier where they grew, solemnly silent in rigid crystalline beauty after -swaying in the winds thousands of centuries ago, opening marvelous -views back into the years and climates and life of the past. Here, too, -are hills of sparkling crystals, hills of sulphur, hills of glass, -hills of cinders and ashes, mountains of every style of architecture, -icy or forested, mountains covered with honey-bloom sweet as Hymettus, -mountains boiled soft like potatoes and colored like a sunset sky. A’ -that and a’ that, and twice as muckle’s a’ that, Nature has on show in -the Yellowstone Park. Therefore it is called Wonderland, and thousands -of tourists and travelers stream into it every summer, and wander about -in it enchanted. - -Fortunately, almost as soon as it was discovered it was dedicated and -set apart for the benefit of the people, a piece of legislation that -shines benignly amid the common dust-and-ashes history of the public -domain, for which the world must thank Professor Hayden above all -others; for he led the first scientific exploring party into it, -described it, and with admirable enthusiasm urged Congress to preserve -it. As delineated in the year 1872, the park, contained about 3344 -square miles. On March 30, 1891 it was to all intents and purposes -enlarged by the Yellowstone National Park Timber Reserve, and in -December, 1897, by the Teton Forest Reserve; thus nearly doubling its -original area, and extending the southern boundary far enough to take -in the sublime Teton range and the famous pasture-lands of the big -Rocky Mountain game animals. The withdrawal of this large tract from -the public domain did not harm to any one; for its height, 6000 to over -13,000 feet above the sea, and its thick mantle of volcanic rocks, -prevent its ever being available for agriculture or mining, while on -the other hand its geographical position, reviving climate, and -wonderful scenery combine to make it a grand health, pleasure, and -study resort,—a gathering-place for travelers from all the world. - -The national parks are not only withdrawn from sale and entry like the -forest reservations, but are efficiently managed and guarded by small -troops of United States cavalry, directed by the Secretary of the -Interior. Under this care the forests are flourishing, protected from -both axe and fire; and so, of course, are the shaggy beds of underbrush -and the herbaceous vegetation. The so-called curiosities, also, are -preserved, and the furred and feathered tribes, many of which, in -danger of extinction a short time ago, are now increasing in numbers,—a -refreshing thing to see amid the blind, ruthless destruction that is -going on in the adjacent regions. In pleasing contrast to the noisy, -ever changing management, or mismanagement, of blundering, plundering, -money-making vote-sellers who receive their places from boss -politicians as purchased goods, the soldiers do their duty so quietly -that the traveler is scarce aware of their presence. - -This is the coolest and highest of the parks. Frosts occur every month -of the year. Nevertheless, the tenderest tourist finds it warm enough -in summer. The air is electric and full of ozone, healing, reviving, -exhilarating, kept pure by frost and fire, while the scenery is wild -enough to awaken the dead. It is a glorious place to grow in and rest -in; camping on the shores of the lakes, in the warm openings of the -woods golden with sunflowers, on the banks of the streams, by the snowy -waterfalls, beside the exciting wonders or away from them in the -scallops of the mountain walls sheltered from every wind, on smooth -silky lawns enameled with gentians, up in the fountain hollows of the -ancient glaciers between the peaks, where cool pools and brooks and -gardens of precious plants charmingly embowered are never wanting, and -good rough rocks with every variety of cliff and scaur are invitingly -near for outlooks and exercise. - -From these lovely dens you may make excursions whenever you like into -the middle of the park, where the geysers and hot springs are reeking -and spouting in their beautiful basins, displaying an exuberance of -color and strange motion and energy admirably calculated to surprise -and frighten, charm and shake up the least sensitive out of apathy into -newness of life. - -However orderly your excursions or aimless, again and again amid the -calmest, stillest scenery you will be brought to a standstill hushed -and awe-stricken before phenomena wholly new to you. Boiling springs -and huge deep pools of purest green and azure water, thousands of them, -are plashing and heaving in these high, cool mountains as if a fierce -furnace fire were burning beneath each one of them; and a hundred -geysers, white torrents of boiling water and steam, like inverted -waterfalls, are ever and anon rushing up out of the hot, black -underworld. Some of these ponderous geyser columns are as large as -sequoias,—five to sixty feet in diameter, one hundred and fifty to -three hundred feet high,—and are sustained at this great height with -tremendous energy for a few minutes, or perhaps nearly an hour, -standing rigid and erect, hissing, throbbing, booming, as if -thunderstorms were raging beneath their roots, their sides roughened or -fluted like the furrowed boles of trees, their tops dissolving in -feathery branches, while the irised spray, like misty bloom is at times -blown aside, revealing the massive shafts shining against a background -of pine-covered hills. Some of them lean more or less, as if -storm-bent, and instead of being round are flat or fan-shaped, issuing -from irregular slits in silex pavements with radiate structure, the -sunbeams sifting through them in ravishing splendor. Some are broad and -round-headed like oaks; others are low and bunchy, branching near the -ground like bushes; and a few are hollow in the centre like big daisies -or water-lilies. No frost cools them, snow never covers them nor lodges -in their branches; winter and summer they welcome alike; all of them, -of whatever form or size, faithfully rising and sinking in fairy -rhythmic dance night and day, in all sorts of weather, at varying -periods of minutes, hours, or weeks, growing up rapidly, uncontrollable -as fate, tossing their pearly branches in the wind, bursting into bloom -and vanishing like the frailest flowers,—plants of which Nature raises -hundreds or thousands of crops a year with no apparent exhaustion of -the fiery soil. - -The so-called geyser basins, in which this rare sort of vegetation is -growing, are mostly open valleys on the central plateau that were -eroded by glaciers after the greater volcanic fires had ceased to burn. -Looking down over the forests as you approach them from the surrounding -heights, you see a multitude of white columns, broad, reeking masses, -and irregular jets and puffs of misty vapor ascending from the bottom -of the valley, or entangled like smoke among the neighboring trees, -suggesting the factories of some busy town or the camp-fires of an -army. These mark the position of each mush-pot, paint-pot, hot spring, -and geyser, or gusher, as the Icelandic words mean. And when you -saunter into the midst of them over the bright sinter pavements, and -see how pure and white and pearly gray they are in the shade of the -mountains, and how radiant in the sunshine, you are fairly enchanted. -So numerous they are and varied, Nature seems to have gathered them -from all the world as specimens of her rarest fountains, to show in one -place what she can do. Over four thousand hot springs have been counted -in the park, and a hundred geysers; how many more there are nobody -knows. - -These valleys at the heads of the great rivers may be regarded as -laboratories and kitchens, in which, amid a thousand retorts and pots, -we may see Nature at work as chemist or cook, cunningly compounding an -infinite variety of mineral messes; cooking whole mountains; boiling -and steaming flinty rocks to smooth paste and mush,—yellow, brown, red, -pink, lavender, gray, and creamy white,—making the most beautiful mud -in the world; and distilling the most ethereal essences. Many of these -pots and caldrons have been boiling thousands of years. Pots of -sulphurous mush, stringy and lumpy, and pots of broth as black as ink, -are tossed and stirred with constant care, and thin transparent -essences, too pure and fine to be called water, are kept simmering -gently in beautiful sinter cups and bowls that grow ever more beautiful -the longer they are used. In some of the spring basins, the waters, -though still warm, are perfectly calm, and shine blandly in a sod of -overleaning grass and flowers, as if they were thoroughly cooked at -last, and set aside to settle and cool. Others are wildly boiling over -as if running to waste, thousands of tons of the precious liquids being -thrown into the air to fall in scalding floods on the clean coral floor -of the establishment, keeping onlookers at a distance. Instead of -holding limpid pale green or azure water, other pots and craters are -filled with scalding mud, which is tossed up from three or four feet to -thirty feet, in sticky, rank-smelling masses, with gasping, belching, -thudding sounds, plastering the branches of neighboring trees; every -flask, retort, hot spring, and geyser has something special in it, no -two being the same in temperature, color, or composition. - -In these natural laboratories one needs stout faith to feel at ease. -The ground sounds hollow underfoot, and the awful subterranean thunder -shakes one’s mind as the ground is shaken, especially at night in the -pale moonlight, or when the sky is overcast with storm-clouds. In the -solemn gloom, the geysers, dimly visible, look like monstrous dancing -ghosts, and their wild songs and the earthquake thunder replying to the -storms overhead seem doubly terrible, as if divine government were at -an end. But the trembling hills keep their places. The sky clears, the -rosy dawn is reassuring, and up comes the sun like a god, pouring his -faithful beams across the mountains and forest, lighting each peak and -tree and ghastly geyser alike, and shining into the eyes of the reeking -springs, clothing them with rainbow light, and dissolving the seeming -chaos of darkness into varied forms of harmony. The ordinary work of -the world goes on. Gladly we see the flies dancing in the sun-beams, -birds feeding their young, squirrels gathering nuts, and hear the -blessed ouzel singing confidingly in the shallows of the river,—most -faithful evangel, calming every fear, reducing everything to love. - -The variously tinted sinter and travertine formations, outspread like -pavements over large areas of the geyser valleys, lining the spring -basins and throats of the craters, and forming beautiful coral-like -rims and curbs about them, always excite admiring attention; so also -does the play of the waters from which they are deposited. The various -minerals in them are rich in colors, and these are greatly heightened -by a smooth, silky growth of brilliantly colored confervæ which lines -many of the pools and channels and terraces. No bed of flower-bloom is -more exquisite than these myriads of minute plants, visible only in -mass, growing in the hot waters. Most of the spring borders are low and -daintily scalloped, crenelated, and beaded with sinter pearls. Some of -the geyser craters are massive and picturesque, like ruined castles or -old burned-out sequoia stumps, and are adorned on a grand scale with -outbulging, cauliflower-like formations. From these as centres the -silex pavements slope gently away in thin, crusty, overlapping layers, -slightly interrupted in some places by low terraces. Or, as in the case -of the Mammoth Hot Springs, at the north end of the park, where the -building waters issue from the side of a steep hill, the deposits form -a succession of higher and broader terraces of white travertine tinged -with purple, like the famous Pink Terrace at Rotomahana, New Zealand, -draped in front with clustering stalactites, each terrace having a pool -of indescribably beautiful water upon it in a basin with a raised rim -that glistens with confervæ,—the whole, when viewed at a distance of a -mile or two, looking like a broad, massive cascade pouring over -shelving rocks in snowy purpled foam. - -[Illustration: Minerva Terrace, Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone Park.] - -The stones of this divine masonry, invisible particles of lime or -silex, mined in quarries no eye has seen, go to their appointed places -in gentle, tinkling, transparent currents or through the dashing -turmoil of floods, as surely guided as the sap of plants streaming into -bole and branch, leaf and flower. And thus from century to century this -beauty-work has gone on and is going on. - -Passing through many a mile of pine and spruce woods, toward the centre -of the park you come to the famous Yellowstone Lake. It is about twenty -miles long and fifteen wide, and lies at a height of nearly 8000 feet -above the level of the sea, amid dense black forests and snowy -mountains. Around its winding, wavering shores, closely forested and -picturesquely varied with promontories and bays, the distance is more -than 100 miles. It is not very deep, only from 200 to 300 feet, and -contains less water than the celebrated Lake Tahoe of the California -Sierra, which is nearly the same size, lies at a height of 6400 feet, -and is over 1600 feet deep. But no other lake in North America of equal -area lies so high as the Yellowstone, or gives birth to so noble a -river. The terraces around its shores show that at the close of the -glacial period its surface was about 160 feet higher than it is now, -and its area nearly twice as great. - -It is full of trout, and a vast multitude of birds—swans, pelicans, -geese, ducks, cranes, herons, curlews, plovers, snipe—feed in it and -upon its shores; and many forest animals come out of the woods, and -wade a little way in shallow, sandy places to drink and look about -them, and cool themselves in the free flowing breezes. - -In calm weather it is a magnificent mirror for the woods and mountains -and sky, now pattered with hail and rain, now roughened with sudden -storms that send waves to fringe the shores and wash its border of -gravel and sand. The Absaroka Mountains and the Wind River Plateau on -the east and south pour their gathered waters into it, and the river -issues from the north side in a broad, smooth, stately current, -silently gliding with such serene majesty that one fancies it knows the -vast journey of four thousand miles that lies before it, and the work -it has to do. For the first twenty miles its course is in a level, -sunny valley lightly fringed with trees, through which it flows in -silvery reaches stirred into spangles here and there by ducks and -leaping trout, making no sound save a low whispering among the pebbles -and the dipping willows and sedges of its banks. Then suddenly, as if -preparing for hard work; it rushes eagerly, impetuously forward -rejoicing in its strength, breaks into foam-bloom, and goes thundering -down into the Grand Cañon in two magnificent falls, one hundred and -three hundred feet high. - -The cañon is so tremendously wild and impressive that even these great -falls cannot hold your attention. It is about twenty miles long and a -thousand feet deep,—a weird, unearthly-looking gorge of jagged, -fantastic architecture, and most brilliantly colored. Here the Washburn -range, forming the northern rim of the Yellowstone basin, made up -mostly of beds of rhyolite decomposed by the action of thermal waters, -has been cut through and laid open to view by the river; and a famous -section it has made. It is not the depth or the shape of the cañon nor -the waterfall, nor the green and gray river chanting its brave song as -it goes foaming on its way, that most impresses the observer, but the -colors of the decomposed volcanic rocks. With few exceptions, the -traveler in strange lands finds that, however much the scenery and -vegetation in different countries may change, Mother Earth is ever -familiar and the same. But here the very ground is changed, as if -belonging to some other world. The walls of the cañon from top to -bottom burn in a perfect glory of color, confounding and dazzling when -the sun is shining,—white, yellow, green, blue, vermilion, and various -other shades of red indefinitely blending. All the earth hereabouts -seems to be paint. Millions of tons of it lie in sight, exposed to wind -and weather as if of no account, yet marvelously fresh and bright, fast -colors not to be washed out or bleached out by either sunshine or -storms. The effect is so novel and awful, we imagine that even a river -might be afraid to enter such a place. But the rich and gentle beauty -of the vegetation is reassuring. The lovely Linnæa borealis hangs her -twin bells over the brink of the cliffs, forests and gardens extend -their treasures in smiling confidence on either side, nuts and berries -ripen well whatever may be going on below; blind fears varnish, and the -grand gorge seems a kindly, beautiful part of the general harmony, full -of peace and joy and good will. - -[Illustration: Great Falls and Grand Cañon, Yellowstone Park.] - -The park is easy of access. Locomotives drag you to its northern -boundary at Cinnabar, and horses and guides do the rest. From Cinnabar -you will be whirled in coaches along the foaming Gardiner River to -Mammoth Hot Springs; thence through woods and meadows, gulches and -ravines along branches of the Upper Gallatin, Madison, and Firehole -rivers to the main geyser basins; thence over the Continental Divide -and back again, up and down through dense pine, spruce, and fir woods -to the magnificent Yellowstone Lake, along its northern shore to the -outlet, down the river to the falls and Grand Cañon, and thence back -through the woods to Mammoth Hot Springs and Cinnabar; stopping here -and there at the so-called points of interest among the geysers, -springs, paint-pots, mud volcanoes, etc., where you will be allowed a -few minutes or hours to saunter over the sinter pavements, watch the -play of a few of the geysers, and peer into some of the most beautiful -and terrible of the craters and pools. These wonders you will enjoy, -and also the views of the mountains, especially the Gallatin and -Absaroka ranges, the long, willowy glacier and beaver meadows, the beds -of violets, gentians, phloxes, asters, phacelias, goldenrods, -eriogonums, and many other flowers, some species giving color to whole -meadows and hillsides. And you will enjoy your short views of the great -lake and river and cañon. No scalping Indians will you see. The -Blackfeet and Bannocks that once roamed here are gone; so are the old -beaver-catchers, the Coulters and Bridgers, with all their attractive -buckskin and romance. There are several bands of buffaloes in the park, -but you will not thus cheaply in tourist fashion see them nor many of -the other large animals hidden in the wilderness. The song-birds, too, -keep mostly out of sight of the rushing tourist, though off the roads -thrushes, warblers, orioles, grosbeaks, etc., keep the air sweet and -merry. Perhaps in passing rapids and falls you may catch glimpses of -the water-ouzel, but in the whirling noise you will not hear his song. -Fortunately, no road noise frightens the Douglas squirrel, and his -merry play and gossip will amuse you all through the woods. Here and -there a deer may be seen crossing the road, or a bear. Most likely, -however, the only bears you will see are the half tame ones that go to -the hotels every night for dinner-table scraps,—yeast-powder biscuit, -Chicago canned stuff, mixed pickles, and beefsteaks that have proved -too tough for the tourists. - -Among the gains of a coach trip are the acquaintances made and the -fresh views into human nature; for the wilderness is a shrewd -touchstone, even thus lightly approached, and brings many a curious -trait to view. Setting out, the driver cracks his whip, and the four -horses go off at half gallop, half trot, in trained, showy style, until -out of sight of the hotel. The coach is crowded, old and young side by -side, blooming and fading, full of hope and fun and care. Some look at -the scenery or the horses, and all ask questions, an odd mixed lot of -them: “Where is the umbrella? What is the name of that blue flower over -there? Are you sure the little bag is aboard? Is that hollow yonder a -crater? How is your throat this morning? How high did you say the -geysers spout? How does the elevation affect your head? Is that a -geyser reeking over there in the rocks, or only a hot spring?” A long -ascent is made, the solemn mountains come to view, small cares are -quenched, and all become natural and silent, save perhaps some -unfortunate expounder who has been reading guidebook geology, and -rumbles forth foggy subsidences and upheavals until he is danger of -being heaved overboard. The driver will give you the names of the peaks -and meadows and streams as you come to them, call attention to the -glass road, tell how hard it was to build,—how the obsidian cliffs -naturally pushed the surveyor’s lines to the right, and the industrious -beavers, by flooding the valley in front of the cliff, pushed them to -the left. - -Geysers, however, are the main objects, and as soon as they come in -sight other wonders are forgotten. All gather around the crater of the -one that is expected to play first. During the eruptions of the smaller -geysers, such as the Beehive and Old Faithful, though a little -frightened at first, all welcome the glorious show with enthusiasm, and -shout, “Oh, how wonderful, beautiful, splendid, majestic!” Some venture -near enough to stroke the column with a stick, as if it were a stone -pillar or a tree, so firm and substantial and permanent it seems. While -tourists wait around a large geyser, such as the Castle or the Giant, -there is a chatter of small talk in anything but solemn mood; and -during the intervals between the preliminary splashes and upheavals -some adventurer occasionally looks down the throat of the crater, -admiring the silex formations and wondering whether Hades is as -beautiful. But when, with awful uproar as if avalanches were falling -and storms thundering in the depths, the tremendous outburst begins, -all run away to a safe distance, and look on, awe-stricken and silent, -in devout, worshiping wonder. - -The largest and one of the most wonderfully beautiful of the springs is -the Prismatic, which the guide will be sure to show you. With a -circumference of 300 yards, it is more like a lake than a spring. The -water is pure deep blue in the centre, fading to green on the edges, -and its basin and the slightly terraced pavement about it are -astonishingly bright and varied in color. This one of the multitude of -Yellowstone fountains is of itself object enough for a trip across the -continent. No wonder that so many fine myths have originated in -springs; that so many fountains were held sacred in the youth of the -world, and had miraculous virtues ascribed to them. Even in these cold, -doubting, questioning, scientific times many of the Yellowstone -fountains seem able to work miracles. Near the Prismatic Spring is the -great Excelsior Geyser, which is said to throw a column of boiling -water 60 to 70 feet in diameter to a height of from 50 to 300 feet, at -irregular periods. This is the greatest of all the geysers yet -discovered anywhere. The Firehole River, which sweeps past it, is, at -ordinary states, a stream about 100 yards wide and 3 feet deep; but -when the geyser is in eruption, so great is the quantity of water -discharged that the volume of the river is doubled, and it is rendered -too hot and rapid to be forded. - -Geysers are found in many other volcanic regions,—in Iceland, New -Zealand, Japan, the Himalayas, the Eastern Archipelago, South America, -the Azores, and elsewhere; but only in Iceland, New Zealand, and this -Rocky Mountain park do they display their grandest forms, and of these -three famous regions the Yellowstone is easily first, both in the -number and in the size of its geysers. The greatest height of the -column of the Great Geyser of Iceland actually measured was 212 feet, -and of the Strokhr 162 feet. - -In New Zealand, the Te Pueia at Lake Taupo, the Waikite at Rotorna, and -two others are said to lift their waters occasionally to a height of -100 feet, while the celebrated Te Tarata at Rotomahana sometimes lifts -a boiling column 20 feet in diameter to a height of 60 feet. But all -these are far surpassed by the Excelsior. Few tourists, however, will -see the Excelsior in action, or a thousand other interesting features -of the park that lie beyond the wagon-roads and the hotels. The regular -trips—from three to five days—are too short. Nothing can be done well -at a speed of forty miles a day. The multitude of mixed, novel -impressions rapidly piled on one another make only a dreamy, -bewildering, swirling blur, most of which is unrememberable. Far more -time should be taken. Walk away quietly in any direction and taste the -freedom of the mountaineer. Camp out among the grass and gentians of -glacier meadows, in craggy garden nooks full of Nature’s darlings. -Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will -flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their -own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will -drop off like autumn leaves. As age comes on, one source of enjoyment -after another is closed, but Nature’s sources never fail. Like a -generous host, she offers here brimming cups in endless variety, served -in a grand hall, the sky its ceiling, the mountains its walls, -decorated with glorious paintings and enlivened with bands of music -ever playing. The petty discomforts that beset the awkward guest, the -unskilled camper, are quickly forgotten, while all that is precious -remains. Fears vanish as soon as one is fairly free in the wilderness. - -Most of the dangers that haunt the unseasoned citizen are imaginary; -the real ones are perhaps too few rather than too many for his good. -The bears that always seem to spring up thick as trees, in fighting, -devouring attitudes before the frightened tourist whenever a camping -trip is proposed, are gentle now, finding they are no longer likely to -be shot; and rattlesnakes, the other big irrational dread of -over-civilized people, are scarce here, for most of the park lies above -the snake-line. Poor creatures, loved only by their Maker, they are -timid and bashful, as mountaineers know; and though perhaps not -possessed of much of that charity that suffers long and is kind, -seldom, either by mistake or by mishap, do harm to any one. Certainly -they cause not the hundredth part of the pain and death that follow the -footsteps of the admired Rocky Mountain trapper. Nevertheless, again -and again, in season and out of season, the question comes up, “What -are rattlesnakes good for?” As if nothing that does not obviously make -for the benefit of man had any right to exist; as if our ways were -God’s ways. Long ago, an Indian to whom a French traveler put this old -question replied that their tails were good for toothache, and their -heads for fever. Anyhow, they are all, head and tail, good for -themselves, and we need not begrudge them their share of life. - -Fear nothing. No town park you have been accustomed to saunter in is so -free from danger as the Yellowstone. It is a hard place to leave. Even -its names in your guidebook are attractive, and should draw you far -from wagon-roads,—all save the early ones, derived from the infernal -regions: Hell Roaring River, Hell Broth Springs, The Devil’s Caldron, -etc. Indeed, the whole region was at first called Coulter’s Hell, from -the fiery brimstone stories told by trapper Coulter, who left the Lewis -and Clark expedition and wandered through the park, in the year 1807, -with a band of Bannock Indians. The later names, many of which we owe -to Mr. Arnold Hague of the U. S. Geological Survey, are so telling and -exhilarating that they set our pulses dancing and make us begin to -enjoy the pleasures of excursions ere they are commenced. Three River -Peak, Two Ocean Pass, Continental Divide, are capital geographical -descriptions, suggesting thousands of miles of rejoicing streams and -all that belongs to them. Big Horn Pass, Bison Peak, Big Game Ridge, -bring brave mountain animals to mind. Birch Hills, Garnet Hills, -Amethyst Mountain, Storm Peak, Electric Peak, Roaring Mountain, are -bright, bracing names. Wapiti, Beaver, Tern, and Swan lakes, conjure up -fine pictures, and so also do Osprey and Ouzel falls. Antelope Creek, -Otter, Mink, and Grayling creeks, Geode, Jasper, Opal, Carnelian, and -Chalcedony creeks, are lively and sparkling names that help the streams -to shine; and Azalea, Stellaria, Arnica, Aster, and Phlox creeks, what -pictures these bring up! Violet, Morning Mist, Hygeia, Beryl, -Vermilion, and Indigo springs, and many beside, give us visions of -fountains more beautifully arrayed than Solomon in all his purple and -golden glory. All these and a host of others call you to camp. You may -be a little cold some nights, on mountain tops above the timber-line, -but you will see the stars, and by and by you can sleep enough in your -town bed, or at least in your grave. Keep awake while you may in -mountain mansions so rare. - -If you are not very strong, try to climb Electric Peak when a big -bossy, well-charged thunder-cloud is on it, to breathe the ozone set -free, and get yourself kindly shaken and shocked. You are sure to be -lost in wonder and praise, and every hair of your head will stand up -and hum and sing like an enthusiastic congregation. - -After this reviving experience, you should take a look into a few of -the tertiary volumes of the grand geological library of the park, and -see how God writes history. No technical knowledge is required; only a -calm day and a calm mind. Perhaps nowhere else in the Rocky Mountains -have the volcanic forces been so busy. More than ten thousand square -miles hereabouts have been covered to a depth of at least five thousand -feet with material spouted from chasms and craters during the tertiary -period, forming broad sheets of basalt, andesite, rhyolite, etc., and -marvelous masses of ashes, sand, cinders, and stones now consolidated -into conglomerates, charged with the remains of plants and animals that -lived in the calm, genial periods that separated the volcanic -outbursts. - -Perhaps the most interesting and telling of these rocks to the hasty -tourist, are those that make up the mass of Amethyst Mountain. On its -north side it presents a section two thousand feet high of roughly -stratified beds of sand, ashes, and conglomerates coarse and fine, -forming the untrimmed edges of a wonderful set of volumes lying on -their sides,—books a million years old, well bound, miles in size, with -full-page illustrations. On the ledges of this one section we see -trunks and stumps of fifteen or twenty ancient forests ranged one above -another, standing where they grew, or prostrate and broken like the -pillars of ruined temples in desert sands,—a forest fifteen or twenty -stories high, the roots of each spread above the tops of the next -beneath it, telling wonderful tales of the bygone centuries, with their -winters and summers, growth and death, fire, ice, and flood. - -There were giants in those days. The largest of the standing opal and -agate stumps and prostrate sections of the trunks are from two or three -to fifty feet in height or length, and from five to ten feet in -diameter; and so perfect is the petrifaction that the annual rings and -ducts are clearer and more easily counted than those of living trees, -centuries of burial having brightened the records instead of blurring -them. They show that the winters of the tertiary period gave as decided -a check to vegetable growth as do those of the present time. Some trees -favorably located grew rapidly, increasing twenty inches in diameter in -as many years, while others of the some species, on poorer soil or -overshadowed, increased only two or three inches in the same time. - -Among the roots and stumps on the old forest floors we find the remains -of ferns and bushes, and the seeds and leaves of trees like those now -growing on the southern Alleghanies,—such as magnolia, sassafras, -laurel, linden, persimmon, ash, alder, dogwood. Studying the lowest of -these forests, the soil it grew on and the deposits it is buried in, we -see that it was rich in species, and flourished in a genial, sunny -climate. When its stately trees were in their glory, volcanic fires -broke forth from chasms and craters, like larger geysers, spouting -ashes, cinders, stones and mud, which fell on the doomed forest like -hail and snow; sifting, hurtling through the leaves and branches, -choking the streams, covering the ground, crushing bushes and ferns, -rapidly deepening, packing around the trees and breaking them, rising -higher until the topmost boughs of the giants were buried, leaving not -a leaf or twig in sight, so complete was the desolation. At last the -volcanic storm began to abate, the fiery soil settled; mud floods and -boulder floods passed over it, enriching it, cooling it; rains fell and -mellow sunshine, and it became fertile and ready for another crop. -Birds, and the winds, and roaming animals brought seeds from more -fortunate woods, and a new forest grew up on the top of the buried one. -Centuries of genial growing seasons passed. The seedling trees became -giants, and with strong outreaching branches spread a leafy canopy over -the gray land. - -The sleeping subterranean fires again awake and shake the mountains, -and every leaf trembles. The old craters, with perhaps new ones, are -opened, and immense quantities of ashes, pumice, and cinders are again -thrown into the sky. The sun, and shorn of his beams, glows like a dull -red ball, until hidden in sulphurous clouds. Volcanic snow, hail, and -floods fall on the new forest, burying it alive, like the one beneath -its roots. Then come another noisy band of mud floods and boulder -floods, mixing, settling, enriching the new ground, more seeds, -quickening sunshine and showers; and a third noble magnolia forest is -carefully raised on the top of the second. And so on. Forest was -planted above forest and destroyed, as if Nature were ever repenting, -undoing the work she had so industriously done, and burying it. - -Of course this destruction was creation, progress in the march of -beauty through death. How quickly these old monuments excite and hold -the imagination! We see the old stone stumps budding and blossoming and -waving in the wind as magnificent trees, standing shoulder to shoulder, -branches interlacing in grand varied round-headed forests; see the -sunshine of morning and evening gilding their mossy trunks, and at high -noon spangling on the thick glossy leaves of the magnolia, filtering -through translucent canopies of linden and ash, and falling in mellow -patches on the ferny floor; see the shining after rain, breathe the -exhaling fragrance, and hear the winds and birds and the murmur of -brooks and insects. We watch them from season to season; see the -swelling buds when the sap begins to flow in the spring, the opening -leaves and blossoms, the ripening of summer fruits, the colors of -autumn, and the maze of leafless branches and sprays in winter; and we -see the sudden oncome of the storms that overwhelmed them. - -One calm morning at sunrise I saw the oaks and pines in Yosemite Valley -shaken by an earthquake, their tops swishing back and forth, and every -branch and needle shuddering as if in distress like the frightened -screaming birds. One may imagine the trembling, rocking, tumultuous -waving of those ancient Yellowstone woods, and the terror of their -inhabitants when the first foreboding shocks were felt, the sky grew -dark, and rock-laden floods began to roar. But though they were close -pressed and buried, cut off from sun and wind, all their happy -leaf-fluttering and waving done, other currents coursed through them, -fondling and thrilling every fibre, and beautiful wood was replaced by -beautiful stone. Now their rocky sepulchres are partly open, and show -forth the natural beauty of death. - -After the forest times and fire times had passed away, and the volcanic -furnaces were banked and held in abeyance, another great change -occurred. The glacial winter came on. The sky was again darkened, not -with dust and ashes, but with snow which fell in glorious abundance, -piling deeper, deeper, slipping from the overladen heights in booming -avalanches, compacting into glaciers, that flowed over all the -landscape, wiping off forests, grinding, sculpturing, fashioning the -comparatively featureless lava beds into the beautiful rhythm of hill -and dale and ranges of mountains we behold to-day; forming basins for -lakes, channels for streams, few soils for forests, gardens, and -meadows. While this ice-work was going on, the slumbering volcanic -fires were boiling the subterranean waters, and with curious chemistry -decomposing the rocks, making beauty in the darkness; these forces, -seemingly antagonistic, working harmoniously together. How wild their -meetings on the surface were we may imagine. When the glacier period -began, geysers and hot springs were playing in grander volume, it may -be, than those of to-day. The glaciers flowed over them while they -spouted and thundered, carrying away their fine sinter and travertine -structures, and shortening their mysterious channels. - -The soils made in the down-grinding required to bring the present -features of the landscape into relief are possibly no better than were -some of the old volcanic soils that were carried away, and which, as we -have seen, nourished magnificent forests, but the glacial landscapes -are incomparably more beautiful than the old volcanic ones were. The -glacial winter has passed away, like the ancient summers and fire -periods, though in the chronology of the geologist all these times are -recent. Only small residual glaciers on the cool northern slopes of the -highest mountains are left of the vast all-embracing ice-mantle, as -solfataras and geysers are all that are left of the ancient volcanoes. - -Now the post-glacial agents are at work on the grand old palimpsest of -the park region, inscribing new characters; but still in its main -telling features it remains distinctly glacial. The moraine soils are -being leveled, sorted, refined, re-formed, and covered with vegetation; -the polished pavements and scoring and other superficial glacial -inscriptions on the crumbling lavas are being rapidly obliterated; -gorges are being cut in the decomposed rhyolites and loose -conglomerates, and turrets and pinnacles seem to be springing up like -growing trees; while the geysers are depositing miles of sinter and -travertine. Nevertheless, the ice-work is scarce blurred as yet. These -later effects are only spots and wrinkles on the grand glacial -countenance of the park. - -Perhaps you have already said that you have seen enough for a lifetime. -But before you go away you should spend at least one day and a night on -a mountain top, for a last general, calming, settling view. Mount -Washburn is a good one for the purpose, because it stands in the middle -of the park, is unencumbered with other peaks, and is so easy of access -that the climb to its summit is only a saunter. First your eye goes -roving around the mountain rim amid the hundreds of peaks; some with -plain flowing skirts, others abruptly precipitous and defended by sheer -battlemented escarpments; flat-topped or round; heaving like sea-waves -or spired and turreted like Gothic cathedrals; streaked with snow in -the ravines, and darkened with files of adventurous trees climbing the -ridges. The nearer peaks are perchance clad in sapphire blue, others -far off in creamy white. In the broad glare of noon they seem to shrink -and crouch to less than half their real stature, and grow dull and -uncommunicative,—mere dead, draggled heaps of waste ashes and stone, -giving no hint of the multitude of animals enjoying life in their -fastnesses, or of the bright bloom-bordered streams and lakes. But when -storms blow they awake and arise, wearing robes of cloud and mist in -majestic speaking attitudes like gods. In the color glory of morning -and evening they become still more impressive; steeped in the divine -light of the alpenglow their earthiness disappears, and, blending with -the heavens, they seem neither high nor low. - -[Illustration: Looking South from the Summit of Mt. Washburn, -Yellowstone Park.] - -Over all the central plateau, which from here seems level, and over the -foothills and lower slopes of the mountains, the forests extends like a -black uniform bed of weeds, interrupted only by lakes and meadows and -small burned spots called parks,—all of them, except the Yellowstone -Lake, being mere dots and spangles in general views, made conspicuous -by their color and brightness. About eighty-five per cent of the entire -area of the park is covered with trees, mostly the indomitable -lodge-pole pine (_Pinus contorta_, var. _Murrayana_), with a few -patches and sprinklings of Douglas spruce, Engelmann spruce, silver fir -(_Abies lasiocarpa_), Pinus flexilis, and a few alders, aspens, and -birches. The Douglas spruce is found only on the lowest portions, the -silver fir on the highest, and the Engelmann spruce on the dampest -places, best defended from fire. Some fine specimens of the flexilis -pine are growing on the margins of openings,—wide-branching, sturdy -trees, as broad as high, with trunks five feet in diameter, leafy and -shady, laden with purple cones and rose-colored flowers. The Engelmann -spruce and sub-alpine silver fir are beautiful and notable trees, but -as the plateau became drier and fires began to run, they were driven up -the mountains, and into the wet spots and islands where we now find -them, leaving nearly all the park to the lodge-pole pine, which, though -as thin-skinned as they and as easily killed by fire, takes pains to -store up its seeds in firmly closed cones, and holds them from three to -nine years, so that, let the fire come when it may, it is ready to die -and ready to live again in a new generation. For when the killing fires -have devoured the leaves and thin resinous bark, many of the cones, -only scorched, open as soon as the smoke clears away; the hoarded store -of seeds is sown broadcast on the cleared ground, and a new growth -immediately springs up triumphant out of the ashes. Therefore, this -tree not only holds its ground, but extends its conquests farther after -every fire. Thus the evenness and closeness of its growth are accounted -for. In one part of the forest that I examined, the growth was about as -close as a cane-brake. The trees were from four to eight inches in -diameter, one hundred feet high, and one hundred and seventy-five years -old. The lower limbs die young and drop off for want of light. Life -with these close-planted trees is a race for light, more light, and so -they push straight for the sky. Mowing off ten feet from the top of the -forest would make it look like a crowded mass of telegraph-poles; for -only the sunny tops are leafy. A sapling ten years old, growing in the -sunshine, has as many leaves as a crowded tree one or two hundred years -old. As fires are multiplied and the mountains become drier, this -wonderful lodge-pole pine bids fair to obtain possession of nearly all -the forest ground in the West. - -How still the woods seem from here, yet how lively a stir the hidden -animals are making; digging, gnawing, biting, eyes shining, at work and -play, getting food, rearing young, roving through the underbrush, -climbing the rocks, wading solitary marshes, tracing the banks of the -lakes and streams! Insect swarms are dancing in the sunbeams, burrowing -in the ground, diving, swimming,—a cloud of witnesses telling Nature’s -joy. The plants are as busy as the animals, every cell in a swirl of -enjoyment, humming like a hive, singing the old new song of creation. A -few columns and puffs of steam are seen rising above the treetops, some -near, but most of them far off, indicating geysers and hot springs, -gentle-looking and noiseless as noiseless as downy clouds, softly -hinting the reaction going on between the surface and the hot interior. -From here you see them better than when you are standing beside them, -frightened and confused, regarding them as lawless cataclysms. The -shocks and out-bursts of earthquakes, volcanoes, geysers, storms, the -pounding of waves, the uprush of sap in plants, each and all tell the -orderly love-beats of Nature’s heart. - -Turning to the eastward, you have the Grand Cañon and reaches of the -river in full view; and yonder to the southward lies the great lake, -the largest and most important of all the high fountains of the -Missouri-Mississippi, and the last to be discovered. - -In the year 1541, when De Soto, with a romantic band of adventurers, -was seeking gold and glory and the fountain of youth, he found the -Mississippi a few hundred miles above its mouth, and made his grave -beneath its floods. La Salle, in 1682, after discovering the Ohio, one -of the largest and most beautiful branches of the Mississippi, traced -the latter to the sea from the mouth of the Illinois, through -adventures and privations not easily realized now. About the same time -Joliet and Father Marquette reached the “Father of Waters” by way of -the Wisconsin, but more than a century passed ere its highest sources -in these mountains were seen. The advancing stream of civilization has -ever followed its guidance toward the west, but none of the thousand -tribes of Indians living on its banks could tell the explorer whence it -came. From those romantic De Soto and La Salle days to these times of -locomotives and tourists, how much has the great river seen and done! -Great as it now is, and still growing longer through the ground of its -delta and the basins of receding glaciers at its head, it was immensely -broader toward the close of the glacial period, when the ice-mantle of -the mountains was melting: then with its three hundred thousand miles -of branches out-spread over the plains and valleys of the continent, -laden with fertile mud, it made the biggest and most generous bed of -soil in the world. - -Think of this mighty stream springing in the first place in vapor from -the sea, flying on the wind, alighting on the mountains in hail and -snow and rain, lingering in many a fountain feeding the trees and -grass; then gathering its scattered waters, gliding from its noble -lake, and going back home to the sea, singing all the way! On it -sweeps, through the gates of the mountains, across the vast prairies -and plains, through many a wild, gloomy forest, cane-brake, and sunny -savanna; from glaciers and snowbanks and pine woods to warm groves of -magnolia and palm; geysers dancing at its head keeping time with the -sea-waves at its mouth; roaring and gray in rapids, booming in broad, -bossy falls, murmuring, gleaming in long, silvery reaches, swaying now -hither, now thither, whirling, bending in huge doubling, eddying folds, -serene, majestic, ungovernable, overflowing all its metes and bounds, -frightening the dwellers upon its banks; building, wasting, uprooting, -planting; engulfing old islands and making new ones, taking away fields -and towns as if in sport, carrying canoes and ships of commerce in the -midst of its spoils and drift, fertilizing the continent as one vast -farm. Then, its work done, it gladly vanishes in its ocean home, -welcomed by the waiting waves. - -Thus naturally, standing here in the midst of its fountains, we trace -the fortunes of the great river. And how much more comes to mind as we -overlook this wonderful wilderness! Fountains of the Columbia and -Colorado lie before us, interlaced with those of the Yellowstone and -Missouri, and fine it would be to go with them to the Pacific; but the -sun is already in the west, and soon our day will be done. - -Yonder is Amethyst Mountain, and other mountains hardly less rich in -old forests, which now seem to spring up again in their glory; and you -see the storms that buried them,—the ashes and torrents laden with -boulders and mud, the centuries of sunshine, and the dark, lurid -nights. You see again the vast floods of lava, red-hot and white-hot, -pouring out from gigantic geysers, usurping the basins of lakes and -streams, absorbing or driving away their hissing, screaming waters, -flowing around hills and ridges, submerging every subordinate feature. -Then you see the snow and glaciers taking possession of the land, -making new landscapes. How admirable it is that, after passing through -so many vicissitudes of frost and fire and flood, the physiognomy and -even the complexion of the landscape should still be so divinely fine! - -Thus reviewing the eventful past, we see Nature working with enthusiasm -like a man, blowing her volcanic forges like a blacksmith blowing his -smithy fires, shoving glaciers over the landscapes like a carpenter -shoving his planes, clearing, ploughing, harrowing, irrigating, -planting, and sowing broadcast like a farmer and gardener, doing rough -work and fine work, planting sequoias and pines, rosebushes and -daisies; working in gems, filling every crack and hollow with them; -distilling fine essences; painting plants and shells, clouds, -mountains, all the earth and heavens, like an artist,—ever working -toward beauty higher and higher. Where may the mind find more -stimulating, quickening pasturage? A thousand Yellowstone wonders are -calling, “Look up and down and round about you!” And a multitude of -still, small voices may be heard directing you to look through all this -transient, shifting show of things called “substantial” into the truly -substantial, spiritual world whose forms flesh and wood, rock and -water, air and sunshine, only veil and conceal, and to learn that here -is heaven and the dwelling-place of the angles. - -The sun is setting; long, violet shadows are growing out over the woods -from the mountains along the western rim of the park; the Absaroka -range is baptized in the divine light of the alpenglow, and its rocks -and trees are transfigured. Next to the light of the dawn on high -mountain tops, the alpenglow is the most impressive of all the -terrestrial manifestations of God. - -Now comes the gloaming. The alpenglow is fading into earthy, murky -gloom, but do not let your town habits draw you away to the hotel. Stay -on this good fire-mountain and spend the night among the stars. Watch -their glorious bloom until the dawn, and get one more baptism of light. -Then, with fresh heart, go down to your work, and whatever your fate, -under whatever ignorance or knowledge you may afterward chance to -suffer, you will remember these fine, wild views, and look back with -joy to your wanderings in the blessed old Yellowstone Wonderland. - - - - -CHAPTER III -The Yosemite National Park - - -Of all the mountain ranges I have climbed, I like the Sierra Nevada the -best. Though extremely rugged, with its main features on the grandest -scale in height and depth, it is nevertheless easy of access and -hospitable; and its marvelous beauty, displayed in striking and -alluring forms, wooes the admiring wanderer on and on, higher and -higher, charmed and enchanted. Benevolent, solemn, fateful, pervaded -with divine light, every landscape glows like a countenance hallowed in -eternal repose; and every one of its living creatures, clad in flesh -and leaves, and every crystal of its rocks, whether on the surface -shining in the sun or buries miles deep in what we call darkness, is -throbbing and pulsing with the heartbeats of God. All the world lies -warm in one heart, yet the Sierra seems to get more light than other -mountains. The weather is mostly sunshine embellished with magnificent -storms, and nearly everything shines from base to summit,—the rocks, -streams, lakes, glaciers, irised falls, and the forests of silver fir -and silver pine. And how bright is the shining after summer showers and -dewy nights, and after frosty nights in spring and autumn, when the -morning sunbeams are pouring through the crystals on the bushes and -grass, and in winter through the snow-laden trees! - -[Illustration: A Thunder-Storm in the Sierras.] - -The average cloudiness for the whole year is perhaps less than ten -hundredths. Scarcely a day of all the summer is dark, though there is -no lack of magnificent thundering cumuli. They rise in the warm midday -hours, mostly over the middle region, in June and July, like new -mountain ranges, higher Sierras, mightily augmenting the grandeur of -the scenery while giving rain to the forests and gardens and bringing -forth their fragrance. The wonderful weather and beauty inspire -everybody to be up and doing. Every summer day is a workday to be -confidently counted on, the short dashes of rain forming, not -interruptions, but rests. The big blessed storm days of winter, when -the whole range stands white, are not a whit less inspiring and kind. -Well may the Sierra be called the Range of Light, not the Snowy Range; -for only in winter is it white; while all the year it is bright. - -Of this glorious range the Yosemite National Park is a central section, -thirty-six miles in length and forty-eight miles in breadth. The famous -Yosemite Valley lies in the heart of it, and it includes the head -waters of the Tuolumne and Merced rivers, two of the most songful -streams in the world; innumerable lakes and waterfalls and smooth silky -lawns; the noblest forests, the loftiest granite domes, the deepest -ice-sculptured cañons, the brightest crystalline pavements, and snowy -mountains soaring into the sky twelve and thirteen thousand feet, -arrayed in open ranks and spiry pinnacled groups partially separated by -tremendous cañons and amphitheatres; gardens on their sunny brows -avalanches thundering down their long white slopes, cataracts roaring -gray and foaming in the crooked rugged gorges, and glaciers in their -shadowy recesses working in silence, slowly completing their sculpture; -new-born lakes at their feet, blue and green, free or encumbered with -drifting icebergs like miniature Arctic Oceans, shining, sparkling, -calm as stars. - -Nowhere will you see the majestic operations of nature more clearly -revealed beside the frailest, most gentle and peaceful things. Nearly -all the park is a profound solitude. Yet it is full of charming -company, full of God’s thoughts, a place of peace and safety amid the -most exalted grandeur and eager enthusiastic action, a new song, a -place of beginnings abounding in first lessons on life, -mountain-building, eternal, invincible, unbreakable order; with sermons -in stones, storms, trees, flowers, and animals brimful of humanity. -During the last glacial period, just past, the former features of the -range were rubbed off as a chalk sketch from a blackboard, and a new -beginning was made. Hence the wonderful clearness and freshness of the -rocky pages. - -But to get all this into words is a hopeless task. The leanest sketch -of each feature would need a whole chapter. Nor would any amount of -space, however industriously scribbled, be of much avail. To defrauded -town toilers, parks in magazine articles are like pictures of bread to -the hungry. I can write only hints to incite good wanderers to come to -the feast. - -While this glorious park embraces big, generous samples of the very -best of the Sierra treasure, it is, fortunately, at the same time, the -most accessible portion. It lies opposite San Francisco, at a distance -of about one hundred and forty miles. Railroads connected with all the -continent reach into the foothills, and three good carriage roads, from -Big Oak Flat, Coulterville, and Raymond, run into Yosemite Valley. -Another, called the Tioga road, runs from Crocker’s Station on the -Yosemite Big Oak Flat road near the Tuolumne Big Tree Grove, right -across the park to the summit of the range by way of Lake Tenaya, the -Big Tuolumne Meadows, and Mount Dana. These roads, with many trials -that radiate from Yosemite Valley, bring most of the park within reach -of everybody, well or half well. - -The three main natural divisions of the park, the lower, middle, and -alpine regions, are fairly well defined in altitude, topographical -features, and vegetation. The lower, with an average elevation of about -five thousand feet, is the region of the great forests, made up of -sugar pine, the largest and most beautiful of all the pines in the -world; the silvery yellow pine, the next in rank; Douglas spruce, -libocedrus, the white and red silver firs, and the Sequoia gigantea, or -“big tree,” the king of conifers, the noblest of a noble race. On warm -slopes next the foothills there are a few Sabine nut pines; oaks make -beautiful groves in the cañon valleys; and poplar, alder, maple, -laurel, and Nuttall’s flowering dogwood shade the banks of the streams. -Many of the pines are more than two hundred feet high, but they are not -crowded together. The sunbeams streaming through their feathery arches -brighten the ground, and you walk beneath the radiant ceiling in devout -subdued mood, as if you were in a grand cathedral with mellow light -sifting through colored windows, while the flowery pillared aisles open -enchanting vistas in every direction. Scarcely a peak or ridge in the -whole region rises bare above the forests, though they are thinly -planted in some places where the soil is shallow. From the cool breezy -heights you look abroad over a boundless waving sea of evergreens, -covering hill and ridge and smooth-flowing slope as far as the eye can -reach, and filling every hollow and down-plunging ravine in glorious -triumphant exuberance. - -Perhaps the best general view of the pine forests of the park, and one -of the best in the range, is obtained from the top of the Merced and -Tuolumne divide near Hazel Green. On the long, smooth, finely folded -slopes of the main ridge, at a height of five to six thousand feet -above the sea, they reach most perfect development and are marshaled to -view in magnificent towering ranks, their colossal spires and domes and -broad palmlike crowns, deep in the kind sky, rising above one -another,—a multitude of giants in perfect health and beauty,—sun-fed -mountaineers rejoicing in their strength, chanting with the winds, in -accord with the falling waters. The ground is mostly open and inviting -to walkers. The fragrant chamæbatia is outspread in rich carpets miles -in extent; the manzanita, in orchard-like groves, covered with pink -bell-shaped flowers in the spring, grows in openings facing the sun, -hazel and buckthorn in the dells; warm brows are purple with mint, -yellow with sunflowers and violets; and tall lilies ring their bells -around the borders of meadows and along the ferny, mossy banks of the -streams. Never was mountain forest more lavishly furnished. - -Hazel Green is a good place quietly to camp and study, to get -acquainted with the trees and birds, to drink the reviving water and -weather, and to watch the changing lights of the big charmed days. The -rose light of the dawn, creeping higher among the stars, changes to -daffodil yellow; then come the level enthusiastic sunbeams pouring -across the feathery ridges, touching pine after pine, spruce and fir, -libocedrus and lordly sequoia, searching every recess, until all are -awakened and warmed. In the white noon they shine in silvery splendor, -every needle and cell in bole and branch thrilling and tingling with -ardent life; and the whole landscape glows with consciousness, like the -face of a god. The hours go by uncounted. The evening flames with -purple and gold. The breeze that has been blowing from the lowlands -dies away, and far and near the mighty host of trees baptized in the -purple flood stand hushed and thoughtful, awaiting the sun’s blessing -and farewell,—as impressive a ceremony as if it were never to rise -again. When the daylight fades, the night breeze from the snowy summits -begins to blow, and the trees, waving and rustling beneath the stars, -breathe free again. - -It is hard to leave such camps and woods; nevertheless, to the large -majority of travelers the middle region of the park is still more -interesting, for it has the most striking features of all the Sierra -scenery,—the deepest sections of the famous cañons, of which the -Yosemite Valley, Hetch-Hetchy Valley, and many smaller ones are wider -portions, with level parklike floors and walls of immense height and -grandeur of sculpture. This middle region holds also the greater number -of the beautiful glacier lakes and glacier meadows, the great granite -domes, and the most brilliant and most extensive of the glacier -pavements. And though in large part it is severely rocky and bare, it -is still rich in trees. The magnificent silver fir (_Abies magnifica_), -which ranks with the giants, forms a continuous belt across the park -above the pines at an elevation of from seven to nine thousand feet, -and north and south of the park boundaries to the extremities of the -range, only slightly interrupted by the main cañons. The two-leaved or -tamarack pine makes another less regular belt along the upper margin of -the region, while between these two belts, and mingling with them, in -groves or scattered, are the mountain hemlock, the most graceful of -evergreens; the noble mountain pine; the Jeffrey form of the yellow -pine, with big cones and long needles; and the brown, burly, sturdy -Western juniper. All these, except the juniper, which grows on bald -rocks, have plenty of flowery brush about them, and gardens in open -spaces. - -Here, too, lies the broad, shining heavily sculptured region of -primeval granite, which best tells the story of the glacial period on -the Pacific side of the continent. No other mountain chain on the -globe, as far as I know, is so rich as the Sierra in bold, striking, -well-preserved glacial monuments, easily understood by anybody capable -of patient observation. Every feature is more or less glacial, and this -park portion of the range is the brightest and clearest of all. Not a -peak, ridge, dome, cañon, lake basin, garden, forest, or stream but in -some way explains the past existence and modes of action of flowing, -grinding, sculpturing, soil-making, scenery-making ice. For, -notwithstanding the post-glacial agents—air, rain, frost, rivers, -earthquakes, avalanches—have been at work upon the greater part of the -range for tens of thousands of stormy years, engraving their own -characters over those of the ice, the latter are so heavily emphasized -and enduring they still rise in sublime relief, clear and legible -through every after inscription. The streams have traced only shallow -wrinkles as yet, and avalanche, wind, rain, and melting snow have made -blurs and scars, but the change effected on the face of the landscape -is not greater than is made on the face of a mountaineer by a single -year of weathering. - -Of all the glacial phenomena presented here, the most striking and -attractive to travelers are the polished pavements, because they are so -beautiful, and their beauty is of so rare a kind,—unlike any part of -the loose earthy lowlands where people dwell and earn their bread. They -are simply flat or gently undulating areas of solid resisting granite, -the unchanged surface over which the ancient glaciers flowed. They are -found in the most perfect condition at an elevation of from eight to -nine thousand feet above sea level. Some are miles in extent, only -slightly blurred or scarred by spots that have at last yielded to the -weather; while the best preserved portions are brilliantly polished, -and reflect the sunbeams as calm water or glass, shining as if rubbed -and burnished every day, notwithstanding they have been exposed to -plashing, corroding rains, dew, frost, and melting sloppy snows for -thousands of years. - -The attention of hunters and prospectors, who see so much in their wild -journeys, is seldom attracted by moraines, however regular and -artificial-looking; or rocks, however boldly sculptured; or cañons, -however deep and sheer-walled. But when they come to these pavements, -they go down on their knees and rub their hands admiringly on the -glistening surface, and try hard to account for its mysterious -smoothness and brightness. They may have seen the winter avalanches -come down the mountains, through the woods, sweeping away the trees and -scouring the ground; but they conclude that this cannot be the work of -avalanches, because the striæ show that the agent, whatever it was, -flowed along and around and over the top of high ridges and domes, and -also filled the deep cañons. Neither can they see how water could be -the agent, for the strange polish is found thousands of feet above the -reach of any conceivable flood. Only the winds seem capable of moving -over the face of the country in the directions indicated by the lines -and grooves. - -The pavements are particularly fine around Lake Tenaya, and have -suggested the Indian name Py-we-ack, the Lake of the Shining Rocks. -Indians seldom trouble themselves with geological questions, but a Mono -Indian once came to me and asked if I could tell him what made the -rocks so smooth at Tenaya. Even dogs and horses, on their first -journeys into this region, study geology to the extent of gazing -wonderingly at the strange brightness of the ground, and pawing it and -smelling it, as if afraid of falling or sinking. - -In the production of this admirable hard finish, the glaciers in many -places exerted a pressure of more than a hundred tons to the square -foot, planing down granite, slate, and quartz alike, showing their -structure, and making beautiful mosaics where large feldspar crystals -form the greater part of the rock. On such pavements the sunshine is at -times dazzling, as if the surface were of burnished silver. - -Here, also, are the brightest of the Sierra landscapes in general. The -regions lying at the same elevation to the north and south were perhaps -subjected to as long and intense a glaciation; but because the rocks -are less resisting, their polished surfaces have mostly given way to -the weather, leaving here and there only small imperfect patches on the -most enduring portions of cañon walls protected from the action of rain -and snow, and on hard bosses kept comparatively dry by boulders. The -short, steeply inclined cañons of the east flank of the range are in -some places brightly polished, but they are far less magnificent than -those of the broad west flank. - -One of the best general views of the middle region of the park is to be -had from the top of a majestic dome which long ago I named the Glacier -Monument. It is situated a few miles to the north of Cathedral Peak, -and rises to a height of about fifteen hundred feet above its base and -ten thousand above the sea. At first sight it seems sternly -inaccessible, but a good climber will find that it may be scaled on the -south side. Approaching it from this side you pass through a dense -bryanthus-fringed grove of mountain hemlock, catching glimpses now and -then of the colossal dome towering to an immense height above the dark -evergreens; and when at last you have made your way across woods, -wading through azalea and ledum thickets, you step abruptly out of the -tree shadows and mossy leafy softness upon a bare porphyry pavement, -and behold the dome unveiled in all its grandeur. Fancy a nicely -proportioned monument, eight or ten feet high, hewn from one stone, -standing in a pleasure ground; magnify it to a height of fifteen -hundred feet, retaining its simplicity of form and fineness, and cover -its surface with crystals; then you may gain an idea of the sublimity -and beauty of this ice-burnished dome, one of many adorning this -wonderful park. - -In making the ascent, one finds that the curve of the base rapidly -steepens, until one is in danger of slipping; but feldspar crystals, -two or three inches long, that have been weathered into relief, afford -slight footholds. The summit is in part burnished, like the sides and -base, the striæ and scratches indicating that the mighty Tuolumne -Glacier, two or three thousand feet deep, overwhelmed it while it stood -firm like a boulder at the bottom of a river. The pressure it withstood -must have been enormous. Had it been less solidly built, it would have -been ground and crushed into moraine fragments, like the general mass -of the mountain flank in which at first it lay imbedded; for it is only -a hard residual knob or knot with a concentric structure of superior -strength, brought into relief by the removal of the less resisting rock -about it,—an illustration in stone of the survival of the strongest and -most favorably situated. - -[Illustration: Glacier Monument (Fairview Dome).] - -Hardly less wonderful, when we contemplate the storms it has -encountered since first it saw the light, is its present unwasted -condition. The whole quantity of postglacial wear and tear it has -suffered has not diminished its stature a single inch, as may be -readily shown by measuring from the level of the unchanged polished -portions of the surface. Indeed, the average postglacial denudation of -the entire region, measured in the same way, is found to be less than -two inches,—a mighty contrast to that of the ice; for the glacial -denudation here has been not less than a mile; that is, in developing -the present landscapes, an amount of rock a mile in average thickness -has been silently carried away by flowing ice during the last glacial -period. - -A few erratic boulders nicely poised on the founded summit of the -monument tell an interesting story. They came from a mountain on the -crest of the range, about twelve miles to the eastward, floating like -chips on the frozen sea, and were stranded here when the top of the -monument emerged to the light of day, while the companions of these -boulders, whose positions chanced to be over the slopes where they -could not find rest, were carried farther on by the shallowing current. - -The general view from the summit consists of a sublime assemblage of -iceborn mountains and rocks and long wavering ridges, lakes and streams -and meadows, moraines in wide-sweeping belts, and beds covered and -dotted with forests and groves,—hundreds of square miles of them -composed in wild harmony. The snowy mountains on the axis of the range, -mostly sharp-peaked and crested, rise in a noble array along the sky to -the eastward and northward; the gray-pillared Hoffman spur and the -Yosemite domes and a countless number of others to the westward; -Cathedral Peak with its many spires and companion peaks and domes to -the southward; and a smooth billowy multitude of rocks, from fifty feet -or less to a thousand feet high, which from their peculiar form seem to -be rolling on westward, fill most of the middle ground. Immediately -beneath you are the Big Tuolumne Meadows, with an ample swath of dark -pine woods on either side, enlivened by the young river, that is seen -sparkling and shimmering as it sways from side to side, tracing as best -it can its broad glacial channel. - -The ancient Tuolumne Glacier, lavishly flooded by many a noble affluent -from the snow-laden flanks of Mounts Dana, Gibbs, Lyell, Maclure, and -others nameless as yet, poured its majestic overflowing current, four -or five miles wide, directly against the high outstanding mass of Mount -Hoffman, which divided and deflected it right and left, just as a river -is divided against an island that stands in the middle of its channel. -Two distinct glaciers were thus formed, one of which flowed through the -Big Tuolumne Cañon and Hetch-Hetchy Valley, while the other swept -upward five hundred feet in a broad current across the divide between -the basins of the Tuolumne and Merced into the Tenaya basin, and thence -down through the Tenaya Cañon and Yosemite Valley. - -The maplike distinctness and freshness of this glacial landscape cannot -fail to excite the attention of every observer, no matter how little of -its scientific significance he may at first recognize. These bald, -glossy, westward-leaning rocks in the open middle ground, with their -rounded backs and shoulders toward the glacier fountains of the summit -mountains and their split angular fronts looking in the opposite -direction, every one of them displaying the form of greatest strength -with reference to physical structure and glacial action, show the -tremendous force with which through unnumbered centuries the ice flood -swept over them, and also the direction of the flow; while the -mountains, with their sharp summits and abraded sides, indicate the -height to which the glacier rose; and the moraines, curving and swaying -in beautiful lines, mark the boundaries of the main trunk and its -tributaries as they existed toward the close of the glacial winter. -None of the commercial highways of the sea or land, marked with buoys -and lamps, fences and guideboards, is so unmistakably indicated as are -these channels of the vanished Tuolumne glaciers. - -The action of flowing ice, whether in the form of river-like glaciers -or broad mantling folds, is but little understood as compared with that -of other sculpturing agents. Rivers work openly where people dwell, and -so do the rain, and the sea thundering on all the shores of the world; -and the universal ocean of air, through unseen, speaks aloud in a -thousand voices and explains its modes of working and its power. But -glaciers, back in their cold solitudes, work apart from men, exerting -their tremendous energies in silence and darkness. Coming in vapor from -the sea, flying invisible on the wind, descending in snow, changing to -ice, white, spiritlike, they brood outspread over the predestined -landscapes, working on unwearied through unmeasured ages, until in the -fullness of time the mountains and valleys are brought forth, channels -furrowed for the rivers, basins made for meadows and lakes, and soil -beds spread for the forests and fields that man and beast may be fed. -Then vanishing like clouds, they melt into streams and go singing back -home to the sea. - -To an observer upon this adamantine old monument in the midst of such -scenery, getting glimpses of the thoughts of God, the day seems -endless, the sun stands still. Much faithless fuss is made over the -passage in the Bible telling of the standing still of the sun for -Joshua. Here you may learn that the miracle occurs for every devout -mountaineer, for everybody doing anything worth doing, seeing anything -worth seeing. One day is as a thousand years, a thousand years as one -day, and while yet in the flesh you enjoy immortality. - -From the monument you will find an easy way down through the woods and -along the Big Tuolumne Meadows to Mount Dana, the summit of which -commands a grand telling view of the alpine region. The scenery all the -way is inspiring, and you saunter on without knowing that you are -climbing. The spacious sunny meadows, through the midst of which the -bright river glides, extend with but little interruption ten miles to -the eastward, dark woods rising on either side to the limit of tree -growth, and above the woods a picturesque line of gray peaks and spires -dotted with snow banks; while, on the axis of the Sierra, Mount Dana -and his noble compeers repose in massive sublimity, their vast size and -simple flowing contours contrasting in the most striking manner with -the clustering spires and thin-pinnacled crests crisply outlined on the -horizon to the north and south of them. - -Tracing the silky lawns, gradually ascending, gazing at the sublime -scenery more and more openly unfolded, noting the avalanche gaps in the -upper forests, lingering over beds of blue gentians and purple-flowered -bryanthus and cassiope, and dwarf willows an inch high in close-felted -gray carpets, brightened here and there with kalmia and soft creeping -mats of vaccinium sprinkled with pink bells that seem to have been -showered down from the sky like hail,—thus beguiled and enchanted, you -reach the base of the mountain wholly unconscious of the miles you have -walked. And so on to the summit. For all the way up the long red slate -slopes, that in the distance seemed barren, you find little garden beds -and tufts of dwarf phlox, ivesia, and blue arctic daisies that go -straight to your heart, blessed fellow mountaineers kept safe and warm -by a thousand miracles. You are now more than thirteen thousand feet -above the sea, and to the north and south you behold a sublime -wilderness of mountains in glorious array, their snowy summits towering -together in crowded, bewildering abundance, shoulder to shoulder, peak -beyond peak. To the east lies the Great Basin, barren-looking and -silent, apparently a land of pure desolation, rich only in beautiful -light. Mono Lake, fourteen miles long, is outspread below you at a -depth of nearly seven thousand feet, its shores of volcanic ashes and -sand, treeless and sunburned; a group of volcanic cones, with -well-formed, unwasted craters rises to the south of the lake; while up -from its eastern shore innumerable mountains with soft flowing outlines -extend range beyond range, gray, and pale purple, and blue,—the -farthest gradually fading on the flowing horizon. Westward you look -down and over the countless moraines, glacier meadows, and grand sea of -domes and rock waves of the upper Tuolumne basin, the Cathedral and -Hoffman mountains with their wavering lines and zones of forest, the -wonderful region to the north of the Tuolumne Cañon, and across the -dark belt of silver firs to the pale mountains of the coast. - -In the icy fountains of the Mount Lyell and Ritter groups of peaks, to -the south of Dana, three of the most important of the Sierra rivers—the -Tuolumne, Merced, and San Joaquin—take their rise, their highest -tributaries being within a few miles of one another as they rush forth -on their adventurous courses from beneath snow banks and glaciers. - -[Illustration: Along the Crest of the High Sierras from the Summit of -Mt. Lyell (13,090 feet).] - -Of the small shrinking glaciers of the Sierra, remnants of the majestic -system that sculptured the range, I have seen sixty-five. About -twenty-five of them are in the park, and eight are in sight from Mount -Dana. - -The glacier lakes are sprinkled over all the alpine and subalpine -regions, gleaming like eyes beneath heavy rock brows, tree-fringed or -bare, embosomed in the woods, or lying in open basins with green and -purple meadows around them; but the greater number are in the cool -shadowy hollows of the summit mountains not far from the glaciers, the -highest lying at an elevation of from eleven to nearly twelve thousand -feet above the sea. The whole number in the Sierra, not counting the -smallest, can hardly be less than fifteen hundred, of which about two -hundred and fifty are in the park. From one standpoint, on Red -Mountain, I counted forty-two, most of them within a radius of ten -miles. The glacier meadows, which are spread over the filled-up basins -of vanished lakes and form one of the most charming features of the -scenery, are still more numerous than the lakes. - -An observer stationed here, in the glacial period, would have -overlooked a wrinkled mantle of ice as continuous as that which now -covers the continent of Greenland; and of all the vast landscape now -shining in the sun, he would have seen only the tops of the summit -peaks, rising darkly like storm-beaten islands, lifeless and hopeless, -above rock-encumbered ice waves. If among the agents that nature has -employed in making these mountains there be one that above all other -deserves the name of Destroyer, it is the glacier. But we quickly learn -that destruction is creation. During the dreary centuries through which -the Sierra lay in darkness, crushed beneath the ice folds of the -glacial winter, there was a steady invincible advance toward the warm -life and beauty of to-day; and it is just where the glaciers crushed -most destructively that the greatest amount of beauty is made manifest. -But as these landscapes have succeeded the preglacial landscapes, so -they in turn are giving place to others already planned and foreseen. -The granite domes and pavements, apparently imperishable, we take as -symbols of permanence, while these crumbling peaks, down whose frosty -gullies avalanches are ever falling, are symbols of change and decay. -Yet all alike, fast or slow, are surely vanishing away. - -Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and -destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing no rest -but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one -beautiful form into another. - - - - -CHAPTER IV -The Forests of the Yosemite Park - - -The coniferous forests of the Yosemite Park, and of the Sierra in -general, surpass all others of their kind in America or indeed in the -world, not only in the size and beauty of the trees, but in the number -of species assembled together, and the grandeur of the mountains they -are growing on. Leaving the workaday lowlands, and wandering into the -heart of the mountains, we find a new world, and stand beside the -majestic pines and firs and sequoias silent and awe-stricken, as if in -the presence of superior beings new arrived from some other star, so -calm and bright and godlike they are. - -Going to the woods is going home; for I suppose we came from the woods -originally. But in some of nature’s forests the adventurous traveler -seems a feeble, unwelcome creature; wild beasts and the weather trying -to kill him, the rank, tangled vegetation, armed with spears and -stinging needles, barring his way and making life a hard struggle. Here -everything is hospitable and kind, as if planned for your pleasure, -ministering to every want of body and soul. Even the storms are -friendly and seem to regard you as a brother, their beauty and -tremendous fateful earnestness charming alike. But the weather is -mostly sunshine, both winter and summer and the clear sunny brightness -of the park is one of its most striking characteristics. Even the -heaviest portions of the main forest belt, where the trees are tallest -and stand closest, are not in the least gloomy. The sunshine falls in -glory through the colossal spires and crowns, each a symbol of health -and strength, the noble shafts faithfully upright like the pillars of -temples, upholding a roof of infinite leafy interlacing arches and -fretted skylights. The more open portions are like spacious parks, -carpeted with small shrubs, or only with the fallen needles sprinkled -here and there with flowers. In some places, where the ground is level -or slopes gently, the trees are assembled in groves, and the flowers -and underbrush in trim beds and thickets as in landscape gardens or the -lovingly planted grounds of homes; or they are drawn up in orderly rows -around meadows and lakes and along the brows of cañons. But in general -the forests are distributed in wide belts in accordance with climate -and the comparative strength of each kind in gaining and holding -possession of the ground, while anything like monotonous uniformity is -prevented by the grandly varied topography, and by the arrangement of -the best soilbeds in intricate patterns like embroidery; for these -soilbeds are the moraines of ancient glaciers more or less modified by -weathering and stream action, and the trees trace them over the hills -and ridges, and far up the sides of the mountains, rising with even -growth on levels, and towering above one another on the long rich -slopes prepared for them by the vanished glaciers. - -Had the Sierra forests been cheaply accessible, the most valuable of -them commercially would ere this have fallen a prey to the lumberman. -Thus far the redwood of the Coast Mountains and the Douglas spruce of -Oregon and Washington have been more available for lumber than the pine -of the Sierra. It cost less to go a thousand miles up the coast for -timber, where the trees came down to the shores of navigable rivers and -bays, than fifty miles up the mountains. Nevertheless, the superior -value of the sugar pine for many purposes has tempted capitalists to -expend large sums on flumes and railroads to reach the best forests, -though perhaps none of these enterprises has paid. Fortunately, the -lately established system of parks and reservations has put a stop to -any great extension of the business hereabouts in its most destructive -forms. And as the Yosemite Park region has escaped the millmen, and the -all-devouring hordes of hoofed locusts have been banished, it is still -in the main a pure wilderness, unbroken by axe clearings except on the -lower margin, where a few settlers have opened spots beside hay meadows -for their cabins and gardens. But these are mere dots of cultivation, -in no appreciable degree disturbing the grand solitude. Twenty or -thirty years ago a good many trees were felled for their seeds; traces -of this destructive method of seed-collecting are still visible along -the trails; but these as well as the shingle-makers ruins are being -rapidly overgrown, the gardens and beds of underbrush once devastated -by sheep are blooming again in all their wild glory, and the park is a -paradise that makes even the loss of Eden seem insignificant. - -On the way to Yosemite Valley, you get some grand views over the -forests of the Merced and Tuolumne basins and glimpses of some of the -finest trees by the roadside without leaving your seat in the stage. -But to learn how they live and behave in pure wildness, to see them in -their varying aspects through the seasons and weather, rejoicing in the -great storms, in the spiritual mountain light, putting forth their new -leaves and flowers when all the streams are in flood and the birds are -singing, and sending away their seeds in the thoughtful Indian summer -when all the landscape is glowing in deep calm enthusiasm,—for this you -must love them and live with them, as free from schemes and cares and -time as the trees themselves. - -And surely nobody will find anything hard in this. Even the blind must -enjoy these woods, drinking their fragrance, listening to the music of -the winds in their groves, and fingering their flowers and plumes and -cones and richly furrowed boles. The kind of study required is as easy -and natural as breathing. Without any great knowledge of botany or -wood-craft, in a single season you may learn the name and something -more of nearly every kind of tree in the park. - -With few exceptions all the Sierra trees are growing in the park,—nine -species of pine, two of silver fir, one each of Douglas spruce, -libocedrus, hemlock, juniper, and sequoia,—sixteen conifers in all, and -about the same number of round-headed trees, oaks, maples, poplars, -laurel, alder, dogwood, tumion, etc. - -The first of the conifers you meet in going up the range from the west -is the digger nut-pine (_Pinus Sabiniana_), a remarkably open, airy, -wide-branched tree, forty to sixty feet high, with long, sparse, -grayish green foliage and large cones. At a height of fifteen to thirty -feet from the ground the trunk usually divides into several main -branches, which, after bearing away from one another, shoot straight up -and form separate heads as if the axis of the tree had been broken, -while the secondary branches divide again and again into rather slender -sprays loosely tasseled, with leaves eight to twelve inches long. The -yellow and purple flowers are about an inch long, the staminate in -showy clusters. The big, rough, burly cones, five to eight or ten -inches in length and five or six in diameter, are rich brown in color -when ripe, and full of hard-shelled nuts that are greatly prized by -Indians and squirrels. This strange-looking pine, enjoying hot sunshine -like a palm, is sparsely distributed along the driest part of the -Sierra among small oaks and chaparral, and with its gray mist of -foliage, strong trunk and branches, and big cones seen in relief on the -glowing sky, forms the most striking feature of the foothill -vegetation. - -Pinus attenuata is a small, slender, arrowy tree, with pale green -leaves in threes, clustered flowers half an inch long, brownish yellow -and crimson, and cones whorled in conspicuous clusters around the -branches and also around the trunk. The cones never fall off or open -until the tree dies. They are about four inches long, exceedingly -strong and solid, and varnished with hard resin forming a waterproof -and almost worm and squirrel proof package, in which the seeds are kept -fresh and safe during the lifetime of the tree. Sometimes one of the -trunk cones is overgrown and imbedded in the heart wood like a knot, -but nearly all are pushed out and kept on the surface by the pressure -of the successive layers of wood against the base. - -This admirable little tree grows on brushy, sun-beaten slopes, which -from their position and the inflammable character of the vegetation are -most frequently fire-swept. These grounds it is able to hold against -all comers, however big and strong, by saving its seeds until death, -when all it has produced are scattered over the bare cleared ground, -and a new generation quickly springs out of the ashes. Thus the curious -fact that all the trees of extensive groves and belts are of the same -age is accounted for, and their slender habit; for the lavish abundance -of seed sown at the same time makes a crowded growth, and the seedlings -with an even start rush up in a hurried race for light and life. - -Only a few of the attenuata and Sabiniana pines are within the -boundaries of the park, the former on the side of the Merced Cañon, the -latter on the walls of Hetch-Hetchy Valley and in the cañon below it. - -[Illustration: California Cones.] - -The nut-pine (_Pinus monophylla_) is a small, hardy, contended-looking -tree, about fifteen or twenty feet high and a foot in diameter. In its -youth the close radiating and aspiring branches form a handsome -broad-based pyramid, but when fully grown it becomes round-topped, -knotty, and irregular, throwing out crooked divergent limbs like an -apple tree. The leaves are pale grayish green, about an inch and a half -long, and instead of being divided into clusters they are single, -round, sharp-pointed, and rigid like spikes, amid which in the spring -the red flowers glow brightly. The cones are only about two inches in -length and breadth, but nearly half of their bulk is made up of sweet -nuts. - -This fruitful little pine grows on the dry east side of the park, along -the margin of the Mono sage plain, and is the commonest tree of the -short mountain ranges of the Great Basins. Tens of thousands of acres -are covered with it, forming bountiful orchards for the Red-man. Being -so low and accessible, the cones are easily beaten off with poles, and -the nuts procured by roasting until the scales open. To the tribes of -the desert and sage plains these seeds are the staff of life. They are -eaten either raw or parched, or in the form of mush or cakes after -being pounded into meal. The time of nut harvest in the autumn is the -Indian’s merriest time of all the year. An industrious squirrelish -family can gather fifty or sixty bushels in a single month before the -snow comes, and then their bread for the winter is sure. - -The white pine (_Pinus flexilis_) is widely distributed through the -Rocky Mountains and the ranges of the Great Basin, where in many places -it grows to a good size, and is an important timber tree where none -better is to be found. In the park it is sparsely scattered along the -eastern flank of the range from Mono Pass southward, above the -nut-pine, at an elevation of from eight to ten thousand feet, dwarfing -to a tangled bush near the timber-line, but under favorable conditions -attaining a height of forty or fifty feet, with a diameter of three to -five. The long branches show a tendency to sweep out in bold curves, -like those of the mountain and sugar pines to which it is closely -related. The needles are in clusters of five, closely packed on the -ends of the branchlets. The cones are about five inches long,—the -smaller ones nearly oval, the larger cylindrical. But the most -interesting feature of the tree is its bloom, the vivid red pistillate -flowers glowing among the leaves like coals of fire. - -The dwarfed pine or white-barked pine (_Pinus albicaulis_) is sure to -interest every observer on account of its curious low matted habit, and -the great height on the snowy mountains at which it bravely grows. It -forms the extreme edge of the timber-line on both flanks of the summit -mountains—if so lowly a tree can be called timber—at an elevation of -ten to twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea. Where it is -first met on the lower limit of its range it may be thirty or forty -feet high, but farther up the rocky wind-swept slopes, where the snow -lies deep and heavy for six months of the year, it makes shaggy clumps -and beds, crinkled and pressed flat, over which you can easily walk. -Nevertheless in this crushed, down-pressed, felted condition it clings -hardily to life, puts forth fresh leaves every spring on the ends of -its tasseled branchlets, blooms bravely in the lashing blasts with -abundance of gay red and purple flowers, matures its seeds in the short -summers, and often outlives the favored giants of the sun lands far -below. One of the trees that I examined was only about three feet high, -with a stem six inches in diameter at the ground, and branches that -spread out horizontally as if they had grown up against a ceiling; yet -it was four hundred and twenty-six years old, and one of its supple -branchlets, about an eighth of an inch in diameter inside the bark, was -seventy-five years old, and so tough that I tied it into knots. At the -age of this dwarf many of the sugar and yellow pines and sequoias are -seven feet in diameter and over two hundred feet high. - -In detached clumps never touched by fire the fallen needles of -centuries of growth make fine elastic mattresses for the weary -mountaineer, while the tasseled branchlets spread a roof over him, and -the dead roots, half resin, usually found in abundance, make capital -camp-fires, unquenchable in thickest storms of rain or snow. Seen from -a distance the belts and patches darkening the mountain sides look like -mosses on a roof, and bring to mind Dr. Johnson’s remarks on the trees -of Scotland. His guide, anxious for the honor of Mull, was still -talking of its woods and pointing them out. “Sir,” said Johnson, “I saw -at Tobermory what they called a wood, which I unluckily took for heath. -If you show me what I shall take for furze, it will be something.” - -The mountain pine (_Pinus monticola_) is far the largest of the Sierra -tree mountaineers. Climbing nearly as high as the dwarf albicaulis, it -is still a giant in size, bold and strong, standing erect on the -storm-beaten peaks and ridges, tossing its cone-laden branches in the -rough winds, living a thousand years, and reaching its greatest -size—ninety to a hundred feet in height, six to eight in diameter—just -where other trees, its companions, are dwarfed. But it is not able to -endure burial in snow so long as the albicaulis and flexilis. -Therefore, on the upper limit of its range it is found on slopes which, -from their steepness or exposure, are least snowy. Its soft graceful -beauty in youth, and its leaves, cones, and outsweeping feathery -branches constantly remind you of the sugar pine, to which it is -closely allied. An admirable tree, growing nobler in form and size the -colder and balder the mountains about it. - -The giants of the main forest in the favored middle region are the -sequoia, sugar pine, yellow pine, libocedrus, Douglas spruce, and the -two silver firs. The park sequoias are restricted to two small groves, -a few miles apart, on the Tuolumne and Merced divide, about seventeen -miles from Yosemite Valley. The Big Oak Flat road to the valley runs -through the Tuolumne Grove, the Coulterville through the Merced. The -more famous and better known Mariposa Grove, belonging to the state, -lies near the southwest corner of the park, a few miles above Wawona. - -The sugar pine (_Pinus Lambertiana_) is first met in the park in open, -sunny, flowery woods, at an elevation of about thirty-five hundred feet -above the sea, attains full development at a height between five and -six thousand feet, and vanishes at the level of eight thousand feet. In -many places, especially on the northern slopes of the main ridges -between the rivers, it forms the bulk of the forest, but mostly it is -intimately associated with its noble companions, above which it covers -in glorious majesty on every hill, ridge, and plateau from one -extremity of the range to the other, a distance of five hundred -miles,—the largest, noblest, and most beautiful of all the seventy or -eighty species of pine trees in the world, and of all the conifers -second only to King Sequoia. - -A good many are from two hundred to two hundred and twenty feet in -height, with a diameter at four feet from the ground of six to eight -feet, and occasionally a grand patriarch, seven or eight hundred years -old, is found that is ten or even twelve feet in diameter and two -hundred and forty feet high, with a magnificent crown seventy feet -wide. David Douglas, who discovered “this most beautiful and immensely -grand tree” in the fall of 1826 in southern Oregon, says that the -largest of several that had been blown down, “at three feet from the -ground was fifty-seven feet nine inches in circumference” (or fully -eighteen feet in diameter); “at one hundred and thirty-four feet, -seventeen feet five inches; extreme length, two hundred and forty-five -feet.” Probably for _fifty-seven_ we should read _thirty-seven_ for the -base measurement, which would make it correspond with the other -dimensions; for none of this species with anything like so great a -girth has since been seen. A girth of even thirty feet is uncommon. A -fallen specimen that I measured was nine feet three inches in diameter -inside the bark at four feet from the ground, and six feet in diameter -at a hundred feet from the ground. A comparatively young tree, three -hundred and thirty years old, that had been cut down, measured seven -feet across the stump, was three feet three inches in diameter at a -height of one hundred and fifty feet, and two hundred and ten feet in -length. - -The trunk is a round, delicately tapered shaft with finely furrowed -purplish-brown bark, usually free of limbs for a hundred feet or more. -The top is furnished with long and comparatively slender branches, -which sweep gracefully downward and outward, feathered with short -tasseled branchlets, and divided only at the ends, forming a palmlike -crown fifty to seventy-five feet wide, but without the monotonous -uniformity of palm crowns or of the spires of most conifers. The old -trees are as tellingly varied and picturesque as oaks. No two are -alike, and we are tempted to stop and admire every one we come to, -whether as it stands silent in the calm balsam-scented sunshine or -waving in accord with enthusiastic storms. The leaves are about three -or four inches long, in clusters of five, finely tempered, bright -lively green, and radiant. The flowers are but little larger than those -of the dwarf pine, and far less showy. The immense cylindrical cones, -fifteen to twenty or even twenty-four inches long and three in -diameter, hang singly or in clusters, like ornamental tassels, at the -ends of the long branches, green, flushed with purple on the sunward -side. Like those of almost all the pines they ripen in the autumn of -the second season from the flower, and the seeds of all that have -escaped the Indians, bears, and squirrels take wing and fly to their -places. Then the cones become still more effective as ornaments, for by -the spreading of the scales the diameter is nearly doubled, and the -color changes to a rich brown. They remain on the tree the following -winter and summer; therefore few fertile trees are ever found without -them. Nor even after they fall is the beauty work of these grand cones -done, for they make a fine show on the flowery, needle-strewn ground. -The wood is pale yellow, fine in texture, and deliciously fragrant. The -sugar, which gives name to the tree, exudes from the heart wood on -wounds made by fire or the axe, and forms irregular crisp white -candy-like masses. To the taste of most people it is as good as maple -sugar, though it cannot be eaten in large quantities. - -No traveler, whether a tree lover or not, will ever forget his first -walk in a sugar-pine forest. The majestic crowns approaching one -another make a glorious canopy, through the feathery arches of which -the sunbeams pour, silvering the needles and gilding the stately -columns and the ground into a scene of enchantment. - -The yellow pine (_Pinus ponderosa_) is surpassed in size and nobleness -of port only by its kingly companion. Full-grown trees in the main -forest where it is associated with the sugar pine, are about one -hundred and seventy-five feet high, with a diameter of five to six -feet, though much larger specimens may easily be found. The largest I -ever measured was little over eight feet in diameter four feet above -the ground, and two hundred and twenty feet high. Where there is plenty -of sunshine and other conditions are favorable, it is a massive -symmetrical spire, formed of a strong straight shaft clad with -innumerable branches, which are divided again and again into stout -branchlets laden with bright shining needles and green or purple cones. -Where the growth is at all close half or more of the trunk is -branchless. The species attains its greatest size and most majestic -form in open groves on the deep, well-drained soil of lake basins at an -elevation of about four thousand feet. There nearly all the old trees -are over two hundred feet high, and the heavy, leafy, much-divided -branches sumptuously clothe the trunk almost to the ground. Such trees -are easily climbed, and in going up the winding stairs of knotty limbs -to the top you will gain a most telling and memorable idea of the -height, the richness and intricacy of the branches, and the marvelous -abundance and beauty of the long shining elastic foliage. In tranquil -weather, you will see the firm outstanding needles in calm content, -shimmering and throwing off keen minute rays of light like lances of -ice; but when heavy winds are blowing, the strong towers bend and wave -in the blast with eager wide-awake enthusiasm, and every tree in the -grove glows and flashes in one mass of white sunfire. - -[Illustration: Yellow Pine (Yosemite Valley Form).] - -Both the yellow and sugar pines grow rapidly on good soil where they -are not crowded. At the age of a hundred years they are about two feet -in diameter and a hundred or more high. They are then very handsome, -though very unlike: the sugar pine, lithe, feathery, closely clad with -ascending branches; the yellow, open, showing its axis from the ground -to the top, its whorled branches but little divided as yet, spreading -and turning up at the ends with magnificent tassels of long stout -bright needles, the terminal shoot with its leaves being often three or -four feet long and a foot and a half wide, the most hopeful looking and -the handsomest tree-top in the woods. But instead of increasing, like -its companion, in wildness and individuality of form with age, it -becomes more evenly and compactly spiry. The bark is usually very -thick, four to six inches at the ground, and arranged in large plates, -some of them on the lower part of the trunk four or five feet long and -twelve to eighteen inches wide, forming a strong defense against fire. -The leaves are in threes, and from three inches to a foot long. The -flowers appear in May: the staminate pink or brown, in conspicuous -clusters two or three inches wide; the pistillate crimson, a fourth of -an inch wide, and mostly hidden among the leaves on the tips of the -branchlets. The cones vary from about three to ten inches in length, -two to five in width, and grow in sessile outstanding clusters near the -ends of the upturned branchlets. - -Being able to endure fire and hunger and many climates this grand tree -is widely distributed: eastward from the coast across the broad Rocky -Mountain ranges to the Black Hills of Dakota, a distance of more than a -thousand miles, and southward from British Columbia, near latitude 51°, -to Mexico, about fifteen hundred miles. South of the Columbia River it -meets the sugar pine, and accompanies it all the way down along the -Coast and Cascade mountains and the Sierra and southern ranges to the -mountains of the peninsula of Lower California, where they find their -southmost homes together. Pinus ponderosa is extremely variable, and -much bother it gives botanists who try to catch and confine the -unmanageable proteus in two or a dozen species,—Jeffreyi, deflexa, -Apacheca latifolia, etc. But in all its wanderings, in every form, it -manifests noble strength. Clad in thick bark like a warrior in mail, it -extends its bright ranks over all the high ranges of the wild side of -the continent: flourishes in the drenching fog and rain of the northern -coast at the level of the sea, in the snow-laden blasts of the -mountains, and the white glaring sunshine of the interior plateaus and -plains, on the borders of mirage-haunted deserts, volcanoes, and lava -beds, waving its bright plumes in hot winds undaunted, blooming every -year for centuries, and tossing big ripe cones among the cinders and -ashes of nature’s hearths. - -The Douglas spruce grows with the great pines, especially on the cool -north sides of ridges and cañons, and is here nearly as large as the -yellow pine, but less abundant. The wood is strong and tough, the bark -thick and deeply furrowed, and on vigorous, quick-growing trees the -stout, spreading branches are covered with innumerable slender, swaying -sprays, handsomely clothed with short leaves. The flowers are about -three fourths of an inch in length, red or greenish, not so showy as -the pendulous bracted cones. But in June and July, when the young -bright yellow leaves appear, the entire tree seems to be covered with -bloom. - -It is this grand tree that forms the famous forests of western Oregon, -Washington, and the adjacent coast regions of British Columbia, where -it attains its greatest size and is most abundant, making almost pure -forests over thousands of square miles, dark and close and almost -inaccessible, many of the trees towering with straight, imperceptibly -tapered shafts to a height of three hundred feet, their heads together -shutting out the light,—one of the largest, most widely distributed, -and most important of all the Western giant. - -The incense cedar (_Libocedrus decurrens_), when full grown, is a -magnificent tree, one hundred and twenty to nearly two hundred feet -high, five to eight and occasionally twelve feet in diameter, with -cinnamon-colored bark and warm yellow-green foliage, and in general -appearance like an arbor vitæ. It is distributed through the main -forest from an elevation of three to six thousand feet, and in -sheltered portions of cañons on the warm sides to seven thousand five -hundred. In midwinter, when most trees are asleep, it puts forth its -flowers. The pistillate are pale green and inconspicuous; but the -staminate are yellow, about one fourth of an inch long, and are -produced in myriads, tingeing all the branches with gold, and making -the tree as it stands in the snow look like a gigantic goldenrod. -Though scattered rather sparsely amongst its companions in the open -woods, it is seldom out of sight, and its bright brown shafts and warm -masses of plumy foliage make a striking feature of the landscape. While -young and growing fast in an open situation no other tree of its size -in the park forms so exactly tapered a pyramid. The branches, outspread -in flat plumes and beautifully fronded, sweep gracefully downward and -outward, except those near the top, which aspire; the lowest droop to -the ground, overlapping one another, shedding off rain and snow, and -making fine tents for storm-bound mountaineers and birds. In old age it -becomes irregular and picturesque, mostly from accidents: running -fires, heavy wet snow breaking the branches, lightning shattering the -top, compelling it to try to make new summits out of side branches, -etc. Still it frequently lives more than a thousand years, invincibly -beautiful, and worthy its place beside the Douglas spruce and the great -pines. - -This unrivaled forest is still further enriched by two majestic silver -firs, Abies magnifica and Abies concolor, bands of which come down from -the main fir belt by cool shady ridges and glens. Abies magnifica is -the noblest of its race, growing on moraines, at an elevation of seven -thousand to eight thousand five hundred feet above the sea, to a height -of two hundred or two hundred and fifty feet, and five to seven in -diameter; and with these noble dimensions there is a richness and -symmetry and perfection of finish not to be found in any other tree in -the Sierra. The branches are whorled, in fives mostly, and stand out -from the straight red purple bole in level or, on old trees, in -drooping collars, every branch regularly pinnated like fern fronds, and -clad with silvery needles, making broad plumes singularly rich and -sumptuous. - -The flowers are in their prime about the middle of June: the staminate -red, growing on the underside of the branchlets in crowded profusion, -giving a rich color to nearly all the tree; the pistillate greenish -yellow tinged with pink, standing erect on the upper side of the -topmost branches; while the tufts of young leaves, about as brightly -colored as those of the Douglas spruce, push out their fragrant brown -buds a few weeks later, making another grand show. - -The cones mature in a single season from the flowers. When full grown -they are about six to eight inches long, three or four in diameter, -blunt, massive, cylindrical, greenish gray in color, covered with a -fine silvery down, and beaded with transparent balsam, very rich and -precious-looking, standing erect like casks on the topmost branches. If -possible, the inside of the cone is still more beautiful. The scales -and bracts are tinged with red, and the seed wings are purple with -bright iridescence. - -Abies concolor, the white silver fir, grows best about two thousand -feet lower than the magnifica. It is nearly as large, but the branches -are less regularly pinnated and whorled, the leaves are longer, and -instead of standing out around the branchlets or turning up and -clasping them they are mostly arranged in two horizontal or ascending -rows, and the cones are less than half as large. The bark of the -magnifica is reddish purple and closely furrowed, that of the concolor -is gray and widely furrowed,—a noble pair, rivaled only by the Abies -grandis, amabilis, and nobilis of the forests of Oregon, Washington, -and the Northern California Coast Range. But none of these northern -species form pure forests that in extent and beauty approach those of -the Sierra. - -The seeds of the conifers are curiously formed and colored, white, -brown, purple, plain or spotted like birds eggs, and expecting the -juniper they are all handsomely and ingeniously winged with reference -to their distribution. They are a sort of cunningly devised flying -machines,—one-winged birds, birds with but one feather,—and they take -but one flight, all save those which, after flying from the cone-nest -in calm weather, chance to alight on branches where they have to wait -for a wind. And though these seed wings are intended for only a -moment’s use, they are as thoughtfully colored and fashioned as the -wings of birds, and require from one to two seasons to grow. Those of -the pine, fir, hemlock, and spruce are curved in such manner that, in -being dragged through the air by the seeds, they are made to revolve, -whirling the seeds in a close spiral, and sustaining them long enough -to allow the winds to carry them to considerable distances,—a style of -flying full of quick merry motion, strikingly contrasted to the sober -dignified sailing of seeds on tufts of feathery pappus. Surely no -merrier adventurers ever set out to seek their fortunes. Only in the -fir woods are large flocks seen; for, unlike the cones of the pine, -spruce, hemlock, etc., which let the seeds escape slowly, one or two at -a time, by spreading the scales, the fir cones when ripe fall to -pieces, and let nearly all go at once in favorable weather. All along -the Sierra for hundreds of miles, on dry breezy autumn days, the sunny -spaces in the woods among the colossal spires are in a whirl with these -shining purplewinged wanderers, notwithstanding the harvesting -squirrels have been working at the top of their speed for weeks trying -to cut off every cone before the seeds were ready to swarm and fly. -Sequoia seeds have flat wings, and glint and glance in their flight -like a boy’s kite. The dispersal of juniper seeds is effected by the -plum and cherry plan of hiring birds at the cost of their board, and -thus obtaining the use of a pair of extra good wings. - -Above the great fir belt, and below the ragged beds and fringes of the -dwarf pine, stretch the broad dark forests of Pinus contorta, var. -Murrayana, usually called tamarack pine. On broad fields of moraine -material it forms nearly pure forests at an elevation of about eight or -nine thousand feet above the sea, where it is a small, well -proportioned tree, fifty or sixty feet high and one or two in diameter, -with thin gray bark, crooked much-divided straggling branches, short -needles in clusters of two, bright yellow and crimson flowers, and -small prickly cones. The very largest I ever measured was ninety feet -in height, and a little over six feet in diameter four feet above the -ground. On moist well-drained soil in sheltered hollows along -streamsides it grows tall and slender with ascending branches, making -graceful arrowy spires fifty to seventy-five feet high, with stems only -five or six inches thick. - -The most extensive forest of this pine in the park lies to the north of -the Big Tuolumne Meadows,—a famous deer pasture and hunting ground of -the Mono Indians. For miles over wide moraine beds there is an even, -nearly pure growth, broken only by glacier meadows, around which the -trees stand in trim array, their sharp spires showing to fine advantage -both in green flowery summer and white winter. On account of the -closeness of its growth in many places, and the thinness and gumminess -of its bark, it is easily killed by running fires, which work -wide-spread destruction in its ranks; but a new generation rises -quickly from the ashes, for all or a part of its seeds are held in -reserve for a year or two or many years, and when the tree is killed -the cones open and the seeds are scattered over the burned ground like -those of the attenuata. - -Next to the mountain hemlock and the dwarf pine this species best -endures burial in heavy snow, while in braving hunger and cold on rocky -ridgetops it is not surpassed by any. It is distributed from Alaska to -Southern California, and inland across the Rocky Mountains, taking many -forms in accordance with demands of climate, soil, rivals, and enemies; -growing patiently in bogs and on sand dunes beside the sea where it is -pelted with salt scud, on high snowy mountains and down in the throats -of extinct volcanoes; springing up with invincible vigor after every -devastating fire and extending its conquests farther. - -The sturdy storm-enduring red cedar (_Juniperus occidentalis_) delights -to dwell on the tops of granite domes and ridges and glacier pavements -of the upper pine belt, at an elevation of seven to ten thousand feet, -where it can get plenty of sunshine and snow and elbow-room without -encountering quick-growing overshadowing rivals. They never make -anything like a forest, seldom come together even in groves, but stand -out separate and independent in the wind, clinging by slight joints to -the rock, living chiefly on snow and thin air, and maintaining tough -health on this diet for two thousand years or more, every feature and -gesture expressing steadfast dogged endurance. The largest are usually -about six or eight feet in diameter, and fifteen or twenty in height. A -very few are ten feet in diameter, and on isolated moraine heaps forty -to sixty feet in height. Many are mere stumps, as broad as high, broken -by avalanches and lightning, picturesquely tufted with dense gray -scalelike foliage, and giving no hint of dying. The staminate flowers -are like those of the libocedrus, but smaller; the pistillate are -inconspicuous. The wood is red, fine-grained, and fragrant; the bark -bright cinnamon and red, and in thrifty trees is strikingly braided and -reticulated, flaking off in thin lustrous ribbons, which the Indians -used to weave into matting and coarse cloth. These brown unshakable -pillars, standing solitary on polished pavements with bossy masses of -foliage in their arms, are exceedingly picturesque, and never fail to -catch the eye of the artist. They seem sole survivors of some ancient -race, wholly unacquainted with their neighbors. - -I have spent a good deal of time, trying to determine their age, but on -account of dry rot which honeycombs most of the old ones, I never got a -complete count of the largest. Some are undoubtedly more than two -thousand years old; for though on good moraine soil they grow about as -fast as oaks, on bare pavements and smoothly glaciated overswept -granite ridges in the dome region they grow extremely slowly. One on -the Starr King ridge, only two feet eleven inches in diameter, was -eleven hundred and forty years old. Another on the same ridge, only one -foot seven and a half inches in diameter, had reached the age of eight -hundred and thirty-four years. The first fifteen inches from the bark -of a medium-sized tree—six feet in diameter—on the north Tenaya -pavement had eight hundred and fifty-nine layers of wood, or -fifty-seven to the inch. Beyond this the count was stopped by dry rot -and scars of old wounds. The largest I examined was thirty-three feet -in girth, or nearly ten in diameter; and though I failed to get -anything like a complete count, I learned enough from this and many -other specimens to convince me that most of the trees eight to ten feet -thick standing on pavements are more than twenty centuries of age -rather than less. Barring accidents, for all I can see, they would live -forever. When killed, they waste out of existence about as slowly as -granite. Even when overthrown by avalanches, after standing so long, -they refuse to lie at rest, leaning stubbornly on their big elbows as -if anxious to rise, and while a single root holds to the rock putting -forth fresh leaves with a grim never-say-die and never-lie-down -expression. - -As the juniper is the most stubborn and unshakable of trees, the -mountain hemlock (_Tsuga Mertensiana_) is the most graceful and pliant -and sensitive, responding to the slightest touches of the wind. Until -it reaches a height of fifty or sixty feet it is sumptuously clothed -down to the ground with drooping branches, which are divided into -countless delicate waving sprays, grouped and arranged in most -indescribably beautiful ways, and profusely sprinkled with handsome -brown cones. The flowers also are peculiarly beautiful and effective; -the pistillate very dark rich purple; the staminate blue of so fine and -pure a tone that the best azure of the high sky seems to be condensed -in them. - -Though apparently the most delicate and feminine of all the mountain -trees, it grows best where the snow lies deepest, at an elevation of -from nine thousand to nine thousand five hundred feet, in hollows on -the northern slopes of mountains and ridges. But under all -circumstances and conditions of weather and soil, sheltered from the -main currents of the winds or in blank exposure to them, well fed or -starved, it is always singularly graceful in habit. Even at its highest -limit in the park, ten thousand five hundred feet above the sea on -exposed ridgetops, where it crouches and huddles close together in low -thickets like those of the dwarf pine, it still contrives to put forth -its sprays and branches in forms of irrepressible beauty, while on -moist well-drained moraines it displays a perfectly tropical luxuriance -of foliage, flower, and fruit. - -In the first winter storms the snow is oftentimes soft, and lodges in -the dense leafy branches, pressing them down against the trunk, and the -slender drooping axis bends lower and lower as the load increases, -until the top touches the ground and an ornamental arch is made. Then, -as storm succeeds storm and snow is heaped on snow, the whole tree is -at last buried, not again to see the light or move leaf or limb until -set free by the spring thaws in June or July. Not the young saplings -only are thus carefully covered and put to sleep in the whitest of -white beds for five or six months of the year, but trees thirty and -forty feet high. From April to May, then the snow is compacted, you may -ride over the prostrate groves without seeing a single branch or leaf -of them. In the autumn they are full of merry life, when Clark crows, -squirrels, and chipmunks are gathering the abundant crop of seeds while -the deer rest beneath the thick concealing branches. The finest grove -in the park is near Mount Conness, and the trail from the Tuolumne soda -springs to the mountain runs through it. Many of the trees in this -grove are three to four or five feet in diameter and about a hundred -feet high. - -The mountain hemlock is widely distributed from near the south -extremity of the high Sierra northward along the Cascade Mountains of -Oregon and Washington and the coast ranges of British Columbia to -Alaska, where it was first discovered in 1827. Its northmost limit, so -far as I have observed, is in the icy fiords of Prince William’s Sound -in latitude 61°, where it forms pure forests at the level of the sea, -growing tall and majestic on the banks of the great glaciers, waving in -accord with the mountain winds and the thunder of the falling icebergs. -Here as in the Sierra it is ineffably beautiful, the very loveliest -evergreen in America. - -Of the round-headed dicotyledonous trees in the park the most -influential are the black and goldcup oaks. They occur in some parts of -the main forest belt, scattered among the big pines like a heavier -chaparral, but form extensive groves and reach perfect development only -in the Yosemite valleys and flats of the main cañons. The California -black oak (_Quercus Californica_) is one of the largest and most -beautiful of the Western oaks, attaining under favorable conditions a -height of sixty to a hundred feet, with a trunk three to seven feet in -diameter, wide-spreading picturesque branches, and smooth lively green -foliage handsomely scalloped, purple in the spring, yellow and red in -autumn. It grows best in sunny open groves on ground covered with -ferns, chokecherry, brier rose, rubus, mints, goldenrods, etc. Few, if -any, of the famous oak groves of Europe, however extensive, surpass -these in the size and strength and bright, airy beauty of the trees, -the color and fragrance of the vegetation beneath them, the quality of -the light that fills their leafy arches, and in the grandeur of the -surrounding scenery. The finest grove in the park is in one of the -little Yosemite valleys of the Tuolumne Cañon, a few miles above -Hetch-Hetchy. - -The mountain live-oak, or goldcup oak (_Quercus chrysolepis_), forms -extensive groves on earthquake and avalanche taluses and terraces in -cañons and Yosemite valleys, from about three to five thousand feet -above the sea. In tough, sturdy, unwedgeable strength this is the oak -of oaks. In general appearance it resembles the great live-oak of the -Southern states. It has pale gray dark, a short, uneven, heavily -buttressed trunk which usually divides a few feet above the ground into -strong wide-reaching limbs, forming noble arches, and ending in an -intricate maze of small branches and sprays, the outer ones frequently -drooping in long tresses to the ground like those of the weeping -willow, covered with small simple polished leaves, making a canopy -broad and bossy, on which the sunshine falls in glorious brightness. -The acorn cups are shallow, thick-walled, and covered with yellow fuzzy -dust. The flowers appear in May and June with a profusion of pollened -tresses, followed by the bronze-colored young leaves. - -[Illustration: A California Life-Oak.] - -No tree in the park is a better measure of altitude. In cañons, at an -elevation of four thousand, feet you may easily find a tree six or -eight feet in diameter; and at the head of a side cañon, three thousand -feet higher, up which you can climb in less than two hours, you find -the knotty giant dwarfed to a slender shrub, with leaves like those of -huckleberry bushes, still bearing acorns, and seemingly contented, -forming dense patches of chaparral, on the top of which you may make -your bed and sleep softly like a Highlander in heather. About a -thousand feet higher it is still smaller, making fringes about a foot -high around boulders and along seams in pavements and the brows of -cañons, giving hand-holds here and there on cliffs hard to climb. The -largest I have measured were from twenty-five to twenty-seven feet in -girth, fifty to sixty feet high, and the spread of the limbs was about -double the height. - -The principal riverside trees are poplar, alder, willow, broad-leaved -maple, and Nuttall’s flowering dogwood. The poplar (_Populus -trichocarpa_), often called balm of Gilead from the gum on its buds, is -a tall, stately tree, towering above its companions and gracefully -embowering the banks of the main streams at an elevation of about four -thousand feet. Its abundant foliage turns bright yellow in the fall, -and the Indian-summer sunshine sifts through it in delightful tones -over the slow-gliding waters when they are at their lowest ebb. - -The flowering dogwood is brighter still in these brooding days, for -every branch of its broad head is then a brilliant crimson flame. In -the spring, when the streams are in flood, it is the whitest of trees, -white as a snow bank with its magnificent flowers four to eight inches -in width, making a wonderful show, and drawing swarms of moths and -butterflies. - -The broad-leaved maple is usually found in the coolest boulder-choked -cañons, where the streams are gray and white with foam, over which it -spreads its branches in beautiful arches from bank to bank, forming -leafy tunnels full of soft green light and spray,—favorite homes of the -water ousel. Around the glacier lakes, two or three thousand feet -higher, the common aspen grows in fringing lines and groves which are -brilliantly colored in autumn, reminding you of the color glory of the -Eastern woods. - -Scattered here and there or in groves the botanist will find a few -other trees, mostly small,—the mountain mahogany, cherry, chestnut-oak, -laurel, and nutmeg. The California nutmeg (_Tumion Californicum_) is a -handsome evergreen, belonging to the yew family, with pale bark, -prickly leaves, fruit like a green-gage plum, and seed like a nutmeg. -One of the best groves of it in the park is at the Cascades below -Yosemite. - -But the noble oaks and all these rock-shading, stream-embowering trees -are as nothing amid the vast abounding billowy forests of conifers. -During my first years in the Sierra I was ever calling on everybody -within reach to admire them, but I found no one half warm enough until -Emerson came. I had read his essays, and felt sure that of all men he -would best interpret the sayings of these noble mountains and trees. -Nor was my faith weakened when I met him in Yosemite. He seemed as -serene as a sequoia, his head in the empyrean; and forgetting his age, -plans, duties, ties of every sort, I proposed an immeasurable camping -trip back in the heart of the mountains. He seemed anxious to go, but -considerately mentioned his party. I said: “Never mind. The mountains -are calling; run away, and let plans and parties and dragging lowland -duties all ‘gang tapsal-teerie’. We’ll go up a cañon singing your own -song, ‘Good-by, proud world! I’m going home,’ in divine earnest. Up -there lies a new heaven and a new earth; let us go to the show.” But -alas, it was too late,—too near the sundown of his life. The shadows -were growing long, and he leaned on his friends. His party, full of -indoor philosophy, failed to see the natural beauty and fullness of -promise of my wild plan, and laughed at it in good-natured ignorance, -as if it were necessarily amusing to imagine that Boston people might -be led to accept Sierra manifestations of God at the price of rough -camping. Anyhow, they would have none of it, and held Mr. Emerson to -the hotels and trails. - -After spending only five tourist days in Yosemite he was led away, but -I saw him two days more; for I was kindly invited to go with the party -as far as the Mariposa big trees. I told Mr. Emerson that I would -gladly go to the sequoias with him, if he would camp in the grove. He -consented heartily, and I felt sure that we would have at least one -good wild memorable night around a sequoia camp-fire. Next day we rode -through the magnificent forests of the Merced basin, and I kept calling -his attention to the sugar pines, quoting his wood-notes, “Come listen -what the pine tree saith,” etc., pointing out the noblest as kings and -high priests, the most eloquent and commanding preachers of all the -mountain forests, stretching forth their century-old arms in -benediction over the worshiping congregations crowded about them. He -gazed in devout admiration, saying but little, while his fine smile -faded away. - -Early in the afternoon, when we reached Clark’s Station, I was -surprised to see the party dismount. And when I asked if we were not -going up into the grove to camp they said: “No; it would never do to -lie out in the night air. Mr. Emerson might take cold; and you know, -Mr. Muir, that would be a dreadful thing.” In vain I urged, that only -in homes and hotels were colds caught, that nobody ever was known to -take cold camping in these woods, that there was not a single cough or -sneeze in all the Sierra. Then I pictured the big climate-changing, -inspiring fire I would make, praised the beauty and fragrance of -sequoia flame, told how the great trees would stand about us -transfigured in the purple light, while the stars looked down between -the great domes; ending by urging them to come on and make an immortal -Emerson night of it. But the house habit was not to be overcome, nor -the strange dread of pure night air, though it is only cooled day air -with a little dew in it. So the carpet dust and unknowable reeks were -preferred. And to think of this being a Boston choice! Sad commentary -on culture and the glorious transcendentalism. - -Accustomed to reach whatever place I started for, I was going up the -mountain alone to camp, and wait the coming of the party next day. But -since Emerson was so soon to vanish, I concluded to stop with him. He -hardly spoke a word all the evening, yet it was a great pleasure simply -to be near him, warming in the light of his face as at a fire. In the -morning we rode up the trail through a noble forest of pine and fir -into the famous Mariposa Grove, and stayed an hour or two, mostly in -ordinary tourist fashion,—looking at the biggest giants, measuring them -with a tape line, riding through prostrate fire-bored trunks, etc., -though Mr. Emerson was alone occasionally, sauntering about as if under -a spell. As we walked through a fine group, he quoted, “There were -giants in those days,” recognizing the antiquity of the race. To -commemorate his visit, Mr. Galen Clark, the guardian of the grove, -selected the finest of the unnamed trees and requested him to give it a -name. He named it Samoset, after the New England sachem, as the best -that occurred to him. - -The poor bit of measured time was soon spent, and while the saddles -were being adjusted I again urged Emerson to stay. “You are yourself a -sequoia,” I said. “Stop and get acquainted with your big brethren.” But -he was past his prime, and was now as a child in the hands of his -affectionate but sadly civilized friends, who seemed as full of -old-fashioned conformity as of bold intellectual independence. It was -the afternoon of the day and the afternoon of his life, and his course -was now westward down all the mountains into the sunset. The party -mounted and rode away in wondrous contentment, apparently, tracing the -trail through ceanothus and dogwood bushes, around the bases of the big -trees, up the slope of the sequoia basin, and over the divide. I -followed to the edge of the grove. Emerson lingered in the rear of the -train, and when he reached the top of the ridge, after all the rest of -the party were over and out of sight, he turned his horse, took off his -hat and waved me a last good-by. I felt lonely, so sure had I been that -Emerson of all men would be the quickest to see the mountains and sing -them. Gazing awhile on the spot where he vanished, I sauntered back -into the heart of the grove, made a bed of sequoia plumes and ferns by -the side of a stream, gathered a store of firewood, and then walked -about until sundown. The birds, robins, thrushes, warblers, etc., that -had kept out of sight, came about me, now that all was quiet, and made -cheer. After sundown I built a great fire, and as usual had it all to -myself. And though lonesome for the first time in these forests, I -quickly took heart again,—the trees had not gone to Boston, nor the -birds; and as I sat by the fire, Emerson was still with me in spirit, -though I never again saw him in the flesh. He sent books and wrote, -cheering me on; advised me not to stay too long in solitude. Soon he -hoped that my guardian angel would intimate that my probation was at a -close. Then I was to roll up my herbariums, sketches, and poems (though -I never knew I had any poems), and come to his house; and when I tired -of him and his humble surroundings, he would show me to better people. - -But there remained many a forest to wander through, many a mountain and -glacier to cross, before I was to see his Wachusett and Monadnock, -Boston and Concord. It was seventeen years after our parting on the -Wawona ridge that I stood beside his grave under a pine tree on the -hill above Sleepy Hollow. He had gone to higher Sierras, and, as I -fancied, was again waving his hand in friendly recognition. - - - - -CHAPTER V -The Wild Gardens of the Yosemite Park - - -When California was wild, it was the floweriest part of the continent. -And perhaps it is so still, notwithstanding the lowland flora has in -great part vanished before the farmers’ flocks and ploughs. So -exuberant was the bloom of the main valley of the state, it would still -have been extravagantly rich had ninety-nine out of every hundred of -its crowded flowers been taken away,—far flowerier than the beautiful -prairies of Illinois and Wisconsin, or the savannas of the Southern -states. In the early spring it was a smooth, evenly planted sheet of -purple and gold, one mass of bloom more than four hundred miles long, -with scarce a green leaf in sight. - -Still more interesting is the rich and wonderfully varied flora of the -mountains. Going up the Sierra across the Yosemite Park to the Summit -peaks, thirteen thousand feet high, you find as much variety in the -vegetation as in the scenery. Change succeeds change with bewildering -rapidity, for in a few days you pass through as many climates and -floras, ranged one above another, as you would in walking along the -lowlands to the Arctic Ocean. - -And to the variety due to climate there is added that caused by the -topographical features of the different regions. Again, the vegetation -is profoundly varied by the peculiar distribution of the soil and -moisture. Broad and deep moraines, ancient and well weathered, are -spread over the lower regions, rough and comparatively recent and -unweathered moraines over the middle and upper regions, alternating -with bare ridges and domes and glacier-polished pavements, the highest -in the icy recesses of the peaks, raw and shifting, some of them being -still in process of formation, and of course scarcely planted as yet. - -Besides these main soilbeds there are many others comparatively small, -reformation of both glacial and weather soils, sifted, sorted out, and -deposited by running water and the wind on gentle slopes and in all -sorts of hollows, potholes, valleys, lake basins, etc.,—some in dry and -breezy situations, others sheltered and kept moist by lakes, streams, -and waftings of waterfall spray, making comfortable homes for plants -widely varied. In general, glaciers give soil to high and low places -almost alike, while water currents are dispensers of special blessings, -constantly tending to make the ridges poorer and the valleys richer. -Glaciers mingle all kinds of material together, mud particles and -boulders fifty feet in diameter: water, whether in oozing currents or -passionate torrents, discriminates both in the size and shape of the -material it carries. Glacier mud is the finest meal ground for any use -in the Park, and its transportation into lakes and as foundations for -flowery garden meadows was the first work that the young rivers were -called on to do. Bogs occur only in shallow alpine basins where the -climate is cool enough for sphagnum, and where the surrounding -topographical conditions are such that they are safe, even in the most -copious rains and thaws, from the action of flood currents capable of -carrying rough gravel and sand, but where the water supply is -nevertheless constant. The mosses dying from year to year gradually -give rise to those rich spongy peat-beds in which so many of our best -alpine plants delight to dwell. The strong winds that occasionally -sweep the high Sierra play a more important part in the distribution of -special soil-beds than is at first sight recognized, carrying forward -considerable quantities of sand gravel, flakes of mica, etc., and -depositing them in fields and beds beautifully ruffled and embroidered -and adapted to the wants of some of the hardiest and handsomest of the -alpine shrubs and flowers. The more resisting of the smooth, solid, -glacier-polished domes and ridges can hardly be said to have any soil -at all, while others beginning to give way to the weather are thinly -sprinkled with coarse angular gravel. Some of them are full of -crystals, which as the surface of the rock is decomposed are set free, -covering the summits and rolling down the sides in minute avalanches, -giving rise to zones and beds of crystalline soil. In some instances -the various crystals occur only here and there, sprinkled in the gray -gravel like daisies in a sod; but in others half or more is made up of -crystals, and the glow of the imbedded or loosely strewn gems and their -colored gleams and glintings at different times of the day when the sun -is shining might well exhilarate the flowers that grow among them, and -console them for being so completely outshone. - -These radiant sheets and belts and dome-encircling rings of crystals -are the most beautiful of all the Sierra soil-beds, while the huge -taluses ranged along the walls of the great cañons are the deepest and -roughest. Instead of being slowly weathered and accumulated from the -cliffs overhead like common taluses, they were all formed suddenly and -simultaneously by an earthquake that occurred at least three centuries -ago. Though thus hurled into existence at a single effort, they are the -least changeable and destructible of all the soil formations in the -range. Excepting those which were launched directly into the channels -of rivers, scarcely one of their wedged and interlocked boulders has -been moved since the day of their creation, and though mostly made up -of huge angular blocks of granite, many of them from ten to fifty feet -cube, trees and shrubs make out to live and thrive on them, and even -delicate herbaceous plants,—draperia, collomia, zauschneria, -etc.,—soothing their rugged features with gardens and groves. In -general views of the Park scarce a hint is given of its floral wealth. -Only by patiently, lovingly sauntering about in it will you discover -that it is all more or less flowery, the forests as well as the open -spaces, and the mountain tops and rugged slopes around the glaciers as -well as the sunny meadows. - -[Illustration: A Yosemite Cañon Cliff (El Capitan).] - -Even the majestic cañon cliffs, seemingly absolutely flawless for -thousands of feet and necessarily doomed to eternal sterility, are -cheered with happy flowers on invisible niches and ledges wherever the -slightest grip for a root can be found; as if Nature, like an -enthusiastic gardener, could not resist the temptation to plant flowers -everywhere. On high, dry rocky summits and plateaus, most of the plants -are so small they make but little show even when in bloom. But in the -opener parts of the main forests, the meadows, stream banks, and the -level floors of Yosemite valleys the vegetation is exceedingly rich in -flowers, some of the lilies and larkspurs being from eight to ten feet -high. And on the upper meadows there are miles of blue gentians and -daisies, white and blue violets; and great breadths of rosy purple -heathworts covering rocky moraines with a marvelous abundance of bloom, -enlivened by humming-birds, butterflies and a host of other insects as -beautiful as flowers. In the lower and middle regions, also, many of -the most extensive beds of bloom are in great part made by -shrubs,—adenostoma, manzanita, ceanothus, chamæbatia, cherry, rose, -rubus, spiræa, shad, laurel, azalea, honeysuckle, calycanthus, ribes, -philadelphus, and many others, the sunny spaces about them bright and -fragrant with mints, lupines, geraniums, lilies, daisies, goldenrods, -castilleias, gilias, pentstemons, etc. - -Adenostoma fasciculatum is a handsome, hardy, heathlike shrub belonging -to the rose family, flourishing on dry ground below the pine belt, and -often covering areas of twenty or thirty square miles of rolling -sun-beaten hills and dales with a dense, dark green, almost -impenetrable chaparral, which in the distance looks like Scotch -heather. It is about six to eight feet high, has slender elastic -branches, red shreddy bark, needle-shaped leaves, and small white -flowers in panicles about a foot long, making glorious sheets of -fragrant bloom in the spring. To running fires it offers no resistance, -vanishing with the few other flowery shrubs and vines and liliaceous -plants that grow with it about as fast as dry grass, leaving nothing -but ashes. But with wonderful vigor it rises again and again in fresh -beauty from the root, and calls back to its hospitable mansions the -multitude of wild animals that had to flee for their lives. - -As soon as you enter the pine woods you meet the charming little -Chamæbatia foliolosa, one of the handsomest of the Park shrubs, next in -fineness and beauty to the heathworts of the alpine regions. Like -adenostoma it belongs to the rose family, is from twelve to eighteen -inches high, has brown bark, slender branches, white flowers like those -of the strawberry, and thricepinnate glandular, yellow-green leaves, -finely cut and fernlike, as if unusual pains had been taken in -fashioning them. Where there is plenty of sunshine at an elevation of -three thousand to six thousand feet, it makes a close, continuous -growth, leaf touching leaf over hundreds of acres, spreading a handsome -mantle beneath the yellow and sugar pines. Here and there a lily rises -above it, an arching bunch of tall bromus, and at wide intervals a -rosebush or clump of ceanothus or manzanita, but there are no rough -weeds mixed with it,—no roughness of any sort. - -Perhaps the most widely distributed of all the Park shrubs and of the -Sierra in general, certainly the most strikingly characteristic, are -the many species of manzanita (_Arctostaphylos_). Though one species, -the Uva-ursa, or bearberry,—the kinikinic of the Western -Indians,—extends around the world, the greater part of them are -California. They are mostly from four to ten feet high, round-headed, -with innumerable branches, brown or red bark, pale green leaves set on -edge, and a rich profusion of small, pink, narrow-throated, urn-shaped -flowers like those of arbutus. The branches are knotty, zigzaggy, and -about as rigid as bones, and the bark is so thin and smooth, both trunk -and branches seem to be naked, looking as if they had been peeled, -polished, and painted red. The wood also is red, hard, and heavy. - -These grand bushes seldom fail to engage the attention of the traveler -and hold it, especially if he has to pass through closely planted -fields of them such as grow on moraine slopes at an elevation of about -seven thousand feet, and in cañons choked with earthquake boulders; for -they make the most uncompromisingly stubborn of all chaparral. Even -bears take pains to go around the stoutest patches of possible, and -when compelled to force a passage leave tufts of hair and broken -branches to mark their way, while less skillful mountaineers under like -circumstances sometimes lose most of their clothing and all their -temper. - -The manzanitas like sunny ground. On warm ridges and sandy flats at the -foot of sun-beaten cañon cliffs, some of the tallest specimens have -well-defined trunks six inches of a foot or more thick, and stand apart -in orchard-like growths which in bloomtime are among the finest garden -sights in the Park. The largest I ever saw had a round, slightly fluted -trunk nearly four feet in diameter, which at a height of only eighteen -inches from the ground dissolved into a wilderness of branches, rising -and spreading to a height and width of about twelve feet. In spring -every bush over all the mountains is covered with rosy flowers, in -autumn with fruit. The red pleasantly acid berries, about the size of -peas, are like little apples, and the hungry mountaineer is glad to eat -them, though half their bulk is made up of hard seeds. Indians, bears, -coyotes, foxes, birds, and other mountain people live on them for -months. - -Associated with manzanita there are six or seven species of ceanothus, -flowery, fragrant, and altogether delightful shrubs, growing in -glorious abundance in the forests on sunny or half-shaded ground, up to -an elevation of about nine thousand feet above the sea. In the -sugar-pine woods the most beautiful species is C. integerrimus, often -called California lilac, or deer brush. It is five or six feet high, -smooth, slender, willowy, with bright foliage and abundance of blue -flowers in close, showy panicles. Two species, prostatus and -procumbens, spread handsome blue-flowered mats and rugs on warm ridges -beneath the pines, and offer delightful beds to the tired mountaineers. -The commonest species, C. cordulatus, is mostly restricted to the -silver fir belt. It is white-flowered and thorny, and makes extensive -thickets of tangled chaparral, far too dense to wade through, and too -deep and loose to walk on, though it is pressed flat every winter by -ten or fifteen feet of snow. - -Above these thorny beds, sometimes mixed with them, a very wild, -red-fruited cherry grows in magnificent tangles, fragrant and white as -snow when in bloom. The fruit is small and rather bitter, not so good -as the black, puckery chokecherry that grows in the cañons, but -thrushes, robins, chipmunks like it. Below the cherry tangles, -chinquapin and goldcup oak spread generous mantles of chaparral, and -with hazel and ribes thickets in adjacent glens help to clothe and -adorn the rocky wilderness, and produce food for the many mouths Nature -has to fill. Azalea occidentalis is the glory of cool streams and -meadows. It is from two to five feet high, has bright green leaves and -a rich profusion of large, fragrant white and yellow flowers, which are -in prime beauty in June, July, and August, according to the elevation -(from three thousand to six thousand feet.) Only the purple-flowered -rhododendron of the redwood forests rivals or surpasses it in superb -abounding bloom. - -[Illustration: California Azaleas.] - -Back a little way from the azalea-bordered streams, a small wild rose -makes thickets, often several acres in extent, deliciously fragrant on -dewy mornings and after showers, the fragrance mingled with the music -of birds nesting in them. And not far from these rose gardens Rubus -Nutkanus covers the ground with broad velvety leaves and pure white -flowers as large as those of its neighbor the rose, and finer in -texture; followed at the end of summer by soft red berries good for -bird and beast and man also. This is the commonest and the most -beautiful of the whole blessed flowery fruity genus. - -The glory of the alpine region in bloomtime are the heathworts, -cassiope, bryanthus, kalmia, and vaccinium, enriched here and there by -the alpine honeysuckle, Lonicera conjugialis, and by the -purple-flowered Primula suffruticosa, the only primrose discovered in -California, and the only shrubby species in the genus. The lowly, -hardy, adventurous cassiope has exceedingly slender creeping branches, -scalelike leaves, and pale pink or white waxen bell flowers. Few -plants, large or small, so well endure hard weather and rough ground -over so great a range. In July it spreads a wavering, interrupted belt -of the loveliest bloom around glacier lakes and meadows and across wild -moory expanses, between roaring streams, all along the Sierra, and -northward beneath cold skies by way of the mountain chains of Oregon, -Washington, British Columbia, and Alaska, to the Arctic regions; -gradually descending, until at the north end of the continent it -reaches the level of the sea; blooming as profusely and at about the -same time on mossy frozen tundras as on the high Sierra moraines. - -Bryanthus, the companion of cassiope, accompanies it as far north as -southeastern Alaska, where together they weave thick plushy beds on -rounded mountain tops above the glaciers. It grows mostly at slightly -lower elevations; the upper margin of what may be called the bryanthus -belt in the Sierra uniting with and overlapping the lower margin of the -cassiope. The wide bell-shaped flowers are bright purple, about three -fourths of an inch in diameter, hundreds to the square yard, the young -branches, mostly erect, being covered with them. No Highlander in -heather enjoys more luxurious rest than the Sierra mountaineer in a bed -of blooming bryanthus. And imagine the show on calm dewy mornings, when -there is a radiant globe in the throat of every flower, and smaller -gems on the needle-shaped leaves, the sunbeams pouring through them. - -In the same wild, cold region the tiny Vaccinium myrtillus, mixed with -kalmia and dwarf willows, spreads thinner carpets, the downpressed -matted leaves profusely sprinkled with pink bells; and on higher sandy -slopes you will find several alpine species of eriogonum with gorgeous -bossy masses of yellow bloom, and the lovely Arctic daisy with many -blessed companions; charming plants, gentle mountaineers, Nature’s -darlings, which seem always the finer the higher and stormier their -homes. - -Many interesting ferns are distributed over the Park from the foothills -to a little above the timber line. The greater number are rock ferns, -pellæa, cheilanthes, polypodium, adiantum, woodsia, cryptogramme, etc., -with small tufted fronds, lining glens and gorges and fringing the -cliffs and moraines. The most important of the larger species are -woodwardia, aspidium, asplenium, and the common pteris. Woodwardia -radicans is a superb fern five to eight feet high, growing in vaselike -clumps where the ground is level, and on slopes in a regular thatch, -frond over frond, like shingles on a roof. Its range in the Park is -from the western boundary up to about five thousand feet, mostly on -benches of the north walls of cañons watered by small outspread -streams. It is far more abundant in the Coast Mountains beneath the -noble redwoods, where it attains a height of ten to twelve feet. The -aspidiums are mostly restricted to the moist parts of the lower -forests, Asplenium filix-fœmina to marshy streams. The hardy, -broad-shouldered Pteris aquilina, the commonest of ferns, grows tall -and graceful on sunny flats and hillsides, at elevations between three -thousand and six thousand feet. Those who know it only in the Eastern -states can form no fair conception of its stately beauty in the -sunshine of the Sierra. On the level sandy floors of Yosemite valleys -it often attains a height of six to eight feet in fields thirty or -forty acres in extent, the magnificent fronds outspread in a nearly -horizontal position, forming a ceiling beneath which one may walk erect -in delightful mellow shade. No other fern does so much for the color -glory of autumn, with its browns and reds and yellows changing and -interblending. Even after lying dead all winter beneath the snow it -spreads a lively brown mantle over the desolate ground, until the young -fronds with a noble display of faith and hope come rolling up into the -light through the midst of the beautiful ruins. A few weeks suffice for -their development, then, gracefully poised each in its place, they -manage themselves in every exigency of weather as if they had passed -through a long course of training. I have seen solemn old sugar pines -thrown into momentary confusion by the sudden onset of a storm, tossing -their arms excitedly as if scarce awake, and wondering what had -happened, but I never noticed surprise or embarrassment in the behavior -of this noble pteris. - -Of five species of pellæa in the Park, the handsome andromedæfolia, -growing in brushy foothills with Adiantum emarginatum, is the largest. -P. Breweri, the hardiest and at the same time the most fragile of the -genus, grows in dense tufts among rocks on storm-beaten mountain sides -along the upper margin of the fern line. It is a charming little fern, -four or five inches high, has shining bronze-colored stalks which are -about as brittle as glass, and pale green pinnate fronds. Its -companions on the lower part of its range are Cryptogramme -acrostichoides and Phegopteris alpestris, the latter soft and tender, -not at all like a rock fern, though it grows on rocks where the snow -lies longest. P. Bridgesii, with blue-green, narrow, simply pinnate -fronds, is about the same size as Breweri and ranks next to it as a -mountaineer, growing in fissures and round boulders on glacier -pavements. About a thousand feet lower we find the smaller and more -abundant P. densa, on ledges and boulder-strewn fissured pavements, -watered until late in summer by oozing currents from snow-banks or thin -outspread streams from moraines, growing in close sods,—its little -bright green triangular tripinnate fronds, about an inch in length, as -innumerable as leaves of grass. P. ornithopus has twice or thrice -pinnate fronds, is dull in color, and dwells on hot rocky hillsides -among chaparral. - -Three species of Cheilanthes,—Californica, gracillima, and myriophylla, -with beautiful two to four pinnate fronds, an inch to five inches long, -adorn the stupendous walls of the cañons, however dry and sheer. The -exceedingly delicate and interesting Californica is rare, the others -abundant at from three thousand to seven thousand feet elevation, and -are often accompanied by the little gold fern, Gymnogramme -triangularis, and rarely by the curious little Botrychium simplex, the -smallest of which are less than an inch high. - -The finest of all the rock ferns is _Adiantum pedatum_, lover of -waterfalls and the lightest waftings of irised spray. No other Sierra -fern is so constant a companion of white spray-covered streams, or -tells so well their wild thundering music. The homes it loves best are -cave-like hollows beside the main falls, where it can float its plumes -on their dewy breath, safely sheltered from the heavy spray-laden -blasts. Many of these moss-lined chambers, so cool, so moist, and -brightly colored with rainbow light, contain thousands of these happy -ferns, clinging to the emerald walls by the slightest holds, reaching -out the most wonderfully delicate fingered fronds on dark glossy -stalks, sensitive, tremulous, all alive, in an attitude of eager -attention; throbbing in unison with every motion and tone of the -resounding waters, compliant to their faintest impulses, moving each -division of the frond separately at times as if fingering the music, -playing on invisible keys. - -Considering the lilies as you go up the mountains, the first you come -to is L. Pardalinum, with large orange-yellow, purple-spotted flowers -big enough for babies bonnets. It is seldom found higher than -thirty-five hundred feet above the sea, grows in magnificent groups of -fifty to a hundred or more, in romantic waterfall dells in the pine -woods shaded by overarching maple and willow, alder and dogwood, with -bushes in front of the embowering trees for a border, and ferns and -sedges in front of the bushes; while the bed of black humus in which -the bulbs are set is carpeted with mosses and liverworts. These richly -furnished lily gardens are the pride of the falls on the lower -tributaries of the Tuolumne and Merced rivers, falls not like those of -Yosemite valleys,—coming from the sky with rock-shaking thunder -tones,—but small, with low, kind voices cheerily singing in calm leafy -bowers, self-contained, keeping their snowy skirts well about them, yet -furnishing plenty of spray for the lilies. - -The Washington lily (_L. Washingtonianum_) is white, deliciously -fragrant, moderate in size, with three to ten flowered racemes. The -largest I ever measured was eight feet high, the raceme two feet long, -with fifty-two flowers, fifteen of them open; the others had faded or -were still in the bud. This famous lily is distributed over the sunny -portions of the sugar-pine woods, never in large garden companies like -pardalinum, but widely scattered, standing up to the waist in dense -ceanothus and manzanita chaparral, waving its lovely flowers above the -blooming wilderness of brush, and giving their fragrance to the breeze. -These stony, thorny jungles are about the last places in the mountains -in which one would look for lilies. But though they toil not nor spin, -like other people under adverse circumstances, they have to do the best -they can. Because their large bulbs are good to eat they are dug up by -Indians and bears; therefore, like hunted animals, they seek refuge in -the chaparral, where among the boulders and tough tangled roots they -are comparatively safe. This is the favorite Sierra lily, and it is now -growing in all the best parks and gardens of the world. - -The showiest gardens in the Park lie imbedded in the silver fir forests -on the top of the main dividing ridges or hang likely gayly colored -scarfs down their sides. Their wet places are in great part taken up by -veratrum, a robust broad-leaved plant determined to be seen, and -habenaria and spiranthes; the drier parts by tall columbines, -larkspurs, castilleias, lupines, hosackias, erigerons, valerian, etc., -standing deep in grass, with violets here and there around the borders. -But the finest feature of these forest gardens is Lilium parvum. It -varies greatly in size, the tallest being from six to nine feet high, -with splendid racemes of ten to fifty small orange-colored flowers, -which rock and wave with great dignity above the other flowers in the -infrequent winds that fall over the protecting wall of trees. Though -rather frail-looking it is strong, reaching prime vigor and beauty -eight thousand feet above the sea, and in some places venturing as high -as eleven thousand. - -Calochortus, or Mariposa tulip, is a unique genus of many species -confined to the California side of the continent; charming plants, -somewhat resembling the tulips of Europe, but far finer. The richest -calochortus region lies below the western boundary of the Park; still -five or six species are included. C. Nuttallii is common on moraines in -the forests of the two-leaved pine; and C. cæruleus and nudus, very -slender, lowly species, may be found in moist garden spots near -Yosemite. C. albus, with pure white flowers, growing in shady places -among the foothill shrubs, is, I think, the very loveliest of all the -lily family,—a spotless soul, plant saint, that every one must love and -so be made better. It puts the wildest mountaineer on his good -behavior. With this plant the whole world would seem rich though none -other existed. Next after Calochortus, Brodiæa is the most interesting -genus. Nearly all the many species have beautiful showy heads of blue, -lilac, and yellow flowers, enriching the gardens of the lower pine -region. Other liliaceous plants likely to attract attention are the -blue-flowered camassia, the bulbs of which are prized as food by -Indians; fritillaria, smilacina, chloragalum, and the twining climbing -stropholirion. - -The common orchidaceous plants are corallorhiza, goodyera, spiranthes, -and habenaria. Cypripedium montanum, the only moccasin flower I have -seen in the Park, is a handsome, thoughtful-looking plant living beside -cool brooks. The large oval lip is white, delicately veined with -purple; the other petals and sepals purple, strap-shaped, and elegantly -curved and twisted. - -To tourists the most attractive of all the flowers of the forest is the -snow plant (_Sarcodes sanguinea_). It is a bright red, fleshy, -succulent pillar that pushes up through the dead needles in the pine -and fir woods like a gigantic asparagus shoot. The first intimation of -its coming is a loosening and upbulging of the brown stratum of -decomposed needles on the forest floor, in the cracks of which you -notice fiery gleams; presently a blunt dome-shaped head an inch or two -in diameter appears, covered with closely imbricated scales and bracts. -In a week or so it grows to a height of six to twelve inches. Then the -long fringed bracts spread and curl aside, allowing the twenty or -thirty five-lobed bell-shaped flowers to open and look straight out -from the fleshy axis. It is said to grow up through the snow; on the -contrary it always waits until the ground is warm, though with other -early flowers it is occasionally buried or half buried for a day or two -by spring storms. The entire plant—flowers, bracts, stem, scales, and -roots—is red. But notwithstanding its glowing color and beautiful -flowers, it is singularly unsympathetic and cold. Everybody admires it -as a wonderful curiosity, but nobody loves it. Without fragrance, -rooted in decaying vegetable matter, it stands beneath the pines and -firs lonely, silent, and about as rigid as a graveyard monument. - -[Illustration: Mariposa Tulips and the Snow Plant.] - -Down in the main cañons adjoining the azalea and rose gardens there are -fine beds of herbaceous plants,—tall mints and sunflowers, iris, -œnothera, brodiæa, and bright beds of erythræa on the ferny meadows. -Bolandera, sedum, and airy, feathery, purple-flowered heuchera adorn -mossy nooks near falls, the shading trees wreathed and festooned with -wild grapevines and clematis; while lightly shaded flats are covered -with gilia and eunanus of many species, hosackia, arnica, chænactis, -gayophytum, gnaphalium, monardella, etc. - -Thousands of the most interesting gardens in the Park are never seen, -for they are small and lie far up on ledges and terraces of the sheer -cañon walls, wherever a strip of soil, however narrow and shallow, can -rest. The birds, winds, and down-washing rains have planted them with -all sorts of hardy mountain flowers, and where there is sufficient -moisture they flourish in profusion. Many of them are watered by little -streams that seem lost on the tremendous precipices, clinging to the -face of the rock in lacelike strips, and dripping from ledge to ledge, -too silent to be called falls, pathless wanderers from the upper -meadows, which for centuries have been seeking a way down to the rivers -they belong to, without having worn as yet any appreciable channel, -mostly evaporated or given to the plants they meet before reaching the -foot of the cliffs. To these unnoticed streams the finest of the cliff -gardens owe their luxuriance and freshness of beauty. In the larger -ones ferns and showy flowers flourish in wonderful -profusion,—woodwardia, columbine, collomia, castilleia, draperia, -geranium, erythræa, pink and scarlet mimulus, hosackia, saxifrage, -sunflowers and daisies, with azalea, spiræa, and calycanthus, a few -specimens of each that seem to have been culled from the large gardens -above and beneath them. Even lilies are occasionally found in these -irrigated cliff gardens, swinging their bells over the giddy -precipices, seemingly as happy as their relatives down in the waterfall -dells. Most of the cliff gardens, however, are dependent on summer -showers, and though from the shallowness of the soil beds they are -often dry, they still display a surprising number of bright -flowers,—scarlet zauschneria, purple bush penstemon, mints, gilias, and -bosses of glowing golden bahia. Nor is there any lack of commoner -plants; the homely yarrow is often found in them, and sweet clover and -honeysuckle for the bees. - -In the upper cañons, where the walls are inclined at so low an angle -that they are loaded with moraine material, through which perennial -streams percolate in broad diffused currents, there are long wavering -garden beds, that seem to be descending through the forest like -cascades, their fluent lines suggesting motion, swaying from side to -side of the forested banks, surging up here and there over island-like -boulder piles, or dividing and flowing around them. In some of these -floral cascades the vegetation is chiefly sedges and grasses ruffled -with willows; in others, showy flowers like those of the lily gardens -on the main divides. Another curious and picturesque series of wall -gardens are made by thin streams that ooze slowly from moraines and -slip gently over smooth glaciated slopes. From particles of sand and -mud they carry, a pair of lobe-shaped sheets of soil an inch or two -thick are gradually formed, one of them hanging down from the brow of -the slope, the other leaning up from the foot of it like stalactite and -stalagmite, the soil being held together by the flowery, -moisture-loving plants growing in it. - -Along the rocky parts of the cañon bottoms between lake basins, where -the streams flow fast over glacier-polished granite, there are rows of -pothole gardens full of ferns, daisies, golden-rods, and other common -plants of the neighborhood nicely arranged like bouquets, and standing -out in telling relief on the bare shining rock banks. And all the way -up the cañons to the Summit mountains, wherever there is soil of any -sort, there is no lack of flowers, however short the summer may be. -Within eight or ten feet of a snow bank lingering beneath a shadow, you -may see belated ferns unrolling their fronds in September, and sedges -hurrying up their brown spikes on ground that has been free from snow -only eight or ten days, and likely to be covered again within a few -weeks; the winter in the coolest of these shadow gardens being about -eleven months long, while spring, summer, and autumn are hurried and -crowded into one month. Again, under favorable conditions, alpine -gardens three or four thousand feet higher than the last are in their -prime in June. Between the Summit peaks at the head of the cañons -surprising effects are produced where the sunshine falls direct on -rocky slopes and reverberates among boulders. Toward the end of August, -in one of these natural hothouses on the north shore of a glacier lake -11,500 feet above the sea, I found a luxuriant growth of hairy lupines, -thistles, goldenrods, shrubby potentilla, spraguea, and the mountain -epilobium with thousands of purple flowers an inch wide, while the -opposite shore, at a distance of only three hundred yards, was bound in -heavy avalanche snow,—flowery summer on one side, winter on the other. -And I know a bench garden on the north wall of Yosemite in which a few -flowers are in bloom all winter; the massive rocks about it storing up -sunshine enough in summer to melt the snow about as fast as it falls. -When tired of the confinement of my cabin I used to camp out in it in -January, and never failed to find flowers, and butterflies also, except -during snowstorms and a few days after. - -From Yosemite one can easily walk in a day to the top of Mount Hoffman, -a massive gray mountain that rises in the centre of the Park, with easy -slopes adorned with castellated piles and crests on the south side, -rugged precipices banked with perpetual snow on the north. Most of the -broad summit is comparatively level and smooth, and covered with -crystals of quartz, mica, hornblende, feldspar, garnet, zircon, -tourmaline, etc., weathered out and strewn loosely as if sown -broadcast; their radiance so dazzling in some places as to fairly hide -the multitude of small flowers that grow among them; myriads of keen -lance rays infinitely fine, white or colored, making an almost -continuous glow over all the ground, with here and there throbbing, -spangling lilies of light, on the larger gems. At first sight only -these crystal sunflowers are noticed, but looking closely you discover -minute gilias, ivesias, eunanus, phloxes, etc., in thousands, showing -more petals than leaves; and larger plants in hollows and on the -borders of rills,—lupines, potentillas, daisies, harebells, mountain -columbine, astragalus, fringed with heathworts. You wander about from -garden to garden enchanted, as if walking among stars, gathering the -brightest gems, each and all apparently doing their best with eager -enthusiasm, as if everything depended on faithful shining; and -considering the flowers basking in the glorious light, many of them -looking like swarms of small moths and butterflies that were resting -after long dances in the sunbeams. Now your attention is called to -colonies of woodchucks and pikas, the mounds in front of their burrows -glittering like heaps of jewelry,—romantic ground to live in or die in. -Now you look abroad over the vast round landscape bounded by the -down-curving sky, nearly all the Park in it displayed like a -map,—forests, meadows, lakes, rock waves, and snowy mountains. -Northward lies the basin of Yosemite Creek, paved with bright domes and -lakes like larger crystals; eastward, the meadowy, billowy Tuolumne -region and the Summit peaks in glorious array; southward, Yosemite; and -westward, the boundless forests. On no other mountain that I know of -are you more likely to linger. It is a magnificent camp ground. Clumps -of dwarf pine furnish rosiny roots and branches for fuel, and the rills -pure water. Around your camp fire the flowers seem to be looking -eagerly at the light, and the crystals shine unweariedly, making fine -company as you lie at rest in the very heart of the vast, serene, -majestic night. - -The finest of the glacier meadow gardens lie at an elevation of about -nine thousand feet, imbedded in the upper pine forests like lakes of -light. They are smooth and level, a mile or two long, and the rich, -well-drained ground is completely covered with a soft, silky, plushy -sod enameled with flowers, not one of which is in the least weedy or -coarse. In some places the sod is so crowded with showy flowers that -the grasses are scarce noticed, in others they are rather sparingly -scattered; while every leaf and flower seems to have its winged -representative in the swarms of happy flower-like insects that enliven -the air above them. - -With the winter snowstorms wings and petals are folded, and for more -than half the year the meadows are snow-buried ten or fifteen feet -deep. In June they begin to thaw out, small patches of the dead sloppy -sod appear, gradually increasing in size until they are free and warm -again, face to face with the sky; myriads of growing points push -through the steaming mould, frogs sing cheeringly, soon joined by the -birds, and the merry insects come back as if suddenly raised from the -dead. Soon the ground is green with mosses and liverworts and dotted -with small fungi, making the first crop of the season. Then the grass -leaves weave a new sod, and the exceedingly slender panicles rise above -it like a purple mist, speedily followed by potentilla, ivesia, bossy -orthocarpus, yellow and purple, and a few pentstemons. Later come the -daisies and goldenrods, asters and gentians. Of the last there are -three species, small and fine, with varying tones of blue, and in -glorious abundance, coloring extensive patches where the sod is -shallowest. Through the midst flows a stream only two or three feet -wide, silently gliding as if careful not to disturb the hushed calm of -the solitude, its banks embossed by the common sod bent down to the -water’s edge, and trimmed with mosses and violets; slender grass -panicles lean over like miniature pine trees, and here and there on the -driest places small mats of heathworts are neatly spread, enriching -without roughening the bossy down-curling sod. In spring and summer the -weather is mostly crisp, exhilarating sunshine, though magnificent -mountain ranges of cumuli are often upheaved about noon, their shady -hollows tinged with purple ineffably fine, their snowy sun-beaten -bosses glowing against the sky, casting cooling shadows for an hour or -two, then dissolving in a quick washing rain. But for days in -succession there are no clouds at all, or only faint wisps and -pencilings scarcely discernible. - -Toward the end of August the sunshine grows hazy, announcing the coming -of Indian summer, the outlines of the landscapes are softened and -mellowed, and more and more plainly are the mountains clothed with -light, white tinged with pale purple, richest in the morning and -evening. The warm, brooding days are full of life and thoughts of life -to come, ripening seeds with next summer in them or a hundred summers. -The nights are unspeakably impresssive and calm; frost crystals of -wondrous beauty grow on the grass,—each carefully planned and finished -as if intended to endure forever. The sod becomes yellow and brown, but -the late asters and gentians, carefully closing their flower at night, -do not seem to feel the frost; no nipped, wilted plants of any kind are -to be seen; even the early snowstorms fail to blight them. At last the -precious seeds are ripe, all the work of the season is done, and the -sighing pines tell the coming of winter and rest. - -Ascending the range you find that many of the higher meadows slope -considerably, from the amount of loose material washed into their -basins; and sedges and rushes are mixed with the grasses or take their -places, though all are still more or less flowery and bordered with -heathworts, sibbaldea, and dwarf willows. Here and there you come to -small bogs, the wettest smooth and adorned with parnassia and -butter-cups, others tussocky and ruffled like bits of Arctic tundra, -their mosses and lichens interwoven with dwarf shrubs. On boulder piles -the red iridescent oxyria abounds, and on sandy, gravelly slopes -several species of shrubby, yellow-flowered eriogonum, some of the -plants, less than a foot high, being very old, a century or more as is -shown by the rings made by the annual whorls of leaves on the big -roots. Above these flower-dotted slopes the gray, savage wilderness of -crags and peaks seems lifeless and bare. Yet all the way up to the tops -of the highest mountains, commonly supposed to be covered with eternal -snow, there are bright garden spots crowded with flowers, their warm -colors calling to mind the sparks and jets of fire on polar volcanoes -rising above a world of ice. The principal mountain-top plants are -phloxes, drabas, saxifrages, silene, cymopterus, hulsea, and -polemonium, growing in detached stripes and mats,—the highest streaks -and splashes of the summer wave as it breaks against these wintry -heights. The most beautiful are the phloxes (douglasii and cæspitosum), -and the red-flowered silene, with innumerable flowers hiding the -leaves. Though herbaceous plants, like the trees and shrubs, are -dwarfed as they ascend, two of these mountain dwellers, Hulsea algida -and Polemonium confertum, are notable exceptions. The yellow-flowered -hulsea is eight to twelve inches high, stout, erect,—the leaves, three -to six inches long, secreting a rosiny, fragrant gum, standing up -boldly on the grim lichen-stained crags, and never looking in the least -tired or discouraged. Both the ray and disk flowers are yellow; the -heads are nearly two inches wide, and are eagerly sought for by roving -bee mountaineers. The polemonium is quite as luxuriant and -tropical-looking as its companion, about the same height, glandular, -fragrant, its blue flowers closely packed in eight or ten heads, twenty -to forty in head. It is never far from hulsea, growing at elevations of -between eleven and thirteen thousand feet wherever a little hollow or -crevice favorably situated with a handful of wind-driven soil can be -found. - -From these frosty Arctic sky gardens you may descend in one straight -swoop to the abronia, mentzelia, and œnothera gardens of Mono, where -the sunshine is warm enough for palms. - -But the greatest of all the gardens is the belt of forest trees, -profusely covered in the spring with blue and purple, red and yellow -blossoms, each tree with a gigantic panicle of flowers fifty to a -hundred feet long. Yet strange to say they are seldom noticed. Few -travel through the woods when they are in bloom, the flowers of some of -the showiest species opening before the snow is off the ground. -Nevertheless, one would think the news of such gigantic flowers would -quickly spread, and travelers from all the world would make haste to -the show. Eager inquiries are made for the bloomtime of -rhododendron-covered mountains and for the bloom-time of Yosemite -streams, that they may be enjoyed in their prime; but the far grander -outburst of tree bloom covering a thousand mountains—who inquires about -that? That the pistillate flowers of the pines and fires should escape -the eyes of careless lookers is less to be wondered at, since they -mostly grow aloft on the topmost branches, and can hardly be seen from -the foot of the trees. Yet even these make a magnificent show from the -top of an overlooking ridge when the sunbeams are pouring through them. -But the far more numerous staminate flowers of the pines in large rosy -clusters, and those of the silver firs in countless thousands on the -under side of the branches, cannot be hid, stand where you may. The -mountain hemlock also is gloriously colored with a profusion of lovely -blue and purple flowers, a spectacle to gods and men. A single pine or -hemlock or silver fir in the prime of its beauty about the middle of -June is well worth the pains of the longest journey; how much more -broad forests of them thousands of miles long! - -[Illustration: Alpine Phlox and _Polemonium confertum_.] - -One of the best ways to see tree flowers is to climb one of the tallest -trees and to get into close tingling touch with them, and then look -broad. Speaking of the benefits of tree climbing, Thoreau says: “I -found my account in climbing a tree once. It was a tall white pine, on -the top of a hill; and though I got well pitched, I was well paid for -it, for I discovered new mountains in the horizon which I had never -seen before. I might have walked about the foot of the tree for -threescore years and ten, and yet I certainly should never have seen -them. But, above all, I discovered around me,—it was near the middle of -June,—on the ends of the topmost branches, a few minute and delicate -red conelike blossoms, the fertile flower of the white pine looking -heavenward. I carried straightway to the village the topmost spire, and -showed it to stranger jurymen who walked the streets,—for it was court -week,—and to farmers and lumbermen and woodchoppers and hunters, and -not one had ever seen the like before, but they wondered as at a star -dropped down.” - -The same marvelous blindness prevails here, although the blossoms are a -thousandfold more abundant and telling. Once when I was collecting -flowers of the red silver fir near a summer tourist resort on the -mountains above Lake Tahoe, I carried a handful of flowery branches to -the boarding house, where they quickly attracted a wondering, admiring -crowd of men, women, and children. “Oh, where did you get these?” they -cried. “How pretty they are—mighty handsome—just too lovely for -anything—where do they grow?” “On the commonest trees about you,” I -replied. “You are now standing beside one of them, and it is in full -bloom; look up.” And I pointed to a blossom-laden Abies magnifica, -about a hundred and twenty feet high, in front of the house, used as a -hitching post. And seeing its beauty for the first time, their wonder -could hardly have been greater or more sincere had their silver fir -hitching post blossomed for them at that moment as suddenly as Aaron’s -rod. - -The mountain hemlock extends an almost continuous belt along the Sierra -and northern ranges to Prince William’s Sound, accompanied part of the -way by the pines; our two silver firs, to Mount Shasta, thence the fir -belt is continued through Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia by -four other species, Abies nobilis, grandis, amabilis, and lasiocarpa; -while the magnificent Sitka spruce, with large, bright, purple flowers, -adorns the coast region from California to Cook’s Inlet and Kodiak. All -these, interblending, form one flowery belt—one garden blooming in -June, rocking its myriad spires in the hearty weather, bowing and -swirling, enjoying clouds and the winds and filling them with balsam; -covering thousands of miles of the wildest mountains, clothing the long -slopes by the sea, crowning bluffs and headlands and innumerable -islands, and, fringing the banks of the glaciers, one wild wavering -belt of the noblest flowers in the world, worth a lifetime of love work -to know it. - - - - -CHAPTER VI -Among the Animals of the Yosemite - - -The Sierra bear, brown or gray, the sequoia of the animals, tramps over -all the park, though few travelers have the pleasure of seeing him. On -he fares through the majestic forests and cañons, facing all sorts of -weather, rejoicing in his strength, everywhere at home, harmonizing -with the trees and rocks and shaggy chaparral. Happy fellow! his lines -have fallen in pleasant places,—lily gardens in silver-fir forests, -miles of bushes in endless variety and exuberance of bloom over -hill-waves and valleys and along the banks of streams, cañons full of -music and waterfalls, parks fair as Eden,—places in which one might -expect to meet angels rather than bears. - -In this happy land no famine comes nigh him. All the year round his -bread is sure, for some of the thousand kinds that he likes are always -in season and accessible, ranged on the shelves of the mountains like -stores in a pantry. From one to another, from climate to climate, up -and down he climbs, feasting on each in turn,—enjoying as great variety -as if he traveled to far-off countries north and south. To him almost -every thing is food except granite. Every tree helps to feed him, every -bush and herb, with fruits and flowers, leaves and bark; and all the -animals he can catch,—badgers, gophers, ground squirrels, lizards, -snakes, etc., and ants, bees, wasps, old and young, together with their -eggs and larvæ and nests. Craunched and hashed, down all go to his -marvelous stomach, and vanish as if cast into a fire. What digestion! A -sheep or a wounded deer or a pig he eats warm, about as quickly as a -boy eats a buttered muffin; or should the meat be a month old, it still -is welcomed with tremendous relish. After so gross a meal as this, -perhaps the next will be strawberries and clover, or raspberries with -mushrooms and nuts, or puckery acorns and chokecherries. And as if -fearing that anything eatable in all his dominions should escape being -eaten, he breaks into cabins to look after sugar, dried apples, bacon, -etc. Occasionally he eats the mountaineer’s bed; but when he has had a -full meal of more tempting dainties he usually leaves it undisturbed, -though he has been known to drag it up through a hole in the roof, -carry it to the foot of a tree, and lie down on it to enjoy a siesta. -Eating everything, never is he himself eaten except by man, and only -man is an enemy to be feared. “B’ar meat,” said a hunter from whom I -was seeking information, “b’ar meat is the best meat in the mountains; -their skins make the best beds, and their grease the best butter. -Biscuit shortened with b’ar grease goes as far as beans; a man will -walk all day on a couple of them biscuit.” - -In my first interview with a Sierra bear we were frightened and -embarrassed, both of us, but the bear’s behavior was better than mine. -When I discovered him, he was standing in a narrow strip of meadow, and -I was concealed behind a tree on the side of it. After studying this -appearance as he stood at rest, I rushed toward him to frighten him, -that I might study his gait in running. But, contrary to all I had -heard about the shyness of bears, he did not run at all; and when I -stopped short within a few steps of him, as he held his ground in a -fighting attitude, my mistake was monstrously plain. I was then put on -my good behavior, and never afterward forgot the right manners of the -wilderness. - -This happened on my first Sierra excursion in the forest to the north -of Yosemite Valley. I was eager to meet the animals, and many of them -came to me as if willing to show themselves and make my acquaintance; -but the bears kept out of my way. - -An old mountaineer, in reply to my questions, told me that bears were -very shy, all save grim old grizzlies, and that I might travel the -mountains for years without seeing one, unless I gave my mind to them -and practiced the stealthy ways of hunters. Nevertheless, it was only a -few weeks after I had received this information that I met the one -mentioned above, and obtained instruction at first-hand. - -I was encamped in the woods about a mile back of the rim of Yosemite, -beside a stream that falls into the valley by the way of Indian Cañon. -Nearly every day for weeks I went to the top of the North Dome to -sketch; for it commands a general view of the valley, and I was anxious -to draw every tree and rock and waterfall. Carlo, a St. Bernard dog, -was my companion,—a fine, intelligent fellow that belonged to a hunter -who was compelled to remain all summer on the hot plains, and who -loaned him to me for the season for the sake of having him in the -mountains, where he would be so much better off. Carlo knew bears -through long experience, and he it was who led me to my first -interview, though he seemed as much surprised as the bear at my -unhunter-like behavior. One morning in June, just as the sunbeams began -to stream through the trees, I set out for a day’s sketching on the -dome; and before we had gone half a mile from camp Carlo snuffed the -air and looked cautiously ahead, lowered his bushy tail, drooped his -ears, and began to step softly like a cat, turning every few yards and -looking me in the face with a telling expression, saying plainly -enough, “There is a bear a little way ahead.” I walked carefully in the -indicated direction, until I approached a small flowery meadow that I -was familiar with, then crawled to the foot of a tree on its margin, -bearing in mind what I had been told about the shyness of bears. -Looking out cautiously over the instep of the tree, I saw a big, burly -cinnamon bear about thirty yards off, half erect, his paws resting on -the trunk of a fir that had fallen into the meadow, his hips almost -buried in grass and flowers. He was listening attentively and trying to -catch the scent, showing that in some way he was aware of our approach. -I watched his gestures, and tried to make the most of my opportunity to -learn what I could about him, fearing he would not stay long. He made a -fine picture, standing alert in the sunny garden walled in by the most -beautiful firs in the world. - -[Illustration: A Cinnamon Bear.] - -After examining him at leisure, noting the sharp muzzle thrust -inquiringly forward, the long shaggy hair on his broad chest, the stiff -ears nearly buried in hair, and the slow, heavy way in which he moved -his head, I foolishly made a rush on him, throwing up my arms and -shouting to frighten him, to see him run. He did not mind the -demonstration much; only pushed his head farther forward, and looked at -me sharply as if asking, “What now? If you want to fight, I’m ready.” -Then I began to fear that on me would fall the work of running. But I -was afraid to run, lest he should be encouraged to pursue me; therefore -I held my ground, staring him in the face within a dozen yards or so, -putting on as bold a look as I could, and hoping the influence of the -human eye would be as great as it is said to be. Under these strained -relations the interview seemed to last a long time. Finally, the bear, -seeing how still I was, calmly withdrew his huge paws from the log, -gave me a piercing look, as if warning me not to follow him, turned, -and walked slowly up the middle of the meadow into the forest; stopping -every few steps and looking back to make sure that I was not trying to -take him at a disadvantage in a rear attack. I was glad to part with -him, and greatly enjoyed the vanishing view as he waded through the -lilies and columbines. - -Thenceforth I always tried to give bears respectful notice of my -approach, and they usually kept well out of my way. Though they often -came around my camp in the night, only once afterward, as far as I -know, was I very near one of them in daylight. This time it was a -grizzly I met; and as luck would have it, I was even nearer to him than -I had been to the big cinnamon. Though not a large specimen, he seemed -formidable enough at a distance of less than a dozen yards. His shaggy -coat was well grizzled, his head almost white. When I first caught -sight of him he was eating acorns under a Kellogg oak, at a distance of -perhaps seventy-five yards, and I tried to slip past without disturbing -him. But he had either heard my steps on the gravel or caught my scent, -for he came straight toward me, stopping every rod or so to look and -listen: and as I was afraid to be seen running, I crawled on my hands -and knees a little way to one side and hid behind a libocedrus, hoping -he would pass me unnoticed. He soon came up opposite me, and stood -looking ahead, while I looked at him, peering past the bulging trunk of -the tree. At last, turning his head, he caught sight of mine, stared -sharply a minute or two, and then, with fine dignity, disappeared in a -manzanita-covered earthquake talus. - -Considering how heavy and broad-footed bears are, it is wonderful how -little harm they do in the wilderness. Even in the well-watered gardens -of the middle region, where the flowers grow tallest, and where during -warm weather the bears wallow and roll, no evidence of destruction is -visible. On the contrary, under nature’s direction, the massive beasts -act as gardeners. On the forest floor, carpeted with needles and brush, -and on the tough sod of glacier meadows, bears make no mark; but around -the sandy margin of lakes their magnificent tracks form grand lines of -embroidery. Their well-worn trails extend along the main cañons on -either side, and though dusty in some places make no scar on the -landscape. They bite and break off the branches of some of the pines -and oaks to get the nuts, but this pruning is so light that few -mountaineers ever notice it; and though they interfere with the orderly -lichen-veiled decay of fallen trees, tearing them to pieces to reach -the colonies of ants that inhabit them, the scattered ruins are quickly -pressed back into harmony by snow and rain and over-leaning vegetation. - -The number of bears that make the Park their home may be guessed by the -number that have been killed by the two best hunters, Duncan and old -David Brown. Duncan began to be known as a bear-killer about the year -1865. He was then roaming the woods, hunting and prospecting on the -south fork of the Merced. A friend told me that he killed his first -bear near his cabin at Wawona; that after mustering courage to fire he -fled, without waiting to learn the effect of his shot. Going back in a -few hours he found poor Bruin dead, and gained courage to try again. -Duncan confessed to me, when we made an excursion together in 1875, -that he was at first mortally afraid of bears, but after killing a half -dozen he began to keep count of his victims, and became ambitious to be -known as a great bear-hunter. In nine years he had killed forty-nine, -keeping count by notches cut on one of the timbers of his cabin on the -shore of Crescent Lake, near the south boundary of the Park. He said -the more he knew about bears, the more he respected them and the less -he feared them. But at the same time he grew more and more cautious, -and never fired until he had every advantage, no matter how long he had -to wait and how far he had to go before he got the bear just right as -to the direction of the wind, the distance, and the way of escape in -case of accident; making allowance also for the character of the -animal, old or young, cinnamon or grizzly. For old grizzlies, he said, -he had no use whatever, and he was mighty careful to avoid their -acquaintance. He wanted to kill an even hundred; then he was going to -confine himself to safer game. There was not much money in bears, -anyhow, and a round hundred was enough for glory. - -I have not seen or heard of him lately, and do not know how his bloody -count stands. On my excursions, I occasionally passed his cabin. It was -full of meat and skins hung in bundles from the rafters, and the ground -about it was strewn with bones and hair,—infinitely less tidy than a -bear’s den. He went as hunter and guide with a geological survey party -for a year or two, and was very proud of the scientific knowledge, he -picked up. His admiring fellow mountaineers, he said, gave him credit -for knowing not only the botanical names of all the trees and bushes, -but also the “botanical names of the bears.” - -The most famous hunter of the region was David Brown, an old pioneer, -who early in the gold period established his main camp in a little -forest glade on the north fork of the Merced, which is still called -“Brown’s Flat.” No finer solitude for a hunter and prospector could be -found; the climate is delightful all the year, and the scenery of both -earth and sky is a perpetual feast. Though he was not much of a -“scenery fellow,” his friends say that he knew a pretty place when he -saw it as well as any one, and liked mightily to get on the top of a -commanding ridge to “look off.” - -When out of provisions, he would take down his old-fashioned -long-barreled rifle from its deer-horn rest over the fireplace and set -out in search of game. Seldom did he have to go far for venison, -because the deer liked the wooded slopes of Pilot Peak ridge, with its -open spots where they could rest and look about them, and enjoy the -breeze from the sea in warm weather, free from troublesome flies, while -they found hiding-places and fine aromatic food in the deer-brush -chaparral. A small, wise dog was his only companion, and well the -little mountaineer understood the object of every hunt, whether deer or -bears, or only grouse hidden in the fir-tops. In deer-hunting Sandy had -little to do, trotting behind his master as he walked noiselessly -through the fragrant woods, careful not to step heavily on dry twigs, -scanning open spots in the chaparral where the deer feed in the early -morning and toward sunset, peering over ridges and swells as new -outlooks were reached, and along alder and willow fringed flats and -streams, until he found a young buck, killed it, tied its legs -together, threw it on his shoulder, and so back to camp. But when bears -were hunted, Sandy played an important part as leader, and several -times saved his master’s life; and it was as a bear-hunter that David -Brown became famous. His method, as I had it from a friend who had -passed many an evening in his cabin listening to his long stories of -adventure, was simply to take a few pounds of flour and his rifle, and -go slowly and silently over hill and valley in the loneliest part of -the wilderness, until little Sandy came upon the fresh track of a bear, -then follow it to the death, paying no heed to time. Wherever the bear -went he went, however rough the ground, led by Sandy, who looked back -from time to time to see how his master was coming on, and regulated -his pace accordingly, never growing weary or allowing any other track -to divert him. When high ground was reached a halt was made, to scan -the openings in every direction, and perchance Bruin would be -discovered sitting upright on his haunches, eating manzanita berries; -pulling down the fruit-laden branches with his paws and pressing them -together, so as to get substantial mouthfuls, however mixed with leaves -and twigs. The time of year enabled the hunter to determine -approximately where the game would be found: in spring and early -summer, in lush grass and clover meadows and in berry tangles along the -banks of streams, or on pea-vine and lupine clad slopes; in late summer -and autumn, beneath the pines, eating the cones cut off by the -squirrels, and in oak groves at the bottom of cañons, munching acorns, -manzanita berries, and cherries; and after snow had fallen, in alluvial -bottoms, feeding on ants and yellow-jacket wasps. These food places -were always cautiously approached, so as to avoid the chance of sudden -encounters. - -“Whenever,” said the hunter, “I saw a bear before he saw me, I had no -trouble in killing him. I just took lots of time to learn what he was -up to and how long he would be likely to stay, and to study the -direction of the wind and the lay of the land. Then I worked round to -leeward of him, no matter how far I had to go; crawled and dodged to -within a hundred yards, near the foot of a tree that I could climb, but -which was too small for a bear to climb. There I looked well to the -priming of my rifle, took off my boots so as to climb quickly if -necessary, and, with my rifle in rest and Sandy behind me, waited until -my bear stood right, when I made a sure, or at least a good shot back -of the fore leg. In case he showed fight, I got up the tree I had in -mind, before he could reach me. But bears are slow and awkward with -their eyes, and being to windward they could not scent me, and often I -got in a second shot before they saw the smoke. Usually, however, they -tried to get away when they were hurt, and I let them go a good safe -while before I ventured into the brush after them. Then Sandy was -pretty sure to find them dead; if not, he barked bold as a lion to draw -attention, or rushed in and nipped them behind, enabling me to get to a -safe distance and watch a chance for a finishing shot. - -“Oh yes, bear-hunting is a mighty interesting business, and safe enough -if followed just right, though, like every other business, especially -the wild kind, it has its accidents, and Sandy and I have had close -calls at times. Bears are nobody’s fools, and they know enough to let -men alone as a general thing, unless they are wounded, or cornered, or -have cubs. In my opinion, a hungry old mother would catch and eat a -man, if she could; which is only fair play, anyhow, for we eat them. -But nobody, as far as I know, has been eaten up in these rich -mountains. Why they never tackle a fellow when he is lying asleep I -never could understand. They could gobble us mighty handy, but I -suppose it’s nature to respect a sleeping man.” - -Sheep-owners and their shepherds have killed a great many bears, mostly -by poison and traps of various sorts. Bears are fond of mutton, and -levy heavy toll on every flock driven into the mountains. They usually -come to the corral at night, climb in, kill a sheep with a stroke of -the paw, carry it off a little distance, eat about half of it, and -return the next night for the other half; and so on all summer, or -until they are themselves killed. It is not, however, by direct -killing, but by suffocation through crowding against the corral wall in -fright, that the greatest losses are incurred. From ten to fifteen -sheep are found dead, smothered in the corral, after every attack; or -the walls are broken, and the flock is scattered far and wide. A flock -may escape the attention of these marauders for a week or two in the -spring; but after their first taste of the fine mountain-fed meat the -visits are persistently kept up, in spite of all precautions. Once I -spent a night with two Portuguese shepherds, who were greatly troubled -with bears, from two to four or five visiting them almost every night. -Their camp was near the middle of the Park, and the wicked bears, they -said, were getting worse and worse. Not waiting now until dark, they -came out of the brush in broad daylight, and boldly carried off as many -sheep as they liked. One evening, before sundown, a bear, followed by -two cubs, came for an early supper, as the flock was being slowly -driven toward the camp. Joe, the elder of the shepherds, warned by many -exciting experiences, promptly climbed a tall tamarack pine, and left -the freebooters to help themselves; while Antone, calling him a coward, -and declaring that he was not going to let bears eat up his sheep -before his face, set the dogs on them, and rushed toward them with a -great noise and a stick. The frightened cubs ran up a tree, and the -mother ran to meet the shepherd and dogs. Antone stood astonished for a -moment, eying the oncoming bear; then fled faster than Joe had, closely -pursued. He scrambled to the roof of their little cabin, the only -refuge quickly available; and fortunately, the bear, anxious about her -young, did not climb after him,—only held him in mortal terror a few -minutes, glaring and threatening, then hastened back to her cubs, -called them down, went to the frightened, huddled flock, killed a -sheep, and feasted in peace. Antone piteously entreated cautious Joe to -show him a good safe tree, up which he climbed like a sailor climbing a -mast, and held on as long as he could with legs crossed, the slim pine -recommended by Joe being nearly branchless. “So you, too, are a bear -coward as well as Joe,” I said, after hearing the story. “Oh, I tell -you,” he replied, with grand solemnity, “bear face close by look awful; -she just as soon eat me as not. She do so as eef all my sheeps b’long -every one to her own self. I run to bear no more. I take tree every -time.” - -After this the shepherds corraled the flock about an hour before -sundown, chopped large quantities of dry wood and made a circle of -fires around the corral every night, and one with a gun kept watch on a -stage built in a pine by the side of the cabin, while the other slept. -But after the first night or two this fire fence did no good, for the -robbers seemed to regard the light as an advantage, after becoming used -to it. - -On the night I spent at their camp the show made by the wall of fire -when it was blazing in its prime was magnificent,—the illumined trees -around about relieved against solid darkness, and the two thousand -sheep lying down in one gray mass, sprinkled with gloriously brilliant -gems, the effect of the firelight in their eyes. It was nearly midnight -when a pair of the freebooters arrived. They walked boldly through a -gap in the fire circle, killed two sheep, carried them out, and -vanished in the dark woods, leaving ten dead in a pile, trampled down -and smothered against the corral fence; while the scared watcher in the -tree did not fire a single shot, saying he was afraid he would hit some -of the sheep, as the bears got among them before he could get a good -sight. - -In the morning I asked the shepherds why they did not move the flock to -a new pasture. “Oh, no use!” cried Antone. “Look my dead sheeps. We -move three four time before, all the same bear come by the track. No -use. To-morrow we go home below. Look my dead sheeps. Soon all dead.” - -Thus were they driven out of the mountains more than a month before the -usual time. After Uncle Sam’s soldiers, bears are the most effective -forest police, but some of the shepherds are very successful in killing -them. Altogether, by hunters, mountaineers, Indians, and sheepmen, -probably five or six hundred have been killed within the bounds of the -Park, during the last thirty years. But they are not in danger of -extinction. Now that the Park is guarded by soldiers, not only has the -vegetation in great part come back to the desolate ground, but all the -wild animals are increasing in numbers. No guns are allowed in the Park -except under certain restrictions, and after a permit has been obtained -from the officer in charge. This has stopped the barbarous slaughter of -bears, and especially of deer, by shepherds, hunters, and hunting -tourists, who, it would seem, can find no pleasure without blood. - -The Sierra deer—the blacktail—spend the winters in the brushy and -exceedingly rough region just below the main timber-belt, and are less -accessible to hunters there than when they are passing through the -comparatively open forests to and from their summer pastures near the -summits of the range. They go up the mountains early in the spring as -the snow melts, not waiting for it all to disappear; reaching the high -Sierra about the first of June, and the coolest recesses at the base of -the peaks a month or so later. I have tracked them for miles over -compacted snow from three to ten feet deep. - -Deer are capital mountaineers, making their way into the heart of the -roughest mountains; seeking not only pasturage, but a cool climate, and -safe hidden places in which to bring forth their young. They are not -supreme as rock-climbing animals; they take second rank, yielding the -first to the mountain sheep, which dwell above them on the highest -crags and peaks. Still, the two meet frequently; for the deer climbs -all the peaks save the lofty summits above the glaciers, crossing piles -of angular boulders, roaring swollen streams, and sheer-walled cañons -by fords and passes that would try the nerves of the hardiest -mountaineers,—climbing with graceful ease and reserve of strength that -cannot fail to arouse admiration. Everywhere some species of deer seems -to be at home,—on rough or smooth ground, lowlands or highlands, in -swamps and barrens and the densest woods, in varying climates, hot or -cold, over all the continent; maintaining glorious health, never making -an awkward step. Standing, lying down, walking, feeding, running even -for life, it is always invincibly graceful, and adds beauty and -animation to every landscape,—a charming animal, and a great credit to -nature. - -I never see one of the common blacktail deer, the only species in the -Park, without fresh admiration; and since I never carry a gun I see -them well: lying beneath a juniper or dwarf pine, among the brown -needles on the brink of some cliff or the end of a ridge commanding a -wide outlook; feeding in sunny openings among chaparral, daintily -selecting aromatic leaves and twigs; leading their fawns out of my way, -or making them lie down and hide; bounding past through the forest, or -curiously advancing and retreating again and again. - -One morning when I was eating breakfast in a little garden spot on the -Kaweah, hedged around with chaparral, I noticed a deer’s head thrust -through the bushes, the big beautiful eyes gazing at me. I kept still, -and the deer ventured forward a step, then snorted and withdrew. In a -few minutes she returned, and came into the open garden, stepping with -infinite grace, followed by two others. After showing themselves for a -moment, they bounded over the hedge with sharp, timid snorts and -vanished. But curiosity brought them back with still another, and all -four came into my garden, and, satisfied that I meant them no ill, -began to feed, actually eating breakfast with me, like tame, gentle -sheep around a shepherd,—rare company, and the most graceful in -movements and attitudes. I eagerly watched them while they fed on -ceanothus and wild cherry, daintily culling single leaves here and -there from the side of the hedge, turning now and then to ship a few -leaves of mint from the midst of the garden flowers. Grass they did not -eat at all. No wonder the contents of the deer’s stomach are eaten by -the Indians. - -[Illustration: Deer Feeding in the Forest.] - -While exploring the upper cañon of the north fork of the San Joaquin, -one evening, the sky threatening rain, I searched for a dry bed, and -made choice of a big juniper that had been pushed down by a snow -avalanche, but was resting stubbornly on its knees high enough to let -me lie under its broad trunk. Just below my shelter there was another -juniper on the very brink of a precipice, and, examining it, I found a -deer-bed beneath it, completely protected and concealed by drooping -branches,—a fine refuge and lookout as well as resting-place. About an -hour before dark I heard the clear, sharp snorting of a deer, and -looking down on the brushy, rocky cañon bottom, discovered an anxious -doe that no doubt had her fawns concealed near by. She bounded over the -chaparral and up the farther slope of the wall, often stopping to look -back and listen,—a fine picture of vivid, eager alertness. I sat -perfectly still, and as my shirt was colored like the juniper bark I -was not easily seen. After a little she came cautiously toward me, -sniffing the air and grazing, and her movements, as she descended the -cañon side over boulder piles and brush and fallen timber, were -admirably strong and beautiful; she never strained or made apparent -efforts, although jumping high here and there. As she drew nigh she -sniffed anxiously, trying the air in different directions until she -caught my scent; then bounded off, and vanished behind a small grove of -firs. Soon she came back with the same caution and insatiable -curiosity,—coming and going five or six times. While I sat admiring -her, a Douglas squirrel, evidently excited by her noisy alarms, climbed -a boulder beneath me, and witnessed her performances as attentively as -I did, while a risky chipmunk, too restless or hungry for such shows, -busied himself about his supper in a thicket of shadbushes, the fruit -of which was then ripe, glancing about on the slender twigs lightly as -a sparrow. - -Toward the end of the Indian summer, when the young are strong, the -deer begin to gather in little bands of from six to fifteen or twenty, -and on the approach of the first snowstorm they set out on their march -down the mountains to their winter quarters; lingering usually on warm -hillsides and spurs eight or ten miles below the summits, as if loath -to leave. About the end of November, a heavy, far-reaching storm drives -them down in haste along the dividing ridges between the rivers, led by -old experienced bucks whose knowledge of the topography is wonderful. - -It is when the deer are coming down that the Indians set out on their -grand fall hunt. Too lazy to go into the recesses of the mountains away -from trails, they wait for the deer to come out, and then waylay them. -This plan also has the advantage of finding them in bands. Great -preparations are made. Old guns are mended, bullets moulded, and the -hunters wash themselves and fast to some extent, to insure good luck, -as they say. Men and women, old and young, set forth together. Central -camps are made on the well-known highways of the deer, which are soon -red with blood. Each hunter comes in laden, old crones as well as -maidens smiling on the luckiest. All grow fat and merry. Boys, each -armed with an antlered head, play at buck-fighting, and plague the -industrious women, who are busily preparing the meat for -transportation, by stealing up behind them and throwing fresh hides -over them. But the Indians are passing away here as everywhere, and -their red camps on the mountains are fewer every year. - -There are panthers, foxes, badgers, porcupines, and coyotes in the -Park, but not in large numbers. I have seen coyotes well back in the -range at the head of the Tuolumne Meadows as early as June 1st, before -the snow was gone, feeding on marmots; but they are far more numerous -on the inhabited lowlands around ranches, where they enjoy life on -chickens, turkeys, quail eggs, ground squirrels, hares, etc., and all -kinds of fruit. Few wild sheep, I fear, are left hereabouts; for, -though safe on the high peaks, they are driven down the eastern slope -of the mountains when the deer are driven down the western, to ridges -and outlying spurs where the snow does not fall to a great depth, and -there they are within reach of the cattlemen’s rifles. - -The two squirrels of the Park, the Douglas and the California gray, -keep all the woods lively. The former is far more abundant and more -widely distributed, being found all the way up from the foothills to -the dwarf pines on the Summit peaks. He is the most influential of the -Sierra animals, though small, and the brightest of all the squirrels I -know,—a squirrel of squirrels, quick mountain vigor and valor -condensed, purely wild, and as free from disease as a sunbeam. One -cannot think of such an animal ever being weary or sick. He claims all -the woods, and is inclined to drive away even men as intruders. How he -scolds, and what faces he makes! If not so comically small he would be -a dreadful fellow. The gray, Sciurus fossor, is the handsomest, I -think, of all the large American squirrels. He is something like the -Eastern gray, but is brighter and clearer in color, and more lithe and -slender. He dwells in the oak and pine woods up to a height of about -five thousand feet above the sea, is rather common in Yosemite Valley, -Hetch-Hetchy, Kings River Cañon, and indeed in all the main cañons and -Yosemites, but does not like the high fir-covered ridges. Compared with -the Douglas, the gray is more than twice as large; nevertheless, he -manages to make his way through the trees with less stir than his -small, peppery neighbor, and is much less influential in every way. In -the spring, before the pine-nuts and hazel-nuts are ripe, he examines -last year’s cones for the few seeds that may be left in them between -the half-open scales, and gleans fallen nuts and seeds on the ground -among the leaves, after making sure that no enemy is nigh. His fine -tail floats, now behind, now above him, level or gracefully curled, -light and radiant as dry thistledown. His body seems hardly more -substantial than his tail. The Douglas is a firm, emphatic bolt of -life, fiery, pungent, full of brag and show and fight, and his -movements have none of the elegant deliberation of the gray. They are -so quick and keen they almost sting the onlooker, and the acrobatic -harlequin gyrating show he makes of himself turns one giddy to see. The -gray is shy and oftentimes stealthy, as if half expecting to find an -enemy in every tree and bush and behind every log; he seems to wish to -be let alone, and manifests no desire to be seen, or admired, or -feared. He is hunted by the Indians, and this of itself is cause enough -for caution. The Douglas is less attractive for game, and probably -increasing in numbers in spite of every enemy. He goes his ways bold as -a lion, up and down and across, round and round, the happiest, merriest -of all the hairy tribe, and at the same time tremendously earnest and -solemn, sunshine incarnate, making every tree tingle with his electric -toes. If you prick him, you cannot think he will bleed. He seems above -the chance and change that beset common mortals, though in busily -gathering burs and nuts he shows that he has to work for a living, like -the rest of us. I never found a dead Douglas. He gets into the world -and out of it without being noticed; only in prime is he seen, like -some little plants that are visible only when in bloom. - -The little striped Tamias quadrivittatus is one of the most amiable and -delightful of all the mountain tree-climbers. A brighter, cheerier -chipmunk does not exist. He is smarter, more arboreal and -squirrel-like, than the familiar Eastern species, and is distributed as -widely on the Sierra as the Douglas. Every forest, however dense or -open, every hilltop and cañon, however brushy or bare, is cheered and -enlivened by this happy little animal. You are likely to notice him -first on the lower edge of the coniferous belt, where the Sabine and -yellow pines meet; and thence upward, go where you may, you will find -him every day, even in winter, unless the weather is stormy. He is an -exceedingly interesting little fellow, full of odd, quaint ways, -confiding, thinking no evil; and without being a squirrel—a true -shadow-tail—he lives the life of a squirrel, and has almost all -squirrelish accomplishments without aggressive quarrelsomeness. - -I never weary of watching him as he frisks about the bushes, gathering -seeds and berries; poising on slender twigs of wild cherry, shad, -chinquapin, buckthorn, bramble; skimming along prostrate trunks or over -the grassy, needle-strewn forest floor; darting from boulder to boulder -on glacial pavements and the tops of the great domes. When the seeds of -the conifers are ripe, he climbs the trees and cuts off the cones for a -winter store, working diligently, though not with the tremendous -lighting energy of the Douglas, who frequently drives him out of the -best trees. Then he lies in wait, and picks up a share of the burs cut -off by his domineering cousin, and stores them beneath logs and in -hollows. Few of the Sierra animals are so well liked as this little -airy, fluffy half squirrel, half spermophile. So gentle, confiding, and -busily cheery and happy, he takes one’s heart and keeps his place among -the best-loved of the mountain darlings. A diligent collector of seeds, -nuts, and berries, of course he is well fed, though never in the least -dumpy with fat. On the contrary, he looks like a mere fluff of fur, -weighing but little more than a field mouse, and of his frisky, -birdlike liveliness without haste there is no end. Douglas can bark -with his mouth closed, but little quad always opens his when he talks -or sings. He has a considerable variety of notes which correspond with -his movements, some of them sweet and liquid, like water dripping into -a pool with tinkling sound. His eyes are black and animated, shining -like dew. He seems dearly to like teasing a dog, venturing within a few -feet of it, then frisking away with a lively chipping and low -squirrelish churring; beating time to his music, such as it is, with -his tail, which at each chip and churr describes a half circle. Not -even Douglas is surer footed or takes greater risks. I have seen him -running about on sheer Yosemite cliffs, holding on with as little -effort as a fly and as little thought of danger, in places where, if he -had made the least slip, he would have fallen thousands of feet. How -fine it would be could mountaineers move about on precipices with the -same sure grip! - -Before the pine-nuts are ripe, grass seeds and those of the many -species of ceanothus, with strawberries, raspberries, and the soft red -thimbleberries of Rubus nutkanus, form the bulk of his food, and a -neater eater is not to be found in the mountains. Bees powdered with -pollen, poking their blunt noses into the bells of flowers, are -comparatively clumsy and boorish. Frisking along some fallen pine or -fir, when the grass seeds are ripe, he looks about him, considering -which of the tufts he sees is likely to have the best, runs out to it, -selects what he thinks is sure to be a good head, cuts it off, carries -it to the top of the log, sits upright and nibbles out the grain -without getting awns in his mouth, turning the head round, holding it -and fingering it as if playing on a flute; then skips for another and -another, bringing them to the same dining-log. - -The woodchuck (_Arctomys monax_) dwells on high bleak ridges and -boulder piles; and a very different sort of mountaineer is he,—bulky, -fat, aldermanic, and fairly bloated at times by hearty indulgence in -the lush pastures of his airy home. And yet he is by no means a dull -animal. In the midst of what we regard as storm-beaten desolation, high -in the frosty air, beside the glaciers he pipes and whistles right -cheerily and lives to a good old age. If you are as early a riser as he -is, you may oftentimes see him come blinking out of his burrow to meet -the first beams of the morning and take a sunbath on some favorite -flat-topped boulder. Afterward, well warmed, he goes to breakfast in -one of his garden hollows, eats heartily like a cow in clover until -comfortably swollen, then goes a-visiting, and plays and loves and -fights. - -In the spring of 1875, when I was exploring the peaks and glaciers -about the head of the middle fork of the San Joaquin, I had crossed the -range from the head of Owen River, and one morning, passing around a -frozen lake where the snow was perhaps ten feet deep, I was surprised -to find the fresh track of a woodchuck plainly marked, the sun having -softened the surface. What could the animal be thinking of, coming out -so early while all the ground was snow-buried? The steady trend of his -track showed he had a definite aim, and fortunately it was toward a -mountain thirteen thousand feet high that I meant to climb. So I -followed to see if I could find out what he was up to. From the base of -the mountain the track pointed straight up, and I knew by the melting -snow that I was not far behind him. I lost the track on a crumbling -ridge, partly projecting through the snow, but soon discovered it -again. Well toward the summit of the mountain, in an open spot on the -south side, nearly inclosed by disintegrating pinnacles among which the -sun heat reverberated, making an isolated patch of warm climate, I -found a nice garden, full of rock cress, phlox, silene, draba, etc., -and a few grasses; and in this garden I overtook the wanderer, enjoying -a fine fresh meal, perhaps the first of the season. How did he know the -way to this one garden spot, so high and far off, and what told him -that it was in bloom while yet the snow was ten feet deep over his den? -For this it would seem he would need more botanical, topographical, and -climatological knowledge than most mountaineers are possessed of. - -[Illustration: A Mountain Woodchuck.] - -The shy, curious mountain beaver, Haplodon, lives on the heights, not -far from the woodchuck. He digs canals and controls the flow of small -streams under the sod. And it is startling when one is camped on the -edge of a sloping meadow near the homes of these industrious -mountaineers, to be awakened in the still night by the sound of water -rushing and gurgling under one’s head in a newly formed canal. Pouched -gophers also have a way of awakening nervous campers that is quite as -exciting as the Haplodon’s paln; that is, by a series of firm upward -pushes when they are driving tunnels and shoving up the dirt. One -naturally cries out, “Who’s there?” and then discovering the cause, -“All right. Go on. Good-night.” and goes to sleep again. - -The haymaking pika, bob-tailed spermophile, and wood-rat are also among -the most interesting of the Sierra animals. The last Neotoma is -scarcely at all like the common rat, is nearly twice as large, has a -delicate, soft, brownish fur, white on the belly, large ears thin and -translucent, eyes full and liquid and mild in expression, nose blunt -and squirrelish, slender claws sharp as needles, and as his limbs are -strong he can climb about as well as a squirrel; while no rat or -squirrel has so innocent a look, is so easily approached, or in general -expresses so much confidence in one’s good intentions. He seems too -fine for the thorny thickets he inhabits, and his big, rough hut is as -unlike himself as possible. No other animal in these mountains makes -nests so large and striking in appearance as his. They are built of all -kinds of sticks (broken branches, and old rotten moss-grown chunks and -green twigs, smooth or thorny, cut from the nearest bushes), mixed with -miscellaneous rubbish and curious odds and ends,—bits of cloddy earth, -stones, bones, bits of deer-horn, etc.: the whole simply piled in -conical masses on the ground in chaparral thickets. Some of these -cabins are five or six feet high, and occasionally a dozen or more are -grouped together; less, perhaps, for society’s sake than for advantages -of food and shelter. - -Coming through deep, stiff chaparral in the heart of the wilderness, -heated and weary in forcing a way, the solitary explorer, happening -into one of these curious neotoma villages, is startled at the strange -sight, and may imagine he is in an Indian village, and feel anxious as -to the reception he will get in a place so wild. At first, perhaps, not -a single inhabitant will be seen, or at most only two or three seated -on the tops of their huts as at the doors, observing the stranger with -the mildest of mild eyes. The nest in the centre of the cabin is made -of grass and films of bark chewed to tow, and lined with feathers and -the down of various seeds. The thick, rough walls seem to be built for -defense against enemies—fox, coyote, etc.—as well as for shelter, and -the delicate creatures in their big, rude homes, suggest tender -flowers, like those of Salvia carduacea, defended by thorny involucres. - -Sometimes the home is built in the forks of an oak, twenty or thirty -feet from the ground, and even in garrets. Among housekeepers who have -these bushmen as neighbors or guests they are regarded as thieves, -because they carry away and pile together everything transportable -(knives, forks, tin cups, spoons, spectacles, combs, nails, -kindling-wood, etc., as well as eatables of all sorts), to strengthen -their fortifications or to shine among rivals. Once, far back in the -high Sierra, they stole my snow-goggles, the lid of my teapot, and my -aneroid barometer; and one stormy night, when encamped under a -prostrate cedar, I was awakened by a gritting sound on the granite, and -by the light of my fire I discovered a handsome neotoma beside me, -dragging away my ice-hatchet, pulling with might and main by a buckskin -string on the handle. I threw bits of bark at him and made a noise to -frighten him, but he stood scolding and chattering back at me, his fine -eyes shining with an air of injured innocence. - -A great variety of lizards enliven the warm portions of the Park. Some -of them are more than a foot in length, others but little larger than -grasshoppers. A few are snaky and repulsive at first sight, but most of -the species are handsome and attractive, and bear acquaintance well; we -like them better the farther we see into their charming lives. Small -fellow mortals, gentle and guileless, they are easily tamed, and have -beautiful eyes, expressing the clearest innocence, so that, in spite of -prejudices brought from cool, lizardless countries, one must soon learn -to like them. Even the horned toad of the plains and foothills, called -horrid, is mild and gentle, with charming eyes, and so are the -snakelike species found in the underbrush of the lower forests. These -glide in curves with all the ease and grace of snakes, while their -small, undeveloped limbs drag for the most part as useless appendages. -One specimen that I measured was fourteen inches long, and as far as I -saw it made no use whatever of its diminutive limbs. - -Most of them glint and dart on the sunny rocks and across open spaces -from bush to bush, swift as dragonflies and humming-birds, and about as -brilliantly colored. They never make a long-sustained run, whatever -their object, but dart direct as arrows for a distance of ten or twenty -feet, then suddenly stop, and as suddenly start again. These stops are -necessary as rests, for they are short-winded, and when pursued -steadily are soon run out of breath, pant pitifully, and may easily be -caught where no retreat in bush or rock is quickly available. - -If you stay with them a week or two and behave well, these gentle -saurians, descendants of an ancient race of giants, will soon know and -trust you, come to your feet, play, and watch your every motion with -cunning curiosity. You will surely learn to like them, not only the -bright one, gorgeous as the rainbow, but the little ones, gray as -lichened granite, and scarcely bigger than grasshoppers; and they will -teach you that scales may cover as fine a nature as hair or feathers or -anything tailored. - -There are many snakes in the cañons and lower forests, but they are -mostly handsome and harmless. Of all the tourists and travelers who -have visited Yosemite and the adjacent mountains, not one has been -bitten by a snake of any sort, while thousands have been charmed by -them. Some of them vie with the lizards in beauty of color and dress -patterns. Only the rattlesnake is venomous, and he carefully keeps his -venom to himself as far as man is concerned, unless his life is -threatened. - -Before I learned to respect rattlesnakes I killed two, the first on the -San Joaquin plain. He was coiled comfortably around a tuft of -bunch-grass, and I discovered him when he was between my feet as I was -stepping over him. He held his head down and did not attempt to strike, -although in danger of being trampled. At that time, thirty years ago, I -imagined that rattlesnakes should be killed wherever found. I had no -weapon of any sort, and on the smooth plain there was not a stick or a -stone within miles; so I crushed him by jumping on him, as the deer are -said to do. Looking me in the face he saw I meant mischief, and quickly -cast himself into a coil, ready to strike in defense. I knew he could -not strike when traveling, therefore I threw handfuls of dirt and grass -sods at him, to tease him out of coil. He held his ground a few -minutes, threatening and striking, and then started off to get rid of -me. I ran forward and jumped on him; but he drew back his head so -quickly my heel missed, and he also missed his stroke at me. -Persecuted, tormented, again and again he tried to get away, bravely -striking out to protect himself; but at last my heel came squarely -down, sorely wounding him, and a few more brutal stampings crushed him. -I felt degraded by the killing business, farther from heaven, and I -made up my mind to try to be at least as fair and charitable as the -snakes themselves, and to kill no more save in self-defense. - -The second killing might also, I think, have been avoided, and I have -always felt somewhat sore and guilty about it. I had built a little -cabin in Yosemite, and for convenience in getting water, and for the -sake of music and society, I led a small stream from Yosemite Creek -into it. Running along the side of the wall it was not in the way, and -it had just fall enough to ripple and sing in low, sweet tones, making -delightful company, especially at night when I was lying awake. Then a -few frogs came in and made merry with the stream,—and one snake, I -suppose to catch the frogs. - -Returning from my long walks, I usually brought home a large handful of -plants, partly for study, partly for ornament, and set them in a corner -of the cabin, with their stems in the stream to keep them fresh. One -day, when I picked up a handful that had begun to fade, I uncovered a -large coiled rattler that had been hiding behind the flowers. Thus -suddenly brought to light face to face with the rightful owner of the -place, the poor reptile was desperately embarrassed, evidently -realizing that he had no right in the cabin. It was not only fear that -he showed, but a good deal of downright bashfulness and embarrassment, -like that of a more than half honest person caught under suspicious -circumstances behind a door. Instead of striking or threatening to -strike, though coiled and ready, he slowly drew his head down as far as -he could, with awkward, confused kinks in his neck and a shamefaced -expression, as if wishing the ground would open and hide him. I have -looked into the eyes of so many wild animals that I feel sure I did not -mistake the feelings of this unfortunate snake. I did not want to kill -him, but I had many visitors, some of them children, and I oftentimes -came in late at night; so I judged he must die. - -Since then I have seen perhaps a hundred or more in these mountains, -but I have never intentionally disturbed them, nor have they disturbed -me to any great extent, even by accident, though in danger of being -stepped on. Once, while I was on my knees kindling a fire, one glided -under the arch made by my arm. He was only going away from the ground I -had selected for a camp, and there was not the slightest danger, -because I kept still and allowed him to go in peace. The only time I -felt myself in serious danger was when I was coming out of the Tuolumne -Cañon by a steep side cañon toward the head of Yosemite Creek. On an -earthquake talus, a boulder in my way presented a front so high that I -could just reach the upper edge of it while standing on the next below -it. Drawing myself up, as soon as my head was above the flat top of it -I caught sight of a coiled rattler. My hands had alarmed him, and he -was ready for me; but even with this provocation, and when my head came -in sight within a foot of him, he did not strike. The last time I -sauntered through the big cañon I saw about two a day. One was not -coiled, but neatly folded in a narrow space between two cobble-stones -on the side of the river, his head below the level of them, ready to -shoot up like a Jack-in-the-box for frogs or birds. My foot spanned the -space above within an inch or two of his head, but he only held it -lower. In making my way through a particularly tedious tangle of -buckthorn, I parted the branches on the side of an open spot and threw -my bundle of bread into it; and when, with my arms free, I was pushing -through after it, I saw a small rattlesnake dragging his tail from -beneath my bundle. When he caught sight of me he eyed me angrily, and -with an air of righteous indignation seemed to be asking why I had -thrown that stuff on him. He was so small that I was inclined to slight -him, but he struck out so angrily that I drew back, and approached the -opening from the other side. But he had been listening, and when I -looked through the brush I found him confronting me, still with a -come-in-if-you-dare expression. In vain I tried to explain that I only -wanted my bread; he stoutly held the ground in front of it; so I went -back a dozen rods and kept still for half an hour, and when I returned -he had gone. - -One evening, near sundown, in a very rough, boulder-choked portion of -the cañon, I searched long for a level spot for a bed, and at last was -glad to find a patch of flood-sand on the river-bank, and a lot of -driftwood close by for a campfire. But when I threw down my bundle, I -found two snakes in possession of the ground. I might have passed the -night even in this snake den without danger, for I never knew a single -instance of their coming into camp in the night; but fearing that, in -so small a space, some late comers, not aware of my presence, might get -stepped on when I was replenishing the fire, to avoid possible crowding -I encamped on one of the earthquake boulders. - -There are two species of Crotalus in the Park, and when I was exploring -the basin of Yosemite Creek I thought I had discovered a new one. I saw -a snake with curious divided appendages on its head. Going nearer, I -found that the strange headgear was only the feet of a frog. Cutting a -switch, I struck the snake lightly until he disgorged the poor frog, or -rather allowed it to back out. On its return to the light from one of -the very darkest of death valleys, it blinked a moment with a sort of -dazed look, then plunged into a stream, apparently happy and well. - -Frogs abound in all the bogs, marshes, pools, and lakes, however cold -and high and isolated. How did they manage to get up these high -mountains? Surely not by jumping. Long and dry excursions through weary -miles of boulders and brush would be trying to frogs. Most likely their -stringy spawn is carried on the feet of ducks, cranes, and other -waterbirds. Anyhow, they are most thoroughly distributed, and flourish -famously. What a cheery, hearty set they are, and how bravely their -krink and tronk concerts enliven the rocky wilderness! - -None of the high-lying mountain lakes or branches of the rivers above -sheer falls had fish of any sort until stocked by the agency of man. In -the high Sierra, the only river in which trout exist naturally is the -middle fork of Kings River. There are no sheer falls on this stream; -some of the rapids, however, are so swift and rough, even at the lowest -stage of water, that it is surprising any fish can climb them. I found -trout in abundance in this fork up to seventy-five hundred feet. They -also run quite high on the Kern. On the Merced they get no higher than -Yosemite Valley, four thousand feet, all the forks of the river being -barred there by sheer falls, and on the main Tuolumne they are stopped -by a fall below Hetch-Hetchy, still lower than Yosemite. Though these -upper waters are inaccessible to the fish, one would suppose their eggs -might have been planted there by some means. Nature has so many ways of -doing such things. In this case she waited for the agency of man, and -now many of these hitherto fishless lakes and streams are full of fine -trout, stocked by individual enterprise, Walton clubs etc., in great -part under the auspices of the United States Fish Commission. A few -trout carried into Hetch-Hetchy in a common water-bucket have -multiplied wonderfully fast. Lake Tenaya, at an elevation of over eight -thousand feet, was stocked eight years ago by Mr. Murphy, who carried a -few trout from Yosemite. Many of the small streams of the eastern slope -have also been stocked with trout transported over the passes in tin -cans on the backs of mules. Soon, it would seem, all the streams of the -range will be enriched by these lively fish, and will become the means -of drawing thousands of visitors into the mountains. Catching trout -with a bit of bent wire is a rather trivial business, but fortunately -people fish better than they know. In most cases it is the man who is -caught. Trout-fishing regarded as bait for catching men, for the saving -of both body and soul, is important, and deserves all the expense and -care bestowed on it. - -[Illustration: A Trout Stream in the Sierra Nevada (King’s River).] - - - - -CHAPTER VII -Among the Birds of the Yosemite - - -Travelers in the Sierra forests usually complain of the want of life. -“The trees,” they say, “are fine, but the empty stillness is deadly; -there are no animals to be seen, no birds. We have not heard a song in -all the woods.” And no wonder! They go in large parties with mules and -horses; they make a great noise; they are dressed in outlandish -unnatural colors; every animal shuns them. Even the frightened pines -would run away if they could. But Nature-lovers, devout, silent, -open-eyed, looking and listening with love, find no lack of inhabitants -in these mountain mansions, and they come to them gladly. Not to -mention the large animals or the small insect people, every waterfall -has its ouzel and every tree its squirrel or tamias or bird: tiny -nuthatch threading the furrows of the bark, sheerily whispering to -itself as it deftly pries off loose scales and examines the curled -edges of lichens; or Clarke crow or jay examining the cones; or some -singer—oriole, tanager, warbler—resting, feeding, attending to domestic -affairs. Hawks and eagles sail overhead, grouse walk in happy flocks -below, and song sparrows sing in every bed of chaparral. There is no -crowding, to be sure. Unlike the low Eastern trees, those of the Sierra -in the main forest belt average nearly two hundred feet in height, and -of course many birds are required to make much show in them, and many -voices to fill them. Nevertheless, the whole range, from foothills to -snowy summits, is shaken into song every summer; and though low and -thin in winter, the music never ceases. - -The sage cock (_Centrocercus urophasianus_) is the largest of the -Sierra game-birds and the king of American grouse. It is an admirably -strong, hardy, handsome, independent bird, able with comfort to bid -defiance to heat, cold, drought, hunger, and all sorts of storms, -living on whatever seeds or insects chance to come in its way, or -simply on the leaves of sage-brush, everywhere abundant on its desert -range. In winter, when the temperature is oftentimes below zero, and -heavy snowstorms are blowing, he sits beneath a sage bush and allows -himself to be covered, poking his head now and then through the snow to -feed on the leaves of his shelter. Not even the Arctic ptarmigan is -hardier in braving frost and snow and wintry darkness. When in full -plumage he is a beautiful bird, with a long, firm, sharp-pointed tail, -which in walking is slightly raised and swings sidewise back and forth -with each step. The male is handsomely marked with black and white on -the neck, back, and wings, weighs five or six pounds, and measures -about thirty inches in length. The female is clad mostly in plain -brown, and is not so large. They occasionally wander from the sage -plains into the open nut-pine and juniper woods, but never enter the -main coniferous forest. It is only in the broad, dry, half-desert sage -plains that they are quite at home, where the weather is blazing hot in -summer, cold in winter. If any one passes through a flock, all squat on -the gray ground and hold their heads low, hoping to escape observation; -but when approached within a rod or so, they rise with a magnificent -burst of wing-beats, looking about as big as turkeys and making a noise -like a whirlwind. - -On the 28th of June, at the head of Owen’s Valley, I caught one of the -young that was then just able to fly. It was seven inches long, of a -uniform gray color, blunt-billed, and when captured cried lustily in a -shrill piping voice, clear in tone as a boy’s small willow whistle. I -have seen flocks of from ten to thirty or forty on the east margin of -the Park, where the Mono Desert meets the gray foothills of the Sierra; -but since cattle have been pastured there they are becoming rarer every -year. - -Another magnificent bird, the blue or dusky grouse, next in size to the -sage cock, is found all through the main forest belt, though not in -great numbers. They like best the heaviest silver-fir woods near garden -and meadow openings, where there is but little underbrush to cover the -approach of enemies. When a flock of these brave birds, sauntering and -feeding on the sunny, flowery levels of some hidden meadow or Yosemite -valley far back in the heart of the mountains, see a man for the first -time in their lives, they rise with hurried notes of surprise and -excitement and alight on the lowest branches of the trees, wondering -what the wanderer may be, and showing great eagerness to get a good -view of the strange vertical animal. Knowing nothing of guns, they -allow you to approach within a half dozen paces, then quietly hop a few -branches higher or fly to the next tree without a thought of -concealment, so that you may observe them as long as you like, near -enough to see the fine shading of their plumage, the feathers on their -toes, and the innocent wonderment in their beautiful wild eyes. But in -the neighborhood of roads and trails they soon become shy, and when -disturbed fly into the highest, leafiest trees, and suddenly become -invisible, so well do they know how to hide and keep still and make use -of their protective coloring. Nor can they be easily dislodged ere they -are ready to go. In vain the hunter goes round and round some tall pine -or fir into which he has perhaps seen a dozen enter, gazing up through -the branches, straining his eyes while his gun is held ready; not a -feather can he see unless his eyes have been sharpened by long -experience and knowledge of the blue grouse’s habits. Then, perhaps, -when he is thinking that the tree must be hollow and that the birds -have all gone inside, they burst forth with a startling whir of -wing-beats, and after gaining full speed go skating swiftly away -through the forest arches in a long, silent, wavering slide, with wings -held steady. - -[Illustration: Mono Desert from Mono Pass.] - -During the summer they are most of the time on the ground, feeding on -insects, seeds, berries, etc., around the margins of open spots and -rocky moraines, playing and sauntering, taking sun baths and sand -baths, and drinking at little pools and rills during the heat of the -day. In winter they live mostly in the trees, depending on buds for -food, sheltering beneath dense overlapping branches at night and during -storms on the leeside of the trunk, sunning themselves on the southside -limbs in fine weather, and sometimes diving into the mealy snow to -flutter and wallow, apparently for exercise and fun. - -I have seen young broods running beneath the firs in June at a height -of eight thousand feet above the sea. On the approach of danger, the -mother with a peculiar cry warns the helpless midgets to scatter and -hide beneath leaves and twigs, and even in plain open places it is -almost impossible to discover them. In the meantime the mother feigns -lameness, throws herself at your feet, kicks and gasps and flutters, to -draw your attention from the chicks. The young are generally able to -fly about the middle of July; but even after they can fly well they are -usually advised to run and hide and lie still, no matter how closely -approached, while the mother goes on with her loving, lying acting, -apparently as desperately concerned for their safety as when they were -featherless infants. Sometimes, however, after carefully studying the -circumstances, she tells them to take wing; and up and away in a blurry -birr and whir they scatter to all points of the compass, as if blown up -with gunpowder, dropping cunningly out of sight three or four hundred -yards off, and keeping quiet until called, after the danger is supposed -to be past. If you walk on a little way without manifesting any -inclination to hunt them, you may sit down at the foot of a tree near -enough to see and hear the happy reunion. One touch of nature makes the -whole world kin; and it is truly wonderful how love-telling the small -voices of these birds are, and how far they reach through the woods -into one another’s hearts and into ours. The tones are so perfectly -human and so full of anxious affection, few mountaineers can fail to be -touched by them. - -They are cared for until full grown. On the 20th of August, as I was -passing along the margin of a garden spot on the head-waters of the San -Joaquin, a grouse rose from the ruins of an old juniper that had been -uprooted and brought down by an avalanche from a cliff overhead. She -threw herself at my feet, limped and fluttered and gasped, showing, as -I thought, that she had a nest and was raising a second brood. Looking -for the eggs, I was surprised to see a strong-winged flock nearly as -large as the mother fly up around me. - -Instead of seeking a warmer climate when the winter storms set in, -these hardy birds stay all the year in the high Sierra forests, and I -have never known them to suffer in any sort of weather. Able to live on -the buds of pine, spruce, and fir, they are forever independent in the -matter of food supply, which gives so many of us trouble, dragging us -here and there away from our best work. How gladly I would live on pine -buds, however pitchy, for the sake of this grand independence! With all -his superior resources, man makes more distracting difficulty -concerning food than any other of the family. - -The mountain quail, or plumed partridge (_Oreortyx pictus plumiferus_) -is common in all the upper portions of the Park, though nowhere in -numbers. He ranges considerably higher than the grouse in summer, but -is unable to endure the heavy storms of winter. When his food is -buried, he descends the range to the brushy foothills, at a height of -from two to three thousand feet above sea; but like every true -mountaineer, he is quick to follow the spring back into the highest -mountains. I think he is the very handsomest and most interesting of -all the American partridges, larger and handsomer than the famous Bob -White, or even the fine California valley quail, or the Massena -partridge of Arizona and Mexico. That he is not so regarded, is because -as a lonely mountaineer he is not half known. - -His plumage is delicately shaded, brown above, white and rich chestnut -below and on the sides, with many dainty markings of black and white -and gray here and there, while his beautiful head plume, three or four -inches long, nearly straight, composed of two feathers closely folded -so as to appear as one, is worn jauntily slanted backward like a single -feather in a boy’s cap, giving him a very marked appearance. They -wander over the lonely mountains in family flocks of from six to -fifteen, beneath ceanothus, manzanita, and wild cherry thickets, and -over dry sandy flats, glacier meadows, rocky ridges, and beds of -Bryanthus around glacier lakes, especially in autumn, when the berries -of the upper gardens are ripe, uttering low clucking notes to enable -them to keep together. When they are so suddenly disturbed that they -are afraid they cannot escape the danger by running into thickets, they -rise with a fine hearty whir and scatter in the brush over an area of -half a square mile or so, a few of them diving into leafy trees. But as -soon as the danger is past, the parents with a clear piping note call -them together again. By the end of July the young are two thirds grown -and fly well, though only dire necessity can compel them to try their -wings. In gait, gestures, habits, and general behavior they are like -domestic chickens, but infinitely finer, searching for insects and -seeds, looking to this side and that, scratching among fallen leaves, -jumping up to pull down grass heads, and clucking and muttering in low -tones. - -Once when I was seated at the foot of a tree on the head-waters of the -Merced, sketching, I heard a flock up the valley behind me, and by -their voices gradually sounding nearer I knew that they were feeding -toward me. I kept still, hoping to see them. Soon one came within three -or four feet of me, without noticing me any more than if I were a stump -or a bulging part of the trunk against which I was leaning, my clothing -being brown, nearly like the bark. Presently along came another and -another, and it was delightful to get so near a view of these handsome -chickens perfectly undisturbed, observe their manners, and hear their -low peaceful notes. At last one of them caught my eye, gazed in silent -wonder for a moment, then uttered a peculiar cry, which was followed by -a lot of hurried muttered notes that sounded like speech. The others, -of course, saw me as soon as the alarm was sounded, and joined the -wonder talk, gazing and chattering, astonished but not frightened. Then -all with one accord ran back with the news to the rest of the flock. -“What is it? what is it? Oh, you never saw the like,” they seemed to be -saying. “Not a deer, or a wolf, or a bear; come see, come see.” “Where? -where?” “Down there by that tree.” Then they approached cautiously, -past the tree, stretching their necks, and looking up in turn as if -knowing from the story told them just where I was. For fifteen or -twenty minutes they kept coming and going, venturing within a few feet -of me, and discussing the wonder in charming chatter. Their curiosity -at last satisfied, they began to scatter and feed again, going back in -the direction they had come from; while I, loath to part with them, -followed noiselessly, crawling beneath the bushes, keeping them in -sight for an hour or two, learning their habits, and finding out what -seeds and berries they like best. - -The valley quail is not a mountaineer, and seldom enters the Park -except at a few of the lowest places on the western boundary. It -belongs to the brushy foothills and plains, orchards and wheatfields, -and is a hundred times more numerous than the mountain quail. It is a -beautiful bird, about the size of the Bob White, and has a handsome -crest of four or five feathers an inch long, recurved, standing nearly -erect at times or drooping forward. The loud calls of these quails in -the spring—Pe-check-ah, Pe-check-a, Hoy, Hoy—are heard far and near -over all the lowlands. They have vastly increased in numbers since the -settlement of the country, notwithstanding the immense numbers killed -every season by boys and pot-hunters as well as the regular leggined -sportsmen from the towns; for man’s destructive action is more than -counterbalanced by increased supply of food from cultivation, and by -the destruction of their enemies—coyotes, skunks, foxes, hawks, owls, -etc.—which not only kill the old birds, but plunder their nests. Where -coyotes and skunks abound, scarce one pair in a hundred is successful -in raising a brood. So well aware are these birds of the protection -afforded by man, even now that the number of their wild enemies has -been greatly diminished, that they prefer to nest near houses, -notwithstanding they are so shy. Four or five pairs rear their young -around our cottage every spring. One year a pair nested in a straw pile -within four or five feet of the stable door, and did not leave the eggs -when the men led the horses back and forth within a foot or two. For -many seasons a pair nested in a tuft of pampas grass in the garden; -another pair in an ivy vine on the cottage roof, and when the young -were hatched, it was interesting to see the parents getting the fluffy -dots down. They were greatly excited, and their anxious calls and -directions to their many babes attracted our attention. They had no -great difficulty in persuading the young birds to pitch themselves from -the main roof to the porch roof among the ivy, but to get them safely -down from the latter to the ground, a distance of ten feet, was most -distressing. It seemed impossible the frail soft things could avoid -being killed. The anxious parents led them to a point above a spiræa -bush, that reached nearly to the eaves, which they seemed to know would -break the fall. Anyhow they led their chicks to this point, and with -infinite coaxing and encouragement got them to tumble themselves off. -Down they rolled and sifted through the soft leaves and panicles to the -pavement, and, strange to say, all got away unhurt except one that lay -as if dead for a few minutes. When it revived, the joyful parents, with -their brood fairly launched on the journey of life, proudly led them -down the cottage hill, through the garden, and along an osage orange -hedge into the cherry orchard. These charming birds even enter towns -and villages, where the gardens are of good size and guns are -forbidden, sometimes going several miles to feed, and returning every -evening to their roosts in ivy or brushy trees and shrubs. - -Geese occasionally visit the Park, but never stay long. Sometimes on -their way across the range, a flock wanders into Hetch-Hetchy or -Yosemite to rest or get something to eat, and if shot at, are often -sorely bewildered in seeking a way out. I have seen them rise from the -meadow or river, wheel round in a spiral until a height of four or five -hundred feet was reached, then form ranks and try to fly over the wall. -But Yosemite magnitudes seem to be as deceptive to geese as to men, for -they would suddenly find themselves against the cliffs not a fourth of -the way to the top. Then turning in confusion, and screaming at the -strange heights, they would try the opposite side, and so until -exhausted they were compelled to rest, and only after discovering the -river cañon could they make their escape. Large, harrow-shaped flocks -may often be seen crossing the range in the spring, at a height of at -least fourteen thousand feet. Think of the strength of wing required to -sustain so heavy a bird in air so thin. At this elevation it is but -little over half as dense as at the sea level. Yet they hold bravely on -in beautifully dressed ranks, and have breath enough to spare for loud -honking. After the crest of the Sierra is passed it is only a smooth -slide down the sky to the waters of Mono, where they may rest as long -as they like. - -Ducks of five or six species, among which are the mallard and wood -duck, go far up into the heart of the mountains in the spring, and of -course come down in the fall with the families they have reared. A few, -as if loath to leave the mountains, pass the winter in the lower -valleys of the Park at a height of three thousand to four thousand -feet, where the main streams are never wholly frozen over, and snow -never falls to a great depth or lies long. In summer they are found up -to a height of eleven thousand feet on all the lakes and branches of -the rivers except the smallest, and those beside the glaciers -incumbered with drifting ice and snow. I found mallards and wood ducks -at Lake Tenaya, June 1, before the ice-covering was half melted, and a -flock of young ones in Bloody Cañon Lake, June 20. They are usually met -in pairs, never in large flocks. No place is too wild or rocky or -solitary for these brave swimmers, no stream too rapid. In the roaring, -resounding cañon torrents, they seem as much at home as in the tranquil -reaches and lakes of the broad glacial valleys. Abandoning themselves -to the wild play of the waters, they go drifting confidingly through -blinding, thrashing spray, dancing on boulder-dashed waves, tossing in -beautiful security on rougher water than is usually encountered by sea -birds when storms are blowing. - -A mother duck with her family of ten little ones, waltzing round and -round in a pot-hole ornamented with foam bells, huge rocks leaning over -them, cascades above and below and beside them, made one of the most -interesting bird pictures I ever saw. - -I have never found the great northern diver in the Park lakes. Most of -them are inaccessible to him. He might plump down into them, but would -hardly be able to get out of them, since, with his small wings and -heavy body, a wide expanse of elbow room is required in rising. Now and -then one may be seen in the lower Sierra lakes to the northward about -Lassens Butte and Shasta, at a height of four thousand to five thousand -feet, making the loneliest places lonelier with the wildest of wild -cries. - -Plovers are found along the sandy shores of nearly all the mountain -lakes, tripping daintily on the water’s edge, picking up insects; and -it is interesting to learn how few of these familiar birds are required -to make a solitude cheerful. - -Sandhill cranes are sometimes found in comparatively small marshes, -mere dots in the mighty forest. In such spots, at an elevation of from -six thousand to eight thousand feet above the sea, they are -occasionally met in pairs as early as the end of May, while the snow is -still deep in the surrounding fir and sugar-pine woods. And on sunny -days in autumn, large flocks may be seen sailing at a great height -above the forests, shaking the crisp air into rolling waves with their -hearty koor-r-r, koor-r-r, uck-uck, soaring in circles for hours -together on their majestic wings, seeming to float without effort like -clouds, eying the wrinkled landscape outspread like a map mottled with -lakes and glaciers and meadows and streaked with shadowy cañons and -streams, and surveying every frog marsh and sandy flat within a hundred -miles. - -Eagles and hawks are oftentimes seen above the ridges and domes. The -greatest height at which I have observed them was about twelve thousand -feet, over the summits of Mount Hoffman, in the middle region of the -Park. A few pairs had their nests on the cliffs of this mountain, and -could be seen every day in summer, hunting marmots, mountain beavers, -pikas, etc. A pair of golden eagles have made their home in Yosemite -ever since I went there thirty years ago. Their nest is on the Nevada -Fall Cliff, opposite the Liberty Cap. Their screams are rather pleasant -to hear in the vast gulfs between the granite cliffs, and they help the -owls in keeping the echoes busy. - -[Illustration: Liberty Cap and Nevada Falls, Yosemite Valley.] - -But of all the birds of the high Sierra, the strangest, noisiest, and -most notable is the Clarke crow (_Nucifraga columbiana_). He is a foot -long and nearly two feet in extent of wing, ashy gray in general color, -with black wings, white tail, and a strong, sharp bill, with which he -digs into the pine cones for the seeds on which he mainly subsists. He -is quick, boisterous, jerky, and irregular in his movements and speech, -and makes a tremendously loud and showy advertisement of -himself,—swooping and diving in deep curves across gorges and valleys -from ridge to ridge, alighting on dead spars, looking warily about him, -and leaving his dry springy perches, trembling from the vigor of his -kick as he launches himself for a new flight, screaming from time to -time loud enough to be heard more than a mile in still weather. He -dwells far back on the high stormbeaten margin of the forest, where the -mountain pine, juniper, and hemlock grow wide apart on glacier -pavements and domes and rough crumbling ridges, and the dwarf pine -makes a low crinkled growth along the flanks of the Summit peaks. In so -open a region, of course, he is well seen. Everybody notices him, and -nobody at first knows what to make of him. One guesses he must be a -woodpecker; another a crow or some sort of jay, another a magpie. He -seems to be a pretty thoroughly mixed and fermented compound of all -these birds, has all their strength, cunning, shyness, thievishness, -and wary, suspicious curiosity combined and condensed. He flies like a -woodpecker, hammers dead limbs for insects, digs big holes in pine -cones to get at the seeds, cracks nuts held between his toes, cries -like a crow or Stellar jay,—but in a far louder, harsher, and more -forbidding tone of voice,—and besides his crow caws and screams, has a -great variety of small chatter talk, mostly uttered in a fault-finding -tone. Like the magpie, he steals articles that can be of no use to him. -Once when I made my camp in a grove at Cathedral Lake, I chanced to -leave a cake of soap on the shore where I had been washing, and a few -minutes afterward I saw my soap flying past me through the grove, -pushed by a Clarke crow. - -In winter, when the snow is deep, the cones of the mountain pines are -empty, and the juniper, hemlock, and dwarf pine orchard buried, he -comes down to glean seeds in the yellow pine forests, startling the -grouse with his loud screams. But even in winter, in calm weather, he -stays in his high mountain home, defying the bitter frost. Once I lay -snowbound through a three days’ storm at the timber-line on Mount -Shasta; and while the roaring snow-laden blast swept by, one of these -brave birds came to my camp, and began hammering at the cones on the -topmost branches of half-buried pines, without showing the slightest -distress. I have seen Clarke crows feeding their young as early as June -19, at a height of more than ten thousand feet, when nearly the whole -landscape was snow-covered. - -They are excessively shy, and keep away from the traveler as long as -they think they are observed; but when one goes on without seeming to -notice them, or sits down and keeps still, their curiosity speedily -gets the better of their caution, and they come flying from tree to -tree, nearer and nearer, and watch every motion. Few, I am afraid, will -ever learn to like this bird, he is so suspicious and self-reliant, and -his voice is so harsh that to most ears the scream of the eagle will -seem melodious compared with it. Yet the mountaineer who has battled -and suffered and struggled must admire his strength and endurance,—the -way he faces the mountain weather, cleaves the icy blasts, cares for -his young, and digs a living from the stern wilderness. - -Higher yet than Nucifraga dwells the little dun-headed sparrow -(_Leucosticte tephrocotis_). From early spring to late autumn he is to -be found only on the snowy, icy peaks at the head of the glacier -cirques and cañons. His feeding grounds in spring are the snow sheets -between the peaks, and in midsummer and autumn the glaciers. Many bold -insects go mountaineering almost as soon as they are born, ascending -the highest summits on the mild breezes that blow in from the sea every -day during steady weather; but comparatively few of these adventurers -find their way down or see a flower bed again. Getting tired and -chilly, they alight on the snow fields and glaciers, attracted perhaps -by the glare, take cold, and die. There they lie as if on a white cloth -purposely outspread for them, and the dun sparrows find them a rich and -varied repast requiring no pursuit,—bees and butterflies on ice, and -many spicy beetles, a perpetual feast, on tables big for guests so -small, and in vast banqueting halls ventilated by cool breezes that -ruffle the feathers of the fairy brownies. Happy fellows, no rivals -come to dispute possession with them. No other birds, not even hawks, -as far as I have noticed, live so high. They see people so seldom, they -flutter around the explorer with the liveliest curiosity, and come down -a little way, sometimes nearly a mile, to meet him and conduct him into -their icy homes. - -When I was exploring the Merced group, climbing up the grand cañon -between the Merced and Red mountains into the fountain amphitheatre of -an ancient glacier, just as I was approaching the small active glacier -that leans back in the shadow of Merced Mountain, a flock of twenty or -thirty of these little birds, the first I had seen, came down the cañon -to meet me, flying low, straight toward me as if they meant to fly in -my face. Instead of attacking me or passing by, they circled round my -head, chirping and fluttering for a minute or two, then turned and -escorted me up the cañon, alighting on the nearest rocks on either -hand, and flying ahead a few yards at a time to keep even with me. - -I have not discovered their winter quarters. Probably they are in the -desert ranges to the eastward, for I never saw any of them in Yosemite, -the winter refuge of so many of the mountain birds. - -Humming-birds are among the best and most conspicuous of the -mountaineers, flashing their ruby throats in countless wild gardens far -up the higher slopes, where they would be least expected. All one has -to do to enjoy the company of these mountain-loving midgets is to -display a showy blanket or handkerchief. - -The arctic bluebird is another delightful mountaineer, singing a wild, -cheery song and “carrying the sky on his back” over all the gray ridges -and domes of the subalpine region. - -A fine, hearty, good-natured lot of woodpeckers dwell in the Park, and -keep it lively all the year round. Among the most notable of these are -the magnificent log cock (_Ceophlœus pileatus_), the prince of Sierra -woodpeckers, and only second in rank, as far as I know, of all the -woodpeckers of the world; the Lewis woodpecker, large, black, glossy, -that flaps and flies like a crow, does but little hammering, and feeds -in great part on wild cherries and berries; and the carpenter, who -stores up great quantities of acorns in the bark of trees for winter -use. The last-named species is a beautiful bird, and far more common -than the others. In the woods of the West he represents the Eastern -red-head. Bright, cheerful, industrious, not in the least shy, the -carpenters give delightful animation to the open Sierra forests at a -height of from three thousand to fifty-five hundred feet, especially in -autumn, when the acorns are ripe. Then no squirrel works harder at his -pine-nut harvest than these woodpeckers at their acorn harvest, -drilling holes in the thick, corky bark of the yellow pine and incense -cedar, in which to store the crop for winter use,—a hole for each -acorn, so nicely adjusted as to size that when the acorn, point -foremost, is driven in, it fits so well that it cannot be drawn out -without digging around it. Each acorn is thus carefully stored in a dry -bin, perfectly protected from the weather,—a most laborious method of -stowing away a crop, a granary for each kernel. Yet the birds seem -never to weary at the work, but go on so diligently that they seem -determined to save every acorn in the grove. They are never seen eating -acorns at the time they are storing them, and it is commonly believed -that they never eat them or intend to eat them, but that the wise birds -store them and protect them from the depredations of squirrels and -jays, solely for the sake of the worms they are supposed to contain. -And because these worms are too small for use at the time the acorns -drop, they are shut up like lean calves and steers, each in a separate -stall with abundance of food, to grow big and fat by the time they will -be most wanted, that is, in winter, when insects are scarce and -stall-fed worms most valuable. So these woodpeckers are supposed to be -a sort of cattle-raisers, each with a drove of thousands, rivaling the -ants that raise grain and keep herds of plant lice for milk cows. -Needless to say the story is not true, though some naturalists, even, -believe it. When Emerson was in the Park, having heard the worm story -and seen the great pines plugged full of acorns, he asked (just to pump -me, I suppose), “Why do the woodpeckers take the trouble to put acorns -into the bark of the trees?” “For the same reason,” I replied, “that -bees store honey and squirrels nuts.” “But they tell me, Mr. Muir, that -woodpeckers don’t eat acorns.” “Yes, they do,” I said, “I have seen -them eating them. During snowstorms they seem to eat little besides -acorns. I have repeatedly interrupted them at their meals, and seen the -perfectly sound, half-eaten acorns. They eat them in the shell as some -people eat eggs.” “But what about the worms?” “I suppose,” I said, -“that when they come to a wormy one they eat both worm and acorn. -Anyhow, they eat the sound ones when they can’t find anything they like -better, and from the time they store them until they are used they -guard them, and woe to the squirrel or jay caught stealing.” Indians, -in times of scarcity, frequently resort to these stores and chop them -out with hatchets; a bushel or more may be gathered from a single cedar -or pine. - -The common robin, with all his familiar notes and gestures, is found -nearly everywhere throughout the Park,—in shady dells beneath dogwoods -and maples, along the flowery banks of the streams, tripping daintily -about the margins of meadows in the fir and pine woods, and far beyond -on the shores of glacier lakes and the slopes of the peaks. How -admirable the constitution and temper of this cheery, graceful bird, -keeping glad health over so vast and varied a range. In all America he -is at home, flying from plains to mountains, up and down, north and -south, away and back, with the seasons and supply of food. Oftentimes -in the High Sierra, as you wander through the solemn woods, awestricken -and silent, you will hear the reassuring voice of this fellow wanderer -ringing out sweet and clear as if saying, “Fear not, fear not. Only -love is here.” In the severest solitudes he seems as happy as in -gardens and apple orchards. - -The robins enter the Park as soon as the snow melts, and go on up the -mountains, gradually higher, with the opening flowers, until the -topmost glacier meadows are reached in June and July. After the short -summer is done, they descend like most other summer visitors in concord -with the weather, keeping out of the first heavy snows as much as -possible, while lingering among the frost-nipped wild cherries on the -slopes just below the glacier meadows. Thence they go to the lower -slopes of the forest region, compelled to make haste at times by heavy -all-day storms, picking up seeds or benumbed insects by the way; and at -last all, save a few that winter in Yosemite valleys, arrive in the -vineyards and orchards and stubble-fields of the lowlands in November, -picking up fallen fruit and grain, and awakening old-time memories -among the white-headed pioneers, who cannot fail to recognize the -influence of so homelike a bird. They are then in flocks of hundreds, -and make their way into the gardens of towns as well as into the parks -and fields and orchards about the bay of San Francisco, where many of -the wanderers are shot for sport and the morsel of meat on their -breasts. Man then seems a beast of prey. Not even genuine piety can -make the robin-killer quite respectable. Saturday is the great -slaughter day in the bay region. Then the city pot-hunters, with a -rag-tag of boys, go forth to kill, kept in countenance by a sprinkling -of regular sportsmen arrayed in self-conscious majesty and leggins, -leading dogs and carrying hammerless, breech-loading guns of famous -makers. Over the fine landscapes the killing goes forward with shameful -enthusiasm. After escaping countless dangers, thousands fall, big -bagfuls are gathered, many are left wounded to die slowly, no Red Cross -Society to help them. Next day, Sunday, the blood and leggins vanish -from the most devout of the bird-butchers, who go to church, carrying -gold-headed canes instead of guns. After hymns, prayers, and sermon -they go home to feast, to put God’s song birds to use, put them in -their dinners instead of in their hearts, eat them, and suck the -pitiful little drumsticks. It is only race living on race, to be sure, -but Christians singing Divine Love need not be driven to such straits -while wheat and apples grow and the shops are full of dead cattle. Song -birds for food! Compared with this, making kindlings of pianos and -violins would be pious economy. - -The larks come in large flocks from the hills and mountains in the -fall, and are slaughtered as ruthlessly as the robins. Fortunately, -most of our song birds keep back in leafy hidings, and are -comparatively inaccessible. - -The water ouzel, in his rocky home amid foaming waters, seldom sees a -gun, and of all the singers I like him the best. He is a plainly -dressed little bird, about the size of a robin, with short, crisp, but -rather broad wings, and a tail of moderate length, slanted up, giving -him, with his nodding, bobbing manners, a wrennish look. He is usually -seen fluttering about in the spray of falls and the rapid cascading -portions of the main branches of the rivers. These are his favorite -haunts; but he is often seen also on comparatively level reaches and -occasionally on the shores of mountain lakes, especially at the -beginning of winter, when heavy snowfalls have blurred the streams with -sludge. Though not a water-bird in structure, he gets his living in the -water, and is never seen away from the immediate margin of streams. He -dives fearlessly into rough, boiling eddies and rapids to feed at the -bottom, flying under water seemingly as easily as in the air. Sometimes -he wades in shallow places, thrusting his head under from time to time -in a nodding, frisky way that is sure to attract attention. His flight -is a solid whir of wing-beats like that of a partridge, and in going -from place to place along his favorite string of rapids he follows the -windings of the stream, and usually alights on some rock or snag on the -bank or out in the current, or rarely on the dry limb of an overhanging -tree, perching like a tree bird when it suits his convenience. He has -the oddest, neatest manners imaginable, and all his gestures as he -flits about in the wild, dashing waters bespeak the utmost cheerfulness -and confidence. He sings both winter and summer, in all sorts of -weather,—a sweet, fluty melody, rather low, and much less keen and -accentuated than from the brisk vigor of his movements one would be led -to expect. - -[Illustration: Water Ouzels in a Mountain Stream.] - -How romantic and beautiful is the life of this brave little singer on -the wild mountain streams, building his round bossy nest of moss by the -side of a rapid or fall, where it is sprinkled and kept fresh and green -by the spray! No wonder he sings well, since all the air about him is -music; every breath he draws is part of a song, and he gets his first -music lessons before he is born; for the eggs vibrate in time with the -tones of the waterfalls. Bird and stream are inseparable, songful and -wild, gentle and strong,—the bird ever in danger in the midst of the -stream’s mad whirlpools, yet seemingly immortal. And so I might go on, -writing words, words, words; but to what purpose? Go see him and love -him, and through him as through a window look into Nature’s warm heart. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII -The Fountains and Streams of the Yosemite National Park - - -“Come let’s to the fields, the meads, and the mountains, -The forests invite us, the streams and the fountains.” - -Carlyle, _Translations_, vol. iii. - -The joyful, songful streams of the Sierra are among the most famous and -interesting in the world, and draw the admiring traveler on and on -through their wonderful cañons, year after year, unwearied. After long -wanderings with them, tracing them to their fountains, learning their -history and the forms they take in their wild works and ways throughout -the different seasons of the year, we may then view them together in -one magnificent show, outspread over all the range like embroidery, -their silvery branches interlacing on a thousand mountains, singing -their way home to the sea: the small rills, with hard roads to travel, -dropping from ledge to ledge, pool to pool, like chains of sweet-toned -bells, slipping gently over beds of pebbles and sand, resting in lakes, -shining, spangling, shimmering, lapping the shores with whispering -ripples, and shaking over-leaning bushes and grass; the larger streams -and rivers in the cañons displaying noble purity and beauty with -ungovernable energy, rushing down smooth inclines in wide foamy sheets -fold over fold, springing up here and there in magnificent whirls, -scattering crisp clashing spray for the sunbeams to iris, bursting with -hoarse reverberating roar through rugged gorges and boulder dams, -booming in falls, gliding, glancing with cool soothing murmuring, -through long forested reaches richly embowered,—filling the grand -cañons with glorious song, and giving life to all the landscape. - -The present rivers of the Sierra are still young, and have made but -little mark as yet on the grand cañons prepared for them by the ancient -glaciers. Only a very short geological time ago they all lay buried -beneath the glaciers they drained, singing in low smothered or silvery -ringing tones in crystal channels, while the summer weather melted the -ice and snow of the surface or gave showers. At first only in warm -weather was any part of these buried rivers displayed in the light of -day; for as soon as frost prevailed the surface rills vanished, though -the streams beneath the ice and in the body of it flowed on all the -year. - -When, toward the close of the glacial period, the ice mantle began to -shrink and recede from the lowlands, the lower portions of the rivers -were developed, issuing from cavelike openings on the melting margin -and growing longer as the ice withdrew; while for many a century the -tributaries and upper portions of the trunks remained covered. In the -fullness of time these also were set free in the sunshine, to take -their places in the newborn landscapes; each tributary with its smaller -branches being gradually developed like the main trunks, as the -climatic changes went on. At first all of them were muddy with glacial -detritus, and they became clear only after the glaciers they drained -had receded beyond lake basins in which the sediments were dropped. - -This early history is clearly explained by the present rivers of -southeastern Alaska. Of those draining glaciers that discharge into -arms of the sea, only the rills on the surface of the ice, and -upboiling, eddying, turbid currents in the tide water in front of the -terminal ice wall, are visible. Where glaciers, in the first stage of -decadence, have receded from the shore, short sections of the trunks of -the rivers that are to take their places may be seen rushing out from -caverns and tunnels in the melting front,—rough, roaring, -detritus-laden torrents, foaming and tumbling over outspread terminal -moraines to the sea, perhaps without a single bush or flower to -brighten their raw, shifting banks. Again, in some of the warmer cañons -and valleys from which the trunk glaciers have been melted, the main -trunks of the rivers are well developed, and their banks planted with -fine forests, while their upper branches, lying high on the snowy -mountains, are still buried beneath shrinking residual glaciers; -illustrating every state of development, from icy darkness to light, -and from muddiness to crystal clearness. - -Now that the hard grinding sculpture work of the glacial period is -done, the whole bright band of Sierra rivers run clear all the year, -except when the snow is melting fast in the warm spring weather, and -during extraordinary winter floods and the heavy thunderstorms of -summer called cloud-bursts. Even then they are not muddy above the -foothill mining region, unless the moraines have been loosened and the -vegetation destroyed by sheep; for the rocks of the upper basins are -clean, and the most able streams find but little to carry save the -spoils of the forests,—trees, branches, flakes of bark, cones, leaves, -pollen dust, etc.,—with scales of mica, sand grains, and boulders, -which are rolled along the bottom of the steep parts of the main -channels. Short sections of a few of the highest tributaries heading in -glaciers are of course turbid with finely ground rock mud, but this is -dropped in the first lakes they enter. - -On the northern part of the range, mantled with porous fissured -volcanic rocks, the fountain waters sink and flow below the surface for -considerable distances, groping their way in the dark like the draining -streams of glaciers, and at last bursting forth in big generous -springs, filtered and cool and exquisitely clear. Some of the largest -look like lakes, their waters welling straight up from the bottom of -deep rock basins in quiet massive volume giving rise to young rivers. -Others issue from horizontal clefts in sheer bluffs, with loud -tumultuous roaring that may be heard half a mile or more. Magnificent -examples of these great northern spring fountains, twenty or thirty -feet deep and ten to nearly a hundred yards wide, abound on the main -branches of the Feather, Pitt, McCloud, and Fall rivers. - -The springs of the Yosemite Park, and the high Sierra in general, -though many times more numerous, are comparatively small, oozing from -moraines and snowbanks in thin, flat irregular currents which remain on -the surface or near it, the rocks of the south half of the range being -mostly flawless impervious granite; and since granite is but slightly -soluble, the streams are particularly pure. Nevertheless, though they -are all clear, and in the upper and main central forest regions -delightfully lively and cool, they vary somewhat in color and taste as -well as temperature, on account of differences, however slight, in -exposure, and in the rocks and vegetation with which they come in -contact. Some are more exposed than others to winds and sunshine in -their falls and thin plumelike cascades; the amount of dashing, mixing, -and airing the waters of each receive varies considerably; and there is -always more or less variety in the kind and quantity of the vegetation -they flow through, and in the time they lie in shady or sunny lakes and -bogs. - -[Illustration: “Fountain Snow” on the High Sierras (Mt. Lyell Group).] - -The water of one of the branches of the north fork of Owens River, near -the southeastern boundary of the Park, at an elevation of ninety-five -hundred feet above the sea, is the best I ever found. It is not only -delightfully cool and bright, but brisk, sparkling, exhilarating, and -so positively delicious to the taste that a party of friends I led to -it twenty-five years ago still praise it, and refer to it as “that -wonderful champagne water;” though, comparatively, the finest wine is a -coarse and vulgar drink. The party camped about a week in a pine grove -on the edge of a little round sedgy meadow through which the stream ran -bank full, and drank its icy water on frosty mornings, before -breakfast, and at night about as eagerly as in the heat of the day; -lying down and taking massy draughts direct from the brimming flood, -lest the touch of a cup might disturb its celestial flavor. On one of -my excursions I took pains to trace this stream to its head springs. It -is mostly derived from snow that lies in heavy drifts and avalanche -heaps on or near the axis of the range. It flows first in flat sheets -over coarse sand or shingle derived from a granite ridge and the -metamorphic slates of Red Mountain. Then, gathering its many small -branches, it runs through beds of moraine material, and a series of -lakelets and meadows and frosty juicy bogs bordered with heathworts and -linked together by short bouldery reaches. Below these, growing strong -with tribute drawn from many a snowy fountain on either side, the glad -stream goes dashing and swirling through clumps of the white-barked -pine, and tangled willow and alder thickets enriched by the fragrant -herbaceous vegetation usually found about them. And just above the -level camp meadow it is chafed and churned and beaten white over and -over again in crossing a talus of big earthquake boulders, giving it a -very thorough airing. But to what the peculiar indefinable excellence -of this water is due I don’t know; for other streams in adjacent cañons -are aired in about the same way, and draw traces of minerals and plant -essences from similar sources. The best mineral water yet discovered in -the Park flows from the Tuolumne soda springs, on the north side of the -Big Meadow. Mountaineers like it and ascribe every healing virtue to -it, but in no way can any of these waters be compared with the Owens -River champagne. - -It is a curious fact that the waters of some of the Sierra lakes and -streams are invisible, or nearly so, under certain weather conditions. -This is noticed by mountaineers, hunters, and prospectors, wide-awake, -sharp-eyed observers, little likely to be fooled by fine whims. One of -these mountain men, whom I had nursed while a broken leg was mending, -always gratefully reported the wonders he found. One, returning from a -trip on the head waters of the Tuolumne, he came running eagerly, -crying: “Muir, I’ve found the queerest lake in the mountains! It’s high -up where nothing grows; and when it isn’t shiny you can’t see it, and -you walk right into it as if there was nothing there. The first you -know of that lake you are in it, and get tripped up by the water, and -hear the splash.” The waters of Illilouette Creek are nearly invisible -in the autumn; so that, in following the channel, jumping from boulder -to boulder after a shower, you will frequently drag your feet in the -apparently surfaceless pools. - -Excepting a few low, warm slopes, fountain snow usually covers all the -Yosemite Park from November or December to May, most of it until June -or July, while on the coolest parts of the north slopes of the -mountains, at a height of eleven to thirteen thousand feet, it is -perpetual. It seldom lies at a greater depth than two or three feet on -the lower margin, ten feet over the middle forested region, or fifteen -to twenty feet in the shadowy cañons and cirques among the peaks of the -Summit, except where it is drifted, or piled in avalanche heaps at the -foot of long converging slopes to form perennial fountains. - -The first crop of snow crystals that whitens the mountains and -refreshes the streams usually falls in September or October, in the -midst of charming Indian summer weather, often while the goldenrods and -gentians are in their prime; but these Indian summer snows, like some -of the late ones that bury the June gardens, vanish in a day or two, -and garden work goes on with accelerated speed. The grand winter storms -that load the mountains with enduring fountain snow seldom set in -before the end of November. The fertile clouds, descending, glide about -and hover in brooding silence, as if thoughtfully examining the forests -and streams with reference to the work before them; then small flakes -or single crystals appear, glinting and swirling in zigzags and -spirals; and soon the thronging feathery masses fill the sky and make -darkness like night, hurrying wandering mountaineers to their winter -quarters. The first fall is usually about two to four feet deep. Then, -with intervals of bright weather, not very cold, storm succeeds storm, -heaping snow on snow, until from thirty to fifty or sixty feet has -fallen; but on account of heavy settling and compacting, and the waste -from evaporation and melting, the depth in the middle region, as stated -above, rarely exceeds ten feet. Evaporation never wholly ceases, even -in the coldest weather, and the sunshine between storms melts the -surface more or less. Waste from melting also goes on at the bottom -from summer heat stored in the rocks, as is shown by the rise of the -streams after the first general storm, and their steady sustained flow -all winter. - -In the deep sugar-pine and silver-fir woods, up to a height of eight -thousand feet, most of the snow lies where it falls, in one smooth -universal fountain, until set free in the streams. But in the lighter -forests of the two-leaved pine, and on the bleak slopes above the -timber line, there is much wild drifting during storms accompanied by -high winds, and for a day or two after they have fallen, when the -temperature is low, and the snow dry and dusty. Then the trees, bending -in the darkening blast, roar like feeding lions; the frozen lakes are -buried; so also are the streams, which now flow in dark tunnels, as if -another glacial period had come. On high ridges, where the winds have a -free sweep, magnificent overcurling cornices are formed, which, with -the avalanche piles, last as fountains almost all summer; and when an -exceptionally high wind is blowing from the north, the snow, rolled, -drifted, and ground to dust, is driven up the converging northern -slopes of the peaks and sent flying for miles in the form of bright -wavering banners, displayed in wonderful clearness and beauty against -the sky. - -The greatest storms, however, are usually followed by a deep, peculiar -silence, especially profound and solemn in the forests; and the noble -trees stand hushed and motionless, as if under a spell, until the -morning sunbeams begin to sift through their laden spires. Then the -snow, shifting and falling from the top branches, strikes the lower -ones in succession, and dislodges bossy masses all the way down. Thus -each tree is enveloped in a hollow conical avalanche of fairy fineness, -silvery white, irised on the outside; while the relieved branches -spring up and wave with startling effect in the general stillness, as -if moving of their own volition. These beautiful tree avalanches, -hundreds of which may be seen falling at once on fine mornings after -storms, pile their snow in raised rings around corresponding hollows -beneath the trees, making the forest mantle somewhat irregular, but -without greatly influencing its duration and the flow of the streams. - -The large storm avalanches are most abundant on the Summit peaks of the -range. They descend the broad, steep slopes, as well as narrow gorges -and couloirs, with grand roaring and booming, and glide in graceful -curves out on the glaciers they so bountifully feed. - -Down in the main cañons of the middle region broad masses are launched -over the brows of cliffs three or four thousand feet high, which, worn -to dust by friction in falling so far through the air, oftentimes hang -for a minute or two in front of the tremendous precipices like gauzy -half-transparent veils, gloriously beautiful when the sun is shining -through them. Most of the cañon avalanches, however, flow in regular -channels, like the cascades of tributary streams. When the snow first -gives way on the upper slopes of their basins a dull muffled rush and -rumble is heard, which, increasing with heavy deliberation, seems to -draw rapidly nearer with appalling intensity of tone. Presently the -wild floods comes in sight, bounding out over bosses and sheer places, -leaping from bench to bench, spreading and narrowing and throwing off -clouds of whirling diamond dust like a majestic foamy cataract. -Compared with cascades and falls, avalanches are short-lived, and the -sharp clashing sounds so common in dashing water are usually wanting; -but in their deep thunder tones and pearly purple-tinged whiteness, and -in dress, gait, gestures, and general behavior, they are much alike. - -Besides these common storm avalanches there are two other kinds, the -annual and the century, which still further enrich the scenery, though -their influence on fountains is comparatively small. Annual avalanches -are composed of heavy compacted snow which has been subjected to -frequent alternations of frost and thaw. They are developed on cañon -and mountain sides, the greater number of them, at elevations of from -nine to ten thousand feet, where the slopes are so inclined that the -dry snows of winter accumulate and hold fast until the spring thaws sap -their foundations and make them slippery. Then away in grand style go -the ponderous icy masses, adorned with crystalline spray without any -cloudy snow dust; some of the largest descending more than a mile with -even, sustained energy and directness like thunderbolts. The grand -century avalanches, that mow wide swaths through the upper forests, -occur on shady mountain sides about ten to twelve thousand feet high, -where, under ordinary conditions, the snow accumulated from winter to -winter lies at rest for many years, allowing trees fifty to a hundred -feet high to grow undisturbed on the slopes below them. On their way -through the forests they usually make a clean sweep, stripping off the -soil as well as the trees, clearing paths two or three hundred yards -wide from the timber line to the glacier meadows, and piling the -uprooted trees, head downward, in windrows along the sides like lateral -moraines. Sears and broken branches on the standing trees bordering the -gaps record the side depth of the overwhelming flood; and when we come -to count the annual wood rings of the uprooted trees, we learn that -some of these colossal avalanches occur only once in about a century, -or even at still wider intervals. - -Few mountaineers go far enough, during the snowy months, to see many -avalanches, and fewer still know the thrilling exhilaration of riding -on them. In all my wild mountaineering I have enjoyed only one -avalanche ride; and the start was so sudden, and the end came so soon, -I thought but little of the danger that goes with this sort of travel, -though one thinks fast at such times. One calm, bright morning in -Yosemite, after a hearty storm had given three or four feet of fresh -snow to the mountains, being eager to see as many avalanches as -possible, and gain wide views of the peaks and forests arrayed in their -new robes, before the sunshine had time to change or rearrange them, I -set out early to climb by a side cañon to the top of a commanding ridge -a little over three thousand feet above the valley. On account of the -looseness of the snow that blocked the cañon I knew the climb would be -trying, and estimated it might require three or four hours. But it -proved far more difficult than I had foreseen. Most of the way I sank -waist-deep, in some places almost out of sight; and after spending the -day to within half an hour of sundown in this loose, baffling snow -work, I was still several hundred feet below the summit. Then my hopes -were reduced to getting up in time for the sunset, and a quick, -sparkling home-going beneath the stars. But I was not to get top views -of any sort that day; for deep trampling near the cañon head; where the -snow was strained, started an avalanche, and I was swished back down to -the foot of the cañon as if by enchantment. The plodding, wallowing -ascent of about a mile had taken all day, the undoing descent perhaps a -minute. - -When the snow suddenly gave way, I instinctively threw myself on my -back and spread my arms, to try to keep from sinking. Fortunately, -though the grade of the cañon was steep, it was not interrupted by step -levels or precipices big enough to cause outbounding or free plunging. -On no part of the rush was I buried. I was only moderately imbedded on -the surface or a little below it, and covered with a hissing -back-streaming veil of dusty snow particles; and as the whole mass -beneath or about me joined in the flight I felt no friction, though -tossed here and there, and lurched from side to side. And when the -torrent swedged and came to rest, I found myself on the top of the -crumpled pile, without a single bruise or scar. Hawthorne says that -steam has spiritualized travel, notwithstanding the smoke, friction, -smells, and clatter of boat and rail riding. This flight in a milky way -of snow flowers was the most spiritual of all my travels; and, after -many years, the mere thought of it is still an exhilaration. - -In the spring, after all the avalanches are down and the snow is -melting fast, it is glorious to hear the streams sing out on the -mountains. Every fountain swelling, countless rills hurry together to -the rivers at the call of the sun,—beginning to run and sing soon after -sunrise, increasing until toward sundown, then gradually failing -through the cold frosty hours of the night. Thus the volume of the -upper rivers, even in flood time, is nearly doubled during the day, -rising and falling as regularly as the tides of the sea. At the height -of flood, in the warmest June weather, they seem fairly to shout for -joy, and clash their upleaping waters together like clapping of hands; -racing down the cañons with white manes flying in glorious exuberance -of strength, compelling huge sleeping boulders to wake up and join in -the dance and song to swell their chorus. - -Then the plants also are in flood; the hidden sap singing into leaf and -flower, responding as faithfully to the call of the sun as the streams -from the snow, gathering along the outspread roots like rills in their -channels on the mountains, rushing up the stems of herb and tree, -swirling in their myriad cells like streams in potholes, spreading -along the branches and breaking into foamy bloom, while fragrance, like -a finer music, rises and flows with the winds. - -[Illustration: A Mountain Stream in June (Merced Creek and Vernal -Falls, Yosemite).] - -About the same may be said of the spring gladness of blood when the red -streams surge and sing in accord with the swelling plants and rivers, -inclining animals and everybody to travel in hurrahing crowds like -floods, while exhilarating melody in color and fragrance, form and -motion, flows to the heart through all the quickening senses. - -In early summer the streams are in bright prime, running crystal clear, -deep and full, but not overflowing their banks,—about as deep through -the night as the day, the variation so marked in spring being now too -slight to be noticed. Nearly all the weather is cloudless sunshine, and -everything is at its brightest,—lake, river, garden, and forest, with -all their warm, throbbing life. Most of the plants are in full leaf and -flower; the blessed ousels have built their mossy huts, and are now -singing their sweetest song on spray-sprinkled ledges beside the -waterfalls. - -In tranquil, mellow autumn, when the year’s work is about done, when -the fruits are ripe, birds and seeds out of their nests, and all the -landscape is glowing like a benevolent countenance at rest, then the -streams are at their lowest ebb,—their wild rejoicing soothed to -thoughtful calm. All the smaller tributaries whose branches do not -reach back to the perennial fountains of the Summit peaks shrink to -whispering, tinkling currents. The snow of their basins gone, they are -now fed only by small moraine springs, whose waters are mostly -evaporated in passing over warm pavements, and in feeling their way -from pool to pool through the midst of boulders and sand. Even the main -streams are so low they may be easily forded, and their grand falls and -cascades, now gentle and approachable, have waned to sheets and webs of -embroidery, falling fold over fold in new and ever changing beauty. - -Two of the most songful of the rivers, the Tuolumne and Merced, water -nearly all the Park, spreading their branches far and wide, like -broad-headed oaks; and the highest branches of each draw their sources -from one and the same foundation on Mount Lyell, at an elevation of -about thirteen thousand feet above the sea. The crest of the mountain, -against which the head of the glacier rests, is worn to a thin blade -full of joints, through which a part of the glacial water flows -southward, giving rise to the highest trickling affluents of the -Merced; while the main drainage, flowing northward, gives rise to those -of the Tuolumne. After diverging for a distance of ten or twelve miles, -these twin rivers flow in a general westerly direction, descending -rapidly for the first thirty miles, and rushing in glorious apron -cascades and falls from one Yosemite valley to another. Below the -Yosemites they descend in gray rapids and swirling, swaying reaches, -through the chaparral-clad cañons of the foothills and across the -golden California plain, to their confluence with the San Joaquin, -where, after all their long wanderings, they are only about ten miles -apart. - -The main cañons are from fifty to seventy miles long, and from two to -four thousand feet deep, carved in the solid flank of the range. Though -rough in some places and hard to travel, they are the most delightful -of roads, leading through the grandest scenery, full of life and -motion, and offering most telling lessons in earth sculpture. The -walls, far from being unbroken, featureless cliffs, seem like ranges of -separate mountains, so deep and varied is their sculpture; rising in -lordly domes, towers, round-browed outstanding headlands, and -clustering spires, with dark, shadowy side cañons between. But, however -wonderful in height and mass and fineness of finish, no anomalous -curiosities are presented, no “freaks of nature.” All stand related in -delicate rhythm, a grand glacial rock song. - -Among the interesting and influential of the secondary features of -cañon scenery are the great avalanche taluses, that lean against the -walls at intervals of a mile or two. In the middle Yosemite region they -are usually from three to five hundred feet high, and are made up of -huge, angular, well-preserved, unshifting boulders, overgrown with gray -lichens, trees shrubs, and delicate flowering plants. Some of the -largest of the boulders are forty or fifty feet cube, weighing from -five to ten thousand tons; and where the cleavage joints of the granite -are exceptionally wide apart a few blocks may be found nearly a hundred -feet in diameter. These wonderful boulder piles are distributed -throughout all the cañons of the range, completely choking them in some -of the narrower portions, and no mountaineer will be likely to forget -the savage roughness of the roads they make. Even the swift, -overbearing rivers, accustomed to sweep everything out of their way, -are in some places bridled and held in check by them. Foaming, roaring, -in glorious majesty of flood, rushing off long rumbling trains of -ponderous blocks without apparent effort, they are not able to move the -largest, which, withstanding all assaults for centuries, are left at -rest in the channels like islands, with gardens on their tops, fringed -with foam below, with flowers above. - -[Illustration: A Sierra Cañon (King’s River Cañon from Lookout Peak).] - -On some points concerning the origin of these taluses I was long in -doubt. Plainly enough they were derived from the cliffs above them, the -size of each talus being approximately measured by a scar on the wall, -the rough angular surface of which contrasts with the rounded, -glaciated, unfractured parts. I saw also that, instead of being slowly -accumulated material, weathered off, boulder by boulder, in the -ordinary way, almost every talus had been formed suddenly, in a single -avalanche, and had not been increased in size during the last three or -four centuries; for trees three or four hundred years old were growing -on them, some standing at the top close to the wall, without a bruise -or broken branch, showing that scarcely a single boulder had fallen -among them since they were planted. Furthermore, all the taluses -throughout the range seemed, by the trees and lichens growing on them, -to be of the same age. All the phenomena pointed straight to a grand -ancient earthquake. But I left the question open for years, and went on -from cañon to cañon, observing again and again; measuring the heights -of taluses throughout the range on both flanks, and the variations in -the angles of their surface slopes; studying the way their boulders -were assorted and related and brought to rest, and the cleavage joints -of the cliffs from whence they were derived, cautious about making up -my mind. Only after I had seen one made did all doubt as to their -formation vanish. - -In Yosemite Valley, one morning about two o’clock, I was aroused by an -earthquake; and though I had never before enjoyed a storm of this sort, -the strange, wild thrilling motion and rumbling could not be mistaken, -and I ran out of my cabin, near the Sentinel Rock, both glad and -frightened, shouting, “A noble earthquake!” feeling sure I was going to -learn something. The shocks were so violent and varied, and succeeded -one another so closely, one had to balance in walking as if on the deck -of a ship among the waves, and it seemed impossible the high cliffs -should escape being shattered. In particular, I feared that the -sheer-fronted Sentinel Rock, which rises to a height of three thousand -feet, would be shaken down, and I took shelter back of a big pine, -hoping I might be protected from outbounding boulders, should any come -so far. I was now convinced that an earthquake had been the maker of -the taluses, and positive proof soon came. It was a calm moonlight -night, and no sound was heard for the first minute or two save a low -muffled underground rumbling and a slight rustling of the agitated -trees, as if, in wrestling with the mountains, Nature were holding her -breath. Then, suddenly, out of the strange silence and strange motion -there came a tremendous roar. The Eagle Rock, a short distance up the -valley, had given way, and I saw it falling in thousands of the great -boulders I had been studying so long, pouring to the valley floor in a -free curve luminous from friction, making a terribly sublime and -beautiful spectacle,—an arc of the fifteen hundred feet span, as true -in form and as steady as a rainbow, in the midst of the stupendous -roaring rock storm. The sound was inconceivably deep and broad and -earnest, as if the whole earth, like a living creature, had at last -found a voice and were calling to her sister planets. It seemed to me -that if all the thunder I ever heard were condensed into one roar it -would not equal this rock roar at the birth of a mountain talus. Think, -then, of the roar that arose to heaven when all the thousands of -ancient cañon taluses throughout the length and breadth of the range -were simultaneously given birth. - -The main storm was soon over, and, eager to see the new-born talus, I -ran up the valley in the moonlight and climbed it before the huge -blocks, after their wild fiery flight, had come to complete rest. They -were slowly settling into their places, chafing, grating against one -another, groaning, and whispering; but no motion was visible except in -a stream of small fragments pattering down the face of the cliff at the -head of the talus. A cloud of dust particles, the smallest of the -boulders, floated out across the whole breadth of the valley and formed -a ceiling that lasted until after sunrise; and the air was loaded with -the odor of crushed Douglas spruces, from a grove that had been mowed -down and mashed like weeds. - -Sauntering about to see what other changes had been made, I found the -Indians in the middle of the valley, terribly frightened, of course, -fearing the angry spirits of the rocks were trying to kill them, The -few whites wintering in the valley were assembled in front of the old -Hutchings Hotel, comparing notes and meditating flight to steadier -ground, seemingly as sorely frightened as the Indians. It is always -interesting to see people in dead earnest, from whatever cause, and -earthquakes make everybody earnest. Shortly after sunrise, a low blunt -muffled rumbling, like distant thunder, was followed by another series -of shocks, which, though not nearly so severe as the first, made the -cliffs and domes tremble like jelly, and the big pines and oaks thrill -and swish and wave their branches with startling effect. Then the -groups of talkers were suddenly hushed, and the solemnity on their -faces was sublime. One in particular of these winter neighbors, a -rather thoughtful, speculative man, with whom I had often conversed, -was a firm believer in the cataclysmic origin of the valley; and I now -jokingly remarked that his wild tumble-down-and-engulfment hypothesis -might soon be proved, since these underground rumblings and shakings -might be the forerunners of another Yosemite-making cataclysm, which -would perhaps double the depth of the valley by swallowing the floor, -leaving the ends of the wagon roads and trails three or four thousand -feet in the air. Just then came the second series of shocks, and it was -fine to see how awfully silent and solemn he became. His belief in the -existence of a mysterious abyss, into which the suspended floor of the -valley and all the domes and battlements of the walls might at any -moment go roaring down, mightily troubled him. To cheer and tease him -into another view of the case, I said: “Come, cheer up; smile a little -and clap your hands, now that kind Mother Earth is trotting us on her -knee to amuse us and make us good.” But the well-meant joke seemed -irreverent and utterly failed, as if only prayerful terror could -rightly belong to the wild beauty-making business. Even after all the -heavier shocks were over, I could do nothing to reassure him. On the -contrary, he handed me the keys of his little store, and, with a -companion of like mind, fled to the lowlands. In about a month he -returned; but a sharp shock occurred that very day, which sent him -flying again. - -The rocks trembled more or less every day for over two months, and I -kept a bucket of water on my table to learn what I could of the -movements. The blunt thunder-tones in the depths of the mountains were -usually followed by sudden jarring, horizontal thrusts from the -northward, often succeeded by twisting, upjolting movements. Judging by -its effects, this Yosemite, or Inyo earthquake, as it is sometimes -called, was gentle as compared with the one that gave rise to the grand -talus system of the range and did so much for the cañon scenery. -Nature, usually so deliberate in her operations, then created, as we -have seen, a new set of features, simply by giving the mountains a -shake,—changing not only the high peaks and cliffs, but the streams. As -soon as these rock avalanches fell every stream began to sing new -songs; for in many places thousands of boulders were hurled into their -channels, roughening and half damming them, compelling the waters to -surge and roar in rapids where before they were gliding smoothly. Some -of the streams were completely dammed, driftwood, leaves, etc., filling -the interstices between the boulders, thus giving rise to lakes and -level reaches; and these, again, after being gradually filled in, to -smooth meadows, through which the streams now silently meander; while -at the same time some of the taluses took the places of old meadows and -groves. Thus rough places were made smooth, and smooth places rough. -But on the whole, by what at first sight seemed pure confusion and -ruin, the landscapes were enriched; for gradually every talus, however -big the boulders composing it, was covered with groves and gardens, and -made a finely proportioned and ornamental base for the sheer cliffs. In -this beauty work, every boulder is prepared and measured and put in its -place more thoughtfully than are the stones of temples. If for a moment -you are inclined to regard these taluses as mere draggled, chaotic -dumps, climb to the top of one of them, tie your mountain shoes firmly -over the instep, and with braced nerves run down without any haggling, -puttering hesitation, boldly jumping from boulder to boulder with even -speed. You will then find your feet playing a tune, and quickly -discover the music and poetry of rock piles,—a fine lesson; and all -nature’s wildness tells the same story. Storms of every sort, torrents, -earthquakes, cataclysms, “convulsions of nature,” etc., however -mysterious and lawless at first sight they may seem, are only -harmonious notes in the song of creation, varied expressions of God’s -love. - - - - -CHAPTER IX -The Sequoia and General Grant National Parks - - -The Big Tree (_Sequoia gigantea_) is Nature’s forest masterpiece, and, -so far as I know, the greatest of living things. It belongs to an -ancient stock, as its remains in old rocks show, and has a strange air -of other days about it, a thoroughbred look inherited from the long -ago—the auld lang syne of trees. Once the genus was common, and with -many species flourished in the now desolate Arctic regions, in the -interior of North America, and in Europe, but in long, eventful -wanderings from climate to climate only two species have survived the -hardships they had to encounter, the gigantea and sempervirens, the -former now restricted to the western slopes of the Sierra, the other to -the Coast Mountains, and both to California, excepting a few groves of -Redwood which extend into Oregon. The Pacific Coast in general is the -paradise of conifers. Here nearly all of them are giants, and display a -beauty and magnificence unknown elsewhere. The climate is mild, the -ground never freezes, and moisture and sunshine abound all the year. -Nevertheless it is not easy to account for the colossal size of the -Sequoias. The largest are about three hundred feet high and thirty feet -in diameter. Who of all the dwellers of the plains and prairies and -fertile home forests of round-headed oak and maple, hickory and elm, -ever dreamed that earth could bear such growths,—trees that the -familiar pines and firs seem to know nothing about, lonely, silent, -serene, with a physiognomy almost godlike; and so old, thousands of -them still living had already counted their years by tens of centuries -when Columbus set sail from Spain and were in the vigor of youth or -middle age when the star led the Chaldean sages to the infant Saviour’s -cradle! As far as man is concerned they are the same yesterday, to-day, -and forever, emblems of permanence. - -No description can give any adequate idea of their singular majesty, -much less their beauty. Excepting the sugar-pine, most of their -neighbors with pointed tops seem to be forever shouting Excelsior, -while the Big Tree, though soaring above them all, seems satisfied, its -rounded head, poised lightly as a cloud, giving no impression of trying -to go higher. Only in youth does it show like other conifers a -heavenward yearning, keenly aspiring with a long quick-growing top. -Indeed the whole tree for the first century or two, or until a hundred -to a hundred and fifty feet high, is arrowhead in form, and, compared -with the solemn rigidity of age, is as sensitive to the wind as a -squirrel tail. The lower branches are gradually dropped as it grows -older, and the upper ones thinned out until comparatively few are left. -These, however, are developed to great size, divide again and again, -and terminate in bossy rounded masses of leafy branchlets, while the -head becomes dome-shaped. Then poised in fullness of strength and -beauty, stern and solemn in mien, it glows with eager, enthusiastic -life, quivering to the tip of every leaf and branch and far-reaching -root, calm as a granite dome, the first to feel the touch of the rosy -beams of the morning, the last to bid the sun good-night. - -[Illustration: A Giant Sequoia.] - -Perfect specimens, unhurt by running fires or lightning, are singularly -regular and symmetrical in general form, though not at all -conventional, showing infinite variety in sure unity and harmony of -plan. The immensely strong, stately shafts, with rich purplish brown -bark, are free of limbs for a hundred and fifty feet or so, though -dense tufts of sprays occur here and there, producing an ornamental -effect, while long parallel furrows give a fluted columnar appearance. -It shoots forth its limbs with equal boldness in every direction, -showing no weather side. On the old trees the main branches are crooked -and rugged, and strike rigidly outward mostly at right angles from the -trunk, but there is always a certain measured restraint in their reach -which keeps them within bounds. No other Sierra tree has foliage so -densely massed or outline so finely, firmly drawn and so obediently -subordinate to an ideal type. A particularly knotty, angular, -ungovernable-looking branch, five to eight feet in diameter and perhaps -a thousand years old, may occasionally be seen pushing out from the -trunk as if determined to break across the bounds of the regular curve, -but like all the others, as soon as the general outline is approached -the huge limb dissolves into massy bosses of branchlets and sprays, as -if the tree were growing beneath an invisible bell glass against the -sides of which the branches were moulded, while many small, varied -departures from the ideal form give the impression of freedom to grow -as they like. - -Except in picturesque old age, after being struck by lightning and -broken by a thousand snowstorms, this regularity of form is one of the -Big Tree’s most distinguishing characteristics. Another is the simple -sculptural beauty of the trunk and its great thickness as compared with -its height and the width of the branches, many of them being from eight -to ten feet in diameter at a height of two hundred feet from the -ground, and seeming more like finely modeled and sculptured -architectural columns than the stems of trees, while the great strong -limbs are like rafters supporting the magnificent dome head. - -The root system corresponds in magnitude with the other dimensions of -the tree, forming a flat far-reaching spongy network two hundred feet -or more in width without any taproot, and the instep is so grand and -fine, so suggestive of endless strength, it is long ere the eye is -released to look above it. The natural swell of the roots, though at -first sight excessive, gives rise to buttresses no greater than are -required for beauty as well as strength, as at once appears when you -stand back far enough to see the whole tree in its true proportions. -The fineness of the taper of the trunk is shown by its thickness at -great heights—a diameter of ten feet at a height of two hundred being, -as we have seen, not uncommon. Indeed the boles of but few trees hold -their thickness as well as Sequoia. Resolute, consummate, determined in -form, always beheld with wondering admiration, the Big Tree always -seems unfamiliar, standing alone, unrelated, with peculiar physiognomy, -awfully solemn and earnest. Nevertheless, there is nothing alien in its -looks. The Madrona, clad in thin, smooth, red and yellow bark and big -glossy leaves, seems, in the dark coniferous forests of Washington and -Vancouver Island, like some lost wanderer from the magnolia groves of -the South, while the Sequoia, with all its strangeness, seems more at -home than any of its neighbors, holding the best right to the ground as -the oldest, strongest inhabitant. One soon becomes acquainted with new -species of pine and fir spruce as with friendly people, shaking their -outstretched branches like shaking hands, and fondling their beautiful -little ones; while the venerable aboriginal Sequoia, ancient of other -days, keeps you at a distance, taking no notice of you, speaking only -to the winds, thinking only of the sky, looking as strange in aspect -and behavior among the neighboring trees as would the mastodon or hairy -elephant among the homely bears and deer. Only the Sierra Juniper is at -all like it, standing rigid and unconquerable on glacial pavements for -thousands of years, grim, rusty, silent, uncommunicative, with an air -of antiquity about as pronounced as that so characteristic of Sequoia. - -The bark of full grown trees is from one to two feet thick, rich -cinnamon brown, purplish on young trees and shady parts of the old, -forming magnificent masses of color with the underbrush and beds of -flowers. Toward the end of winter the trees themselves bloom while the -snow is still eight or ten feet deep. The pistillate flowers are about -three eighths of an inch long, pale green, and grow in countless -thousands on the ends of the sprays. The staminate are still more -abundant, pale yellow, a fourth of an inch long; and when the golden -pollen is ripe they color the whole tree and dust the air and the -ground far and near. - -The cones are bright grass-green in color, about two and a half inches -long, one and a half wide, and are made up of thirty or forty strong, -closely packed, rhomboidal scales with four to eight seeds at the base -of each. The seeds are extremely small and light, being only from an -eighth to a fourth of an inch long and wide, including a filmy -surrounding wing, which causes them to glint and waver in falling and -enables the wind to carry them considerable distances from the tree. - -The faint lisp of snowflakes as they alight is one of the smallest -sounds mortal can hear. The sound of falling Sequoia seeds, even when -they happen to strike on flat leaves or flakes of bark, is about as -faint. Very different is the bumping and thudding of the falling cones. -Most of them are cut off by the Douglas squirrel and stored for the -sake of the seeds, small as they are. In the calm Indian summer these -busy harvesters with ivory sickles go to work early in the morning, as -soon as breakfast is over, and nearly all day the ripe cones fall in a -steady pattering, bumping shower. Unless harvested in this way they -discharge their seeds and remain on the trees for many years. In -fruitful seasons the trees are fairly laden. On two small specimen -branches one and a half and two inches in diameter I counted four -hundred and eighty cones. No other California conifer produces nearly -so many seeds, excepting perhaps its relative, the Redwood of the Coast -Mountains. Millions are ripened annually by a single tree, and the -product of one of the main groves in a fruitful year would suffice to -plant all the mountain ranges of the world. - -The dense tufted sprays make snug nesting places for birds, and in some -of the loftiest, leafiest towers of verdure thousands of generations -have been reared, the great solemn trees shedding off flocks of merry -singers every year from nests, like the flocks of winged seeds from the -cones. - -The Big Trees keeps its youth far longer than any of its neighbors. -Most silver firs are old in their second or third century, pines in -their fourth or fifth, while the Big Tree growing beside them is still -in the bloom of its youth, juvenile in every feature at the age of old -pines, and cannot be said to attain anything like prime size and beauty -before its fifteen hundredth year, or under favorable circumstances -become old before its three thousandth. Many, no doubt, are much older -than this. On one of the Kings River giants, thirty-five feet and eight -inches in diameter exclusive of bark, I counted upwards of four -thousand annual wood-rings, in which there was no trace of decay after -all these centuries of mountain weather. There is no absolute limit to -the existence of any tree. Their death is due to accidents, not, as of -animals, to the wearing out of organs. Only the leaves die of old age, -their fall is foretold in their structure; but the leaves are renewed -every year and so also are the other essential organs—wood, roots, -bark, buds. Most of the Sierra trees die of disease. Thus the -magnificent silver firs are devoured by fungi, and comparatively few of -them live to see their three hundredth birth year. But nothing hurts -the Big Tree. I never saw one that was sick or showed the slightest -sign of decay. It lives on through indefinite thousands of years until -burned, blown down, undermined, or shattered by some tremendous -lightning stroke. No ordinary bolt ever seriously hurts Sequoia. In all -my walks I have seen only one that was thus killed outright. Lightning, -though rare in the California lowlands, is common on the Sierra. Almost -every day in June and July small thunderstorms refresh the main forest -belt. Clouds like snowy mountains of marvelous beauty grow rapidly in -the calm sky about midday and cast cooling shadows and showers that -seldom last more than an hour. Nevertheless these brief, kind storms -wound or kill a good many trees. I have seen silver firs two hundred -feet high split into long peeled rails and slivers down to the roots, -leaving not even a stump, the rails radiating like the spokes of a -wheel from a hole in the ground where the tree stood. But the Sequoia, -instead of being split and slivered, usually has forty or fifty feet of -its brash knotty top smashed off in short chunks about the size of -cord-wood, the beautiful rosy red ruins covering the ground in a circle -a hundred feet wide or more. I never saw any that had been cut down to -the ground or even to below the branches except one in the Stanislaus -Grove, about twelve feet in diameter, the greater part of which was -smashed to fragments, leaving only a leafless stump about seventy-five -feet high. It is a curious fact that all the very old Sequoias have -lost their heads by lightning. “All things come to him who waits.” But -of all living things Sequoia is perhaps the only one able to wait long -enough to make sure of being struck by lightning. Thousands of years it -stands ready and waiting, offering its head to every passing cloud as -if inviting its fate, praying for heaven’s fire as a blessing; and when -at last the old head is off, another of the same shape immediately -begins to grow on. Every bud and branch seems excited, like bees that -have lost their queen, and tries hard to repair the damage. Branches -that for many centuries have been growing out horizontally at once turn -upward and all their branchlets arrange themselves with reference to a -new top of the same peculiar curve as the old one. Even the small -subordinate branches halfway down the trunk do their best to push up to -the top and help in this curious head-making. - -The great age of these noble trees is even more wonderful than their -huge size, standing bravely up, millennium in, millennium out, to all -that fortune may bring them, triumphant over tempest and fire and time, -fruitful and beautiful, giving food and shelter to multitudes of small -fleeting creatures dependent on their bounty. Other trees may claim to -be about as large or as old: Australian Gums, Senegal Baobabs, Mexican -Taxodiums, English Yews, and venerable Lebanon Cedars, trees of renown, -some of which are from ten to thirty feet in diameter. We read of oaks -that are supposed to have existed ever since the creation, but strange -to say I can find no definite accounts of the age of any of these -trees, but only estimates based on tradition and assumed average rates -of growth. No other known tree approaches the Sequoia in grandeur, -height and thickness being considered, and none as far as I know has -looked down on so many centuries or opens such impressive and -suggestive views into history. The majestic monument of the Kings River -Forest is, as we have seen, fully four thousand years old, and -measuring the rings of annual growth we find it was no less than -twenty-seven feet in diameter at the beginning of the Christian era, -while many observations lead me to expect the discovery of others ten -or twenty centuries older. As to those of moderate age, there are -thousands, mere youth as yet, that— - -“Saw the light that shone - - On Mahomet’s uplifted crescent, - -On many a royal gilded throne - - And deed forgotten in the present, - - . . . saw the age of sacred trees - - And Druid groves and mystic larches, - -And saw from forest domes like these - - The builder bring his Gothic arches.” - - -Great trees and groves used to be venerated as sacred monuments and -halls of council and worship. But soon after the discovery of the -Calaveras Grove one of the grandest trees was cut down for the sake of -a stump! The laborious vandals had seen “the biggest tree in the -world,” then, forsooth, they must try to see the biggest stump and -dance on it. - -The growth in height for the first two centuries is usually at the rate -of eight to ten inches a year. Of course all very large trees are old, -but those equal in size may vary greatly in age on account of -variations in soil, closeness or openness of growth, etc. Thus a tree -about ten feet in diameter that grew on the side of a meadow was, -according to my own count of the wood-rings, only two hundred and -fifty-nine years old at the time it was felled, while another in the -same grove, of almost exactly the same size but less favorably -situated, was fourteen hundred and forty years old. The Calaveras tree -cut for a dance floor was twenty-four feet in diameter and only -thirteen hundred years old, another about the same size was a thousand -years older. - -The following Sequoia notes and measurements are copied from my -notebooks:— - -Diameter. Diameter. Height in Age. -Feet. Inches. Feet. Years. - -0 1 3-4 10 7 -0 5 24 20 -0 5 25 41 -0 6 25 66 -0 6 28 1-2 39 -0 8 25 29 -0 11 45 71 -1 0 60 71 -3 2 156 260 -6 0 192 240 -7 3 195 339 -7 3 255 506 -7 6 240 493 -7 7 207 424 -9 0 243 259 -9 3 222 280 -10 6 1440 -12 1825[1] -15 2150[2] -24 1300 -25 2300 -35 8 inside bark over 4000 - - [1] 6 feet in diameter at height of 200 feet. - - - [2] 7 feet in diameter at height of 200 feet. - - -Little, however, is to be learned in confused, hurried tourist trips, -spending only a poor noisy hour in a branded grove with a guide. You -should go looking and listening alone on long walks through the wild -forests and groves in all the seasons of the year. In the spring the -winds are balmy and sweet, blowing up and down over great beds of -chaparral and through the woods now rich in softening balsam and rosin -and the scent of steaming earth. The sky is mostly sunshine, oftentimes -tempered by magnificent clouds, the breath of the sea built up into new -mountain ranges, warm during the day, cool at night, good -flower-opening weather. The young cones of the Big Trees are showing in -clusters, their flower time already past, and here and there you may -see the sprouting of their tiny seeds of the previous autumn, taking -their first feeble hold of the ground and unpacking their tender whorls -of cotyledon leaves. Then you will naturally be led on to consider -their wonderful growth up and up through the mountain weather, now -buried in snow bent and crinkled, now straightening in summer sunshine -like uncoiling ferns, shooting eagerly aloft in youth’s joyful prime, -and towering serene and satisfied through countless years of calm and -storm, the greatest of plants and all but immortal. - -Under the huge trees up come the small plant people, putting forth -fresh leaves and blossoming in such profusion that the hills and -valleys would still seem gloriously rich and glad were all the grand -trees away. By the side of melting snowbanks rise the crimson sarcodes, -round-topped and massive as the Sequoias themselves, and beds of blue -violets and larger yellow one with leaves curiously lobed; azalea and -saxifrage, daisies and lilies on the mossy banks of the streams; and a -little way back of them, beneath the trees and on sunny spots on the -hills around the groves, wild rose and rubus, spiræa and ribes, -mitella, tiarella, campanula, monardella, forget-me-not, etc., many of -them as worthy of lore immortality as the famous Scotch daisy, wanting -only a Burns to sing them home to all hearts. - -In the midst of this glad plant work the birds are busy nesting, some -singing at their work, some silent, others, especially the big pileated -woodpeckers, about as noisy as backwoodsmen building their cabins. Then -every bower in the groves is a bridal bower, the winds murmur softly -overhead, the streams sing with the birds, while from far-off -waterfalls and thunder-clouds come deep rolling organ notes. - -In summer the days go by in almost constant brightness, cloudless -sunshine pouring over the forest roof, while in the shady depths there -is the subdued light of perpetual morning. The new leaves and cones are -growing fast and make a grand show, seeds are ripening, young birds -learning to fly, and with myriads of insects glad as birds keep the air -whirling, joy in every wingbeat, their humming and singing blending -with the gentle ah-ing of the winds; while at evening every thicket and -grove is enchanted by the tranquil chirping of the blessed hylas, the -sweetest and most peaceful of sounds, telling the very heart-joy of -earth as it rolls through the heavens. - -[Illustration: Midsummer in the Sequoia Forest.] - -In the autumn the sighing of the winds is softer than ever, the gentle -ah-ah-ing filling the sky with a fine universal mist of music, the -birds have little to say, and there is no appreciable stir or rustling -among the trees save that caused by the harvesting squirrels. Most of -the seeds are ripe and away, those of the trees mottling the sunny air, -glinting, glancing through the midst of the merry insect people, rocks -and trees, everything alike drenched in gold light, heaven’s colors -coming down to the meadows and groves, making every leaf a romance, -air, earth, and water in peace beyond thought, the great brooding days -opening and closing in divine psalms of color. - -Winter comes suddenly, arrayed in storms, though to mountaineers silky -streamers on the peaks and the tones of the wind give sufficient -warning. You hear strange whisperings among the tree-tops, as if the -giants were taking counsel together. One after another, nodding and -swaying, calling and replying, spreads the news, until at with one -accord break forth into glorious song, welcoming the first grand -snowstorm of the year, and looming up in the dim clouds and snowdrifts -like lighthouse towers in flying scud and spray. Studying the behavior -of the giants from some friendly shelter, you will see that even in the -glow of their wildest enthusiasm, when the storm roars loudest, they -never lose their god-like composure, never toss their arms or bow or -wave like the pines, but only slowly, solemnly nod and sway, standing -erect, making no sign of strife, none of rest, neither in alliance nor -at war with the winds, too calmly, unconsciously noble and strong to -strive with or bid defiance to anything. Owing to the density of the -leafy branchlets and great breadth of head the Big Tree carries a much -heavier load of snow than any of its neighbors, and after a storm, when -the sky clears, the laden trees are a glorious spectacle, worth any -amount of cold camping to see. Every bossy limb and crown is solid -white, and the immense height of the giants becomes visible as the eye -travels the white steps of the colossal tower, each relieved by a mass -of blue shadow. - -In midwinter the forest depths are as fresh and pure as the crevasses -and caves of glaciers. Grouse, nuthatches, a few woodpeckers, and other -hardy birds dwell in the groves all winter, and the squirrels may be -seen every clear day frisking about, lively as ever, tunneling to their -stores, never coming up empty-mouthed, dividing in the loose snow about -as quickly as ducks in water, while storms and sunshine sing to each -other. - -One of the noblest and most beautiful of the late winter sights is the -blossoming of the Big Tree like gigantic goldenrods and the sowing of -their pollen over all the forest and the snow-covered ground—a most -glorious view of Nature’s immortal virility and flower-love. - -One of my own best excursions among the Sequoias was made in the autumn -of 1875, when I explored the then unknown or little known Sequoia -region south of the Mariposa Grove for comprehensive views of the belt, -and to learn what I could of the peculiar distribution of the species -and its history in general. In particular I was anxious to try to find -out whether it had ever been more widely distributed since the glacial -period; what conditions favorable or otherwise were affecting it; what -were its relations to climate, topography, soil, and the other trees -growing with it, etc.; and whether, as was generally supposed, the -species was nearing extinction. I was already acquainted in a general -way with the northern groves, but excepting some passing glimpses -gained on excursions into the high Sierra about the head-waters of -Kings and Kern rivers I had seen nothing of the south end of the belt. - -Nearly all my mountaineering has been done on foot, carrying as little -as possible, depending on camp-fires for warmth, that so I might be -light and free to go wherever my studies might lead. On this Sequoia -trip, which promised to be long, I was persuaded to take a small wild -mule with me to carry provisions and a pair of blankets. The friendly -owner of the animal, having noticed that I sometimes looked tired when -I came down from the peaks to replenish my bread sack, assured me that -his “little Brownie mule” was just what I wanted, tough as a knot, -perfectly untirable, low and narrow, just right for squeezing through -brush, able to climb like a chipmunk, jump from boulder to boulder like -a wild sheep, and go anywhere a man could go. But tough as he was and -accomplished as a climber, many a time in the course of our journey -when he was jaded and hungry, wedged fast in rocks or struggling in -chaparral like a fly in a spiderweb, his troubles were sad to see, and -I wished he would leave me and find his way home alone. - -We set out from Yosemite about the end of August, and our first camp -was made in the well-known Mariposa Grove. Here and in the adjacent -pine woods I spent nearly a week, carefully examining the boundaries of -the grove for traces of its greater extension without finding any. Then -I struck out into the majestic trackless forest to the southeastward, -hoping to find new groves or traces of old ones in the dense silver fir -and pine woods about the head of Big Creek, where soil and climate -seemed most favorable to their growth, but not a single tree or old -monument of any sort came to light until I climbed the high rock called -Wamellow by the Indians. Here I obtained telling views of the fertile -forest-filled basin of the upper Fresno. Innumerable spires of the -noble yellow pine were displayed rising above one another on the -braided slopes, and yet nobler sugar pines with superb arms -outstretched in the rich autumn light, while away toward the southwest, -on the verge of the glowing horizon, I discovered the majestic -dome-like crowns of Big Trees towering high over all, singly and in -close grove congregations. There is something wonderfully attractive in -this king tree, even when beheld from afar, that draws us to it with -indescribable enthusiasm; its superior height and massive smoothly -rounded outlines proclaiming its character in any company; and when one -of the oldest attains full stature on some commanding ridge it seems -the very god of the woods. I ran back to camp, packed Brownie, steered -over the divide and down into the heart of the Fresno Grove. Then -choosing a camp on the side of a brook where the grass was good, I made -a cup of tea, and set off free among the brown giants, glorying in the -abundance of new work about me. One of the first special things that -caught my attention was an extensive landslip. The ground on the side -of a stream had given way to a depth of about fifty feet and with all -its trees had been launched into the bottom of the stream ravine. Most -of the trees—pines, firs, incense cedar, and Sequoia—were still -standing erect and uninjured, as if unconscious that anything out of -the common had happened. Tracing the ravine alongside the avalanche, I -saw many trees whose roots had been laid bare, and in one instance -discovered a Sequoia about fifteen feet in diameter growing above an -old prostrate trunk that seemed to belong to a former generation. This -slip had occurred seven or eight years ago, and I was glad to find that -not only were most of the Big Trees uninjured, but that many companies -of hopeful seedlings and saplings were growing confidently on the fresh -soil along the broken front of the avalanche. These young trees were -already eight or ten feet high, and were shooting up vigorously, as if -sure of eternal life, though young pines, firs, and libocedrus were -runing a race with them for the sunshine with an even start. Farther -down the ravine I counted five hundred and thirty-six promising young -Sequoias on a bed of rough bouldery soil not exceeding two acres in -extent. - -The Fresno Big Trees covered an area of about four square miles, and -while wandering about surveying the boundaries of the grove, anxious to -see every tree, I came suddenly on a handsome log cabin, richly -embowered and so fresh and unweathered it was still redolent of gum and -balsam like a newly felled tree. Strolling forward, wondering who could -have built it, I found an old, weary-eyed, speculative, gray-haired man -on a bark stool by the door, reading a book. The discovery of his -hermitage by a stranger seemed to surprise him, but when I explained -that I was only a tree-lover sauntering along the mountains to study -Sequoia, he bade me welcome, made me bring my mule down to a little -slanting meadow before his door and camp with him, promising to show me -his pet trees and many curious things bearing on my studies. - -After supper, as the evening shadows were falling, the good hermit -sketched his life in the mines, which in the main was like that of most -other pioneer gold-hunters—a succession of intense experiences full of -big ups and downs like the mountain topography. Since “’49” he had -wandered over most of the Sierra, sinking innumerable prospect holes -like a sailor making soundings, digging new channels for streams, -sifting gold-sprinkled boulder and gravel beds with unquenchable -energy, life’s noon the meanwhile passing unnoticed into late afternoon -shadows. Then, health and gold gone, the game played and lost, like a -wounded deer creeping into this forest solitude, he awaits the sundown -call. How sad the undertones of many a life here, now the noise of the -first big gold battles has died away! How many interesting wrecks lie -drifted and stranded in hidden nooks of the gold region! Perhaps no -other range contains the remains of so many rare and interesting men. -The name of my hermit friend is John A. Nelder, a fine kind man, who in -going into the woods has at last gone home; for he loves nature truly, -and realizes that these last shadowy days with scarce a glint of gold -in them are the best of all. Birds, squirrels, plants get loving, -natural recognition, and delightful it was to see how sensitively he -responds to the silent influences of the woods. His eyes brightened as -he gazed on the trees that stand guard around his little home; -squirrels and mountain quail came to his call to be fed, and he -tenderly stroked the little snowbent sapling Sequoias, hoping they yet -might grow straight to the sky and rule the grove. One of the greatest -of his trees stands a little way back of his cabin, and he proudly led -me to it, bidding me admire its colossal proportions and measure it to -see if in all the forest there could be another so grand. It proved to -be only twenty-six feet in diameter, and he seemed distressed to learn -that the Mariposa Grizzly Giant was larger. I tried to comfort him by -observing that his was the taller, finer formed, and perhaps the more -favorably situated. Then he led me to some noble ruins, remnants of -gigantic trunks of trees that he supposed must have been larger than -any now standing, and though they had lain on the damp ground exposed -to fire and the weather for centuries, the wood was perfectly sound. -Sequoia timber is not only beautiful in color, rose red when fresh, and -as easily worked as pine, but it is almost absolutely unperishable. -Build a house of Big Tree logs on granite and that house will last -about as long as its foundation. Indeed fire seems to be the only agent -that has any appreciable effect on it. From one of these ancient trunk -remnants I cut a specimen of the wood, which neither in color, -strength, nor soundness could be distinguished from specimens cut from -living trees, although it had certainly lain on the damp forest floor -for more than three hundred and eighty years, probably more than thrice -as long. The time in this instance was determined as follows: When the -tree from which the specimen was derived fell it sunk itself into the -ground, making a ditch about two hundred feet long and five or six feet -deep; and in the middle of this ditch, where a part of the fallen trunk -had been burned, a silver fir four feet in diameter and three hundred -and eighty years old was growing, showing that the Sequoia trunk had -lain on the ground three hundred and eighty years plus the unknown time -that it lay before the part whose place had been taken by the fir was -burned out of the way, and that which had elapsed ere the seed from -which the monumental fir sprang fell into the prepared soil and took -root. Now because Sequoia trunks are never wholly consumed in one -forest fire and these fires recur only at considerable intervals, and -because Sequoia ditches, after being cleared, are often left unplanted -for centuries, it becomes evident that the trunk remnant in question -may have been on the ground a thousand years or more. Similar vestiges -are common, and together with the root-bowls and long straight ditches -of the fallen monarchs, throw a sure light back on the post-glacial -history of the species, bearing on its distribution. One of the most -interesting features of this grove is the apparent ease and strength -and comfortable independence in which the trees occupy their place in -the general forest. Seedlings, saplings, young and middle-aged trees -are grouped promisingly around the old patriarchs, betraying no sign of -approach to extinction. On the contrary, all seem to be saying, -“Everything is to our mind and we mean to live forever.” But, sad to -tell, a lumber company was building a large mill and flume near by, -assuring widespread destruction. - -In the cones and sometimes in the lower portion of the trunk and roots -there is a dark gritty substance which dissolves readily in water and -yields a magnificent purple color. It is a strong astringent, and is -said to be used by the Indians as a big medicine. Mr. Nelder showed me -specimens of ink he had made from it, which I tried and found good, -flowing freely and holding its color well. Indeed everything about the -tree seems constant. With these interesting trees, forming the largest -of the northern groves, I stopped only a week, for I had far to go -before the fall of the snow. The hermit seemed to cling to me and tried -to make me promise to winter with him after the season’s work was done. -Brownie had to be got home, however, and other work awaited me, -therefore I could only promise to stop a day or two on my way back to -Yosemite and give him the forest news. - -The next two weeks were spent in the wide basin of the San Joaquin, -climbing, innumerable ridges and surveying the far-extending sea of -pines and firs. But not a single Sequoia crown appeared among them all, -nor any trace of a fallen trunk, until I had crossed the south divide -of the basin, opposite Dinky Creek, one of the northmost tributaries of -Kings River. On this stream there is a small grove, said to have been -discovered a few years before my visit by two hunters in pursuit of a -wounded bear. Just as I was fording one of the branches of Dinky Creek -I met a shepherd, and when I asked him whether he knew anything about -the Big Trees of the neighborhood he replied, “I know all about them, -for I visited them only a few days ago and pastured my sheep in the -grove.” He was fresh from the East, and as this was his first summer in -the Sierra I was curious to learn what impression the Sequoias had made -on him. When I asked whether it was true that the Big Trees were really -so big as people say, he warmly replied, “Oh, yes sir, you bet. They’re -whales. I never used to believe half I heard about the awful size of -California trees, but they’re monsters and no mistake. One of them over -here, they tell me, is the biggest tree in the whole world, and I guess -it is, for it’s forty foot through and as many good long paces around.” -He was very earnest, and in fullness of faith offered to guide me to -the grove that I might not miss seeing this biggest tree. A fair -measurement four feet from the ground, above the main swell of the -roots, showed a diameter of only thirty-two feet, much to the young -man’s disgust. “Only thirty-two feet,” he lamented, “only thirty-two, -and I always thought it was forty!” Then with a sigh of relief, “No -matter, that’s a big tree, anyway; no fool of a tree, sir, that you can -cut a plank out of thirty feet broad, straight-edged, no bark, all good -wood, sound and solid. It would make the brag white pine planks from -old Maine look like laths.” A good many other fine specimens are -distributed along three small branches of the creek, and I noticed -several thrifty moderate-sized Sequoias growing on a granite ledge, -apparently as independent of deep soil as the pines and firs, clinging -to seams and fissures and sending their roots far abroad in search of -moisture. - -The creek is very clear and beautiful, gliding through tangles of -shrubs and flower beds, gay bee and butterfly pastures, the grove’s own -stream, pure Sequoia water, flowing all the year, every drop filtered -through moss and leaves and the myriad spongy rootlets of the giant -trees. One of the most interesting features of the grove is a small -waterfall with a flowery, ferny, clear brimming pool at the foot of it. -How cheerily it sings the songs of the wilderness, and how sweet its -tones! You seem to taste as well as hear them, while only the subdued -roar of the river in the deep cañon reaches up into the grove, sounding -like the sea and the winds. So charming a fall and pool in the heart of -so glorious a forest food pagans would have consecrated to some lovely -nymph. - -Hence down into the main Kings River cañon, a mile deep, I led and -dragged and shoved my patient, much-enduring mule through miles and -miles and gardens and brush, fording innumerable streams, crossing -savage rock slopes and taluses, scrambling, sliding through gulches and -gorges, then up into the grand Sequoia forests of the south side, -cheered by the royal crowns displayed on the narrow horizon. In a day -and a half we reached the Sequoia woods in the neighborhood of the old -Thomas Mill Flat. Thence striking off northeastward I found a -magnificent forest nearly six miles long by two in width, composed -mostly of Big Trees, with outlying groves as far east as Boulder Creek. -Here five or six days were spent, and it was delightful to learn from -countless trees, old and young, how comfortably they were settled down -in concordance with climate and soil and their noble neighbors. - -Imbedded in these majestic woods there are numerous meadows, around the -sides of which the Big Trees press close together in beautiful lines, -showing their grandeur openly from the ground to their domed heads in -the sky. The young trees are still more numerous and exuberant than in -the Fresno and Dinky groves, standing apart in beautiful family groups, -or crowding around the old giants. For every venerable -lightning-stricken tree, there is one or more in all the glory of -prime, and for each of these, many young trees and crowds of saplings. -The young trees express the grandeur of their race in a way indefinable -by any words at my command. When they are five or six feet in diameter -and a hundred and fifty feet high, they seem like mere baby saplings as -many inches in diameter, their juvenile habit and gestures completely -veiling their real size, even to those who, from long experience, are -able to make fair approximation in their measurements of common trees. -One morning I noticed three airy, spiry, quick-growing babies on the -side of a meadow, the largest of which I took to be about eight inches -in diameter. On measuring it, I found to any astonishment it was five -feet six inches in diameter, and about a hundred and forty feet high. - -On a bed of sandy ground fifteen yards square, which had been occupied -by four sugar pines, I counted ninety-four promising seedlings, an -instance of Sequoia gaining ground from its neighbors. Here also I -noted eighty-six young Sequoias from one to fifty feet high on less -than half an acre of ground that had been cleared and prepared for -their reception by fire. This was a small bay burned into dense -chaparral, showing that fire, the great destroyer of tree life, is -sometimes followed by conditions favorable for new growths. Sufficient -fresh soil, however, is furnished for the constant renewal of the -forest by the fall of old trees without the help of any other -agent,—burrowing animals, fire, flood, landslip, etc.,—for the ground -is thus turned and stirred as well as cleared, and in every roomy, -shady hollow beside the walls of upturned roots many hopeful seedlings -spring up. - -The largest, and as far as I know the oldest, of all the Kings River -trees that I saw is the majestic stump, already referred to, about a -hundred and forty feet high, which above then swell of the roots is -thirty-five feet and eight inches inside the bark, and over four -thousand years old. It was burned nearly half through at the base, and -I spent a day in chopping off the charred surface, cutting into the -heart, and counting the wood-rings with the aid of a lens. I made out a -little over four thousand without difficulty or doubt, but I was unable -to get a complete count, owing to confusion in the rings where wounds -had been healed over. Judging by what is left of it, this was a fine, -tall, symmetrical tree nearly forty feet in diameter before it lost its -bark. In the last sixteen hundred and seventy-two years the increase in -diameter was ten feet. A short distance south of this forest lies a -beautiful grove, now mostly included in the General Grant National -Park. I found many shake-makers at work in it, access to these -magnificent woods having been made easy by the old mill wagon road. The -Park is only two miles square, and the largest of its many fine trees -is the General Grant, so named before the date of my first visit, -twenty-eight years ago, and said to be the largest tree in the world, -though above the craggy bulging base the diameter is less than thirty -feet. The Sanger Lumber Company owns nearly all the Kings River groves -outside the Park, and for many years the mills have been spreading -desolation without any advantage. - -One of the shake-makers directed me to an “old snag biggeren Grant.” It -proved to be a huge black charred stump thirty-two feet in diameter, -the next in size to the grand monument mentioned above. - -[Illustration: “General Grant” Sequoia in General Grant National Park.] - -I found a scattered growth of Big Trees extending across the main -divide to within a short distance of Hyde’s Mill, on a tributary of Dry -Creek. The mountain ridge on the south side of the stream was covered -from base to summit with a most superb growth of Big Trees. What a -picture it made! In all my wide forest wanderings I had seen none so -sublime. Every tree of all the mighty host seemed perfect in beauty and -strength, and their majestic domed heads, rising above one another on -the mountain slope, were most imposingly displayed, like a range of -bossy upswelling cumulus clouds on a calm sky. - -In this glorious forest the mill was busy, forming a sore, sad centre -of destruction, though small as yet, so immensely heavy was the growth. -Only the smaller and most accessible of the trees were being cut. The -logs, from three to ten or twelve feet in diameter, were dragged or -rolled with long strings of oxen into a chute and sent flying down the -steep mountain side to the mill flat, where the largest of them were -blasted into manageable dimensions for the saws. And as the timber is -very brash, by this blasting and careless felling on uneven ground, -half or three fourths of the timber was wasted. - -I spent several days exploring the ridge and counting the annual wood -rings on a large number of stumps in the clearings, then replenished my -bread sack and pushed on southward. All the way across the broad rough -basins of the Kaweah and Tule rivers Sequoia ruled supreme, forming an -almost continuous belt for sixty or seventy miles, waving up and down -in huge massy mountain billows in compliance with the grand -glacier-ploughed topography. - -Day after day, from grove to grove, cañon to cañon, I made a long, -wavering way, terribly rough in some places for Brownie, but cheery for -me, for Big Trees were seldom out of sight. We crossed the rugged, -picturesque basins of Redwood Creek, the North Fork of the Kaweah, and -Marble Fork gloriously forested, and full of beautiful cascades and -falls, sheer and slanting, infinitely varied with broad curly foam -fleeces and strips of embroidery in which the sunbeams revel. Thence we -climbed into the noble forest on the Marble and Middle Fork Divide. -After a general exploration of the Kaweah basin, this part of the -Sequoia belt seemed to me the finest, and I then named it “the Giant -Forest.” It extends, a magnificent growth of giants grouped in pure -temple groves, ranged in colonnades along the sides of meadows, or -scattered among the other trees, from the granite headlands overlooking -the hot foothills and plains of the San Joaquin back to within a few -miles of the old glacier fountains at an elevation of 5000 to 8400 feet -above the sea. - -When I entered this sublime wilderness the day was nearly done, the -trees with rosy, glowing countenances seemed to be hushed and -thoughtful, as if waiting in conscious religious dependence on the sun, -and one naturally walked softly and awe-stricken among them. I wandered -on, meeting nobler trees where all are noble, subdued in the general -calm, as if in some vast hall pervaded by the deepest sanctities and -solemnities that sway human souls. At sundown the trees seemed to cease -their worship and breathe free. I heard the birds going home. I too -sought a home for the night on the edge of a level meadow where there -is a long, open view between the evenly ranked trees standing guard -along its sides. Then after a good place was found for poor Brownie, -who had had a hard, weary day sliding and scrambling across the Marble -Cañon, I made my bed and supper and lay on my back looking up to the -stars through pillared arches finer far than the pious heart of man, -telling its love, ever reared. Then I took a walk up the meadow to see -the trees in the pale light. They seemed still more marvelously massive -and tall than by day, heaving their colossal heads into the depths of -the sky, among the stars, some of which appeared to be sparkling on -their branches like flowers. I built a big fire that vividly illumined -the huge brown boles of the nearest trees and the little plants and -cones and fallen leaves at their feet, keeping up the show until I fell -asleep to dream of boundless forests and trail-building for Brownie. - -Joyous birds welcomed the dawn; and the squirrels, now their food cones -were ripe and had to be quickly gathered and stored for winter, began -their work before sunrise. My tea-and-bread-crumb breakfast was soon -done, and leaving jaded Brownie to feed and rest I sauntered forth to -my studies. In every direction Sequoia ruled the woods. Most of the -other big conifers were present here and there, but not as rivals or -companions. They only served to thicken and enrich the general -wilderness. Trees of every age cover craggy ridges as well as the deep -moraine-soiled slopes, and plant their magnificent shafts along every -brookside and meadow. Bogs and meadows are rare or entirely wanting in -the isolated groves north of Kings River; here there is a beautiful -series of them lying on the broad top of the main dividing ridge, -imbedded in the very heart of the mammoth woods as if for ornament, -their smooth, plushy bosoms kept bright and fertile by streams and -sunshine. - -Resting awhile on one of the most beautiful of them when the sun was -high, it seemed impossible that any other forest picture in the world -could rival it. There lay the grassy, flowery lawn, three fourths of a -mile long, smoothly outspread, basking in mellow autumn light, colored -brown and yellow and purple, streaked with lines of green along the -streams, and ruffled here and there with patches of ledum and scarlet -vaccinium. Around the margin there is first a fringe of azalea and -willow bushes, colored orange yellow, enlivened with vivid dashes of -red cornel, as if painted. Then up spring the mighty walls of verdure -three hundred feet high, the brown fluted pillars so thick and tall and -strong they seem fit to uphold the sky; the dense foliage, swelling -forward in rounded bosses on the upper half, variously shaded and -tinted, that of the young trees dark green, of the old yellowish. An -aged lightning-smitten patriarch standing a little forward beyond the -general line with knotty arms outspread was covered with gray and -yellow lichens and surrounded by a group of saplings whose slender -spires seemed to lack not a single leaf or spray in their wondrous -perfection. Such was the Kaweah meadow picture that golden afternoon, -and as I gazed every color seemed to deepen and glow as if the progress -of the fresh sun-work were visible from hour to hour, while every tree -seemed religious and conscious of the presence of God. A free man -revels in a scene like this and time goes by unmeasured. I stood fixed -in silent wonder or sauntered about shifting my points of view, -studying the physiognomy of separate trees, and going out to the -different color patches to see how they were put on and what they were -made of, giving free expression to my joy, exulting in Nature’s wild -immortal vigor and beauty, never dreaming any other human being was -near. Suddenly the spell was broken by dull bumping, thudding sounds, -and a man and horse came in sight at the farther end of the meadow, -where they seemed sadly out of place. A good big bear or mastodon or -megatherium would have been more in keeping with the old mammoth -forest. Nevertheless, it is always pleasant to meet one of our own -species after solitary rambles, and I stepped out where I could be seen -and shouted, when the rider reined in his galloping mustang and waited -my approach. He seemed too much surprised to speak until, laughing in -his puzzled face, I said I was glad to meet a fellow mountaineer in so -lonely a place. Then he abruptly asked, “What are you doing? How did -you get here?” I explained that I came across the cañons from Yosemite -and was only looking at the trees. “Oh then, I know,” he said, greatly -to my surprise, “you must be John Muir.” He was herding a band of -horses that had been driven up a rough trail from the lowlands to feed -on these forest meadows. A few handfuls of crumb detritus was all that -was left in my bread sack, so I told him that I was nearly out of -provision and asked whether he could spare me a little flour. “Oh yes, -of course you can have anything I’ve got,” he said. “Just take my track -and it will lead you to my camp in a big hollow log on the side of a -meadow two or three miles from here. I must ride after some strayed -horses, but I’ll be back before night; in the mean time make yourself -at home.” He galloped away to the northward, I returned to my own camp, -saddled Brownie, and by the middle of the afternoon discovered his -noble den in a fallen Sequoia hollowed by fire—a spacious loghouse of -one log, carbon-lined, centuries old yet sweet and fresh, weather -proof, earthquake proof, likely to outlast the most durable stone -castle, and commanding views of garden and grove grander far than the -richest king ever enjoyed. Brownie found plenty of grass and I found -bread, which I ate with views from the big round, ever-open door. Soon -the good Samaritan mountaineer came in, and I enjoyed a famous rest -listening to his observations on trees, animals, adventures, etc., -while he was busily preparing supper. In answer to inquiries concerning -the distribution of the Big Trees he gave a good deal of particular -information of the forest we were in, and he had heard that the species -extended a long way south, he knew not now far. I wandered about for -several days within a radius of six or seven miles of the camp, -surveying boundaries, measuring trees, and climbing the highest points -for general views. From the south side of the divide I saw telling -ranks of Sequoia-crowned headlands stretching far into the hazy -distance, and plunging vaguely down into profound cañon depths -foreshadowing weeks of good work. I had now been out on the trip more -than a month, and I began to fear my studies would be interrupted by -snow, for winter was drawing nigh. “Where there isn’t a way make a -way,” is easily said when no way at the time is needed, but to the -Sierra explorer with a mule traveling across the cañon lines of -drainage the brave old phrase becomes heavy with meaning. There are -ways across the Sierra graded by glaciers, well marked, and followed by -men and beasts and birds, and one of them even by locomotives; but none -natural or artificial along the range, and the explorer who would thus -travel at right angles to the glacial ways must traverse cañons and -ridges extending side by side in endless succession, roughened by side -gorges and gulches and stubborn chaparral, and defended by innumerable -sheer-fronted precipices. My own ways are easily made in any direction, -but Brownie, though one of the toughest and most skillful of his race, -was oftentimes discouraged for want of hands, and caused endless work. -Wild at first, he was tame enough now; and when turned loose he not -only refused to run away, but as his troubles increased came to depend -on me in such a pitiful, touching way, I became attached to him and -helped him as if he were a good-natured boy in distress, and then the -labor grew lighter. Bidding good-by to the kind Sequoia cave-dweller, -we vanished again in the wilderness, drifting slowly southward, -Sequoias on every ridge-top beckoning and pointing the way. - -In the forest between the Middle and East forks of the Kaweah, I met a -great fire, and as fire is the master scourge and controller of the -distribution of trees, I stopped to watch it and learn what I could of -its works and ways with the giants. It came racing up the steep -chaparral-covered slopes of the East Fork cañon with passionate -enthusiasm in a broad cataract of flames, now bending down low to feed -on the green bushes, devouring acres of them at a breath, now towering -high in the air as if looking abroad to choose a way, then stooping to -feed again, the lurid flapping surges and the smoke and terrible -rushing and roaring hiding all that is gentle and orderly in the work. -But as soon as the deep forest was reached the ungovernable flood -became calm like a torrent entering a lake, creeping and spreading -beneath the trees where the ground was level or sloped gently, slowly -nibbling the cake of compressed needles and scales with flames an inch -high, rising here and there to a foot or two on dry twigs and clumps of -small bushes and brome grass. Only at considerable intervals were -fierce bonfires lighted, where heavy branches broken off by snow had -accumulated, or around some venerable giant whose head had been -stricken off by lightning. - -I tethered Brownie on the edge of a little meadow beside a stream a -good safe way off, and then cautiously chose a camp for myself in a big -stout hollow trunk not likely to be crushed by the fall of burning -trees, and made a bed of ferns and boughs in it. The night, however, -and the strange wild fireworks were too beautiful and exciting to allow -much sleep. There was no danger of being chased and hemmed in, for in -the main forest belt of the Sierra, even when swift winds are blowing, -fires seldom or never sweep over the trees in broad all-embracing -sheets as they do in the dense Rocky Mountain woods and in those of the -Cascade Mountains of Oregon and Washington. Here they creep from tree -to tree with tranquil deliberation, allowing close observation, though -caution is required in venturing around the burning giants to avoid -falling limbs and knots and fragments from dead shattered tops. Though -the day was best for study, I sauntered about night after night, -learning what I could and admiring the wonderful show vividly displayed -in the lonely darkness, the ground-fire advancing in long crooked lines -gently grazing and smoking on the close-pressed leaves, springing up in -thousands of little jets of pure flame on dry tassels and twigs, and -tall spires and flat sheets with jagged flapping edges dancing here and -there on grass tufts and bushes, big bonfires blazing in perfect storms -of energy where heavy branches mixed with small ones lay smashed -together in hundred cord piles, big red arches between spreading -root-swells and trees growing close together, huge fire-mantled trunks -on the hill slopes glowing like bars of hot iron, violet-colored fire -running up the tall trees, tracing the furrows of the bark in quick -quivering rills, and lighting magnificent torches on dry shattered -tops, and ever and anon, with a tremendous roar and burst of light, -young trees clad in low-descending feathery branches vanishing in one -flame two or three hundred feet high. - -One of the most impressive and beautiful sights was made by the great -fallen trunks lying on the hillsides all red and glowing like colossal -iron bars fresh from a furnace, two hundred feet long some of them, and -ten to twenty feet thick. After repeated burnings have consumed the -bark and sapwood, the sound charred surface, being full of cracks and -sprinkled with leaves, is quickly overspread with a pure, rich, furred, -ruby glow almost flameless and smokeless, producing a marvelous effect -in the night. Another grand and interesting sight are the fires on the -tops of the largest living trees flaming above the green branches at a -height of perhaps two hundred feet, entirely cut off from the -ground-fires, and looking like signal beacons on watch towers. From one -standpoint I sometimes saw a dozen or more, those in the distance -looking like great stars above the forest roof. At first I could not -imagine how these Sequoia lamps were lighted, but the very first night, -strolling about waiting and watching, I saw the thing done again and -again. The thick, fibrous bark of old trees is divided by deep, nearly -continuous furrows, the sides of which are bearded with the bristling -ends of fibres broken by the growth swelling of the trunk, and when the -fire comes creeping around the feet of the trees, it runs up these -bristly furrows in lovely pale blue quivering, bickering rills of flame -with a low, earnest whispering sound to the lightning-shattered top of -the trunk, which, in the dry Indian summer, with perhaps leaves and -twigs and squirrel-gnawed cone-scales and seed-wings lodged in it, is -readily ignited. These lamp-lighting rills, the most beautiful fire -streams I ever saw, last only a minute or two, but the big lamps burn -with varying brightness for days and weeks, throwing off sparks like -the spray of a fountain, while ever and anon a shower of red coals -comes sifting down through the branches, followed at times with -startling effect by a big burned-off chunk weighing perhaps half a ton. - -The immense bonfires where fifty or a hundred cords of peeled, split, -smashed wood has been piled around some old giant by a single stroke of -lightning is another grand sight in the night. The light is so great I -found I could read common print three hundred yards from them, and the -illumination of the circle of onlooking trees is indescribably -impressive. Other big fires, roaring and booming like waterfalls, were -blazing on the upper sides of trees on hillslopes, against which limbs -broken off by heavy snow had rolled, while branches high overhead, -tossed and shaken by the ascending air current, seemed to be writhing -in pain. Perhaps the most starting phenomenon of all was the quick -death of childlike Sequoias only a century or two of age. In the midst -of the other comparatively slow and steady fire work one of these tall, -beautiful saplings, leafy and branchy, would be seen blazing up -suddenly, all in one heaving, booming, passionate flame reaching from -the ground to the top of the tree and fifty to a hundred feet or more -above it, with a smoke column bending forward and streaming away on the -upper, free-flowing wind. To burn these green trees a strong fire of -dry wood beneath them is required, to send up a current of air hot -enough to distill inflammable gases from the leaves and sprays; then -instead of the lower limbs gradually catching fire and igniting the -next and next in succession, the whole tree seems to explode almost -simultaneously, and with awful roaring and throbbing a round, tapering -flame shoots up two or three hundred feet, and in a second or two is -quenched, leaving the green spire a black, dead mast, bristled and -roughened with down-curling boughs. Nearly all the trees that have been -burned down are lying with their heads uphill, because they are burned -far more deeply on the upper side, on account of broken limbs rolling -down against them to make hot fires, while only leaves and twigs -accumulate on the lower side and are quickly consumed without injury to -the tree. But green, resinless Sequoia wood burns very slowly, and many -successive fires are required to burn down a large tree. Fires can run -only at intervals of several years, and when the ordinary amount of -firewood that has rolled against the gigantic trunk is consumed, only a -shallow scar is made, which is slowly deepened by recurring fires until -far beyond the centre of gravity, and when at last the tree falls, it -of course falls uphill. The healing folds of wood layers on some of the -deeply burned trees show that centuries have elapsed since the last -wounds were made. - -When a great Sequoia falls, its head is smashed into fragments about as -small as those made by lightning, which are mostly devoured by the -first running, hunting fire that finds them, while the trunk is slowly -wasted away by centuries of fire and weather. One of the most -interesting fire actions on the trunk is the boring of those great -tunnel-like hollows through which horsemen may gallop. All of these -famous hollows are burned out of the solid wood, for no Sequoia is ever -hollowed by decay. When the tree falls the brash trunk is often broken -straight across into sections as if sawed; into these joints the fire -creeps, and, on account of the great size of the broken ends, burns for -weeks or even months without being much influenced by the weather. -After the great glowing ends fronting each other have burned so far -apart that their rims cease to burn, the fire continues to work on in -the centres, and the ends become deeply concave. Then heat being -radiated from side to side, the burning goes on in each section of the -trunk independent of the other, until the diameter of the bore is so -great that the heat radiated across from side to side is not sufficient -to keep them burning. It appears, therefore, that only very large trees -can receive the fire-auger and have any shell rim left. - -Fire attacks the large trees only at the ground, consuming the fallen -leaves and humus at their feet, doing them but little harm unless -considerable quantities of fallen limbs happen to be piled about them, -their thick mail of spongy, unpitchy, almost unburnable bark affording -strong protection. Therefore the oldest and most perfect unscarred -trees are found on ground that is nearly level, while those growing on -hillsides, against which falling branches roll, are always deeply -scarred on the upper side, and as we have seen are sometimes burned -down. The saddest thing of all was to see the hopeful seedlings, many -of them crinkled and bent with the pressure of winter snow, yet bravely -aspiring at the top, helplessly perishing, and young trees, perfect -spires of verdure and naturally immortal, suddenly changed to dead -masts. Yet the sun looked cheerily down the openings in the forest -roof, turning the black smoke to a beautiful brown, as if all was for -the best. - -Beneath the smoke-clouds of the suffering forest we again pushed -southward, descending a side-george of the East Fork cañon and climbing -another into new forests and groves not a whit less noble. Brownie, the -meanwhile, had been resting, while I was weary and sleepy with almost -ceaseless wanderings, giving only an hour or two each night or day to -sleep in my log home. Way-making here seemed to become more and more -difficult, “impossible,” in common phrase, for four-legged travelers. -Two or three miles was all the day’s work as far as distance was -concerned. Nevertheless, just before sundown we found a charming camp -ground with plenty of grass, and a forest to study that had felt no -fire for many a year. The camp hollow was evidently a favorite home of -bears. On many of the trees, at a height of six or eight feet, their -autographs were inscribed in strong, free, flowing strokes on the soft -bark where they had stood up like cats to stretch their limbs. Using -both hands, every claw a pen, the handsome curved lines of their -writing take the form of remarkably regular interlacing pointed arches, -producing a truly ornamental effect. I looked and listened, half -expecting to see some of the writers alarmed and withdrawing from the -unwonted disturbance. Brownie also looked and listened, for mules fear -bears instinctively and have a very keen nose for them. When I turned -him loose, instead of going to the best grass, he kept cautiously near -the camp-fire for protection, but was careful not to step on me. The -great starry night passed away in deep peace and the rosy morning -sunbeams were searching the grove ere I woke from a long, blessed -sleep. - -The breadth of the Sequoia belt here is about the same as on the north -side of the river, extending, rather thin and scattered in some places, -among the noble pines from near the mains forest belt of the range well -back towards the frosty peaks, where most of the trees are growing on -moraines but little changed as yet. - -Two days’ scramble above Bear Hollow I enjoyed an interesting interview -with deer. Soon after sunrise a little company of four came to my camp -in a wild garden imbedded in chaparral, and after much cautious -observation quietly began to eat breakfast with me. Keeping perfectly -still I soon had their confidence, and they came so near I found no -difficulty, while admiring their graceful manners and gestures, in -determining what plants they were eating, thus gaining a far finer -knowledge and sympathy than comes by killing and hunting. - -Indian summer gold with scarce a whisper of winter in it was painting -the glad wilderness in richer and yet richer colors as we scrambled -across the South cañon into the basin of the Tule. Here the Big Tree -forests are still more extensive, and furnished abundance of work in -tracing boundaries and gloriously crowned ridges up and down, back and -forth, exploring, studying, admiring, while the great measureless days -passed on and away uncounted. But in the calm of the camp-fire the end -of the season seemed near. Brownie too often brought snow-storms to -mind. He became doubly jaded, though I never rode him, and always left -him in camp to feed and rest while I explored. The invincible bread -business also troubled me again; the last mealy crumbs were consumed, -and grass was becoming scarce even in the roughest rock-piles naturally -inaccessible to sheep. One afternoon, as I gazed over the rolling bossy -Sequoia billows stretching interminably southward, seeking a way and -counting how far I might go without food, a rifle shot rang out sharp -and clear. Marking the direction I pushed gladly on, hoping to find -some hunter who could spare a little food. Within a few hundred rods I -struck the track of a shod horse, Which led to the camp of two Indian -shepherds. One of them was cooking supper when I arrived. Glancing -curiously at me he saw that I was hungry, and gave me some mutton and -bread, and said encouragingly as he pointed to the west, “Putty soon -Indian come, heap speak English.” Toward sundown two thousand sheep -beneath a cloud of dust came streaming through the grand Sequoias to a -meadow below the camp, and presently the English-speaking shepherd came -in, to whom I explained my wants and what I was doing. Like most white -men, he could not conceive how anything other than gold could be the -object of such rambles as mine, and asked repeatedly whether I had -discovered any mines. I tried to make him talk about trees and the wild -animals, but unfortunately he proved to be a tame Indian from the Tule -Reservation, had been to school, claimed to be civilized, and spoke -contemptuously of “wild Indians,” and so of course his inherited -instincts were blurred or lost. The Big Trees, he said, grew far south, -for he had see them in crossing the mountains from Porterville to Lone -Pine. In the morning he kindly gave me a few pounds of flour, and -assured me that I would get plenty more at a sawmill on the South Fork -if I reached it before it was shut down for the season. - -Of all the Tule basin forest the section on the North Fork seemed the -finest, surpassing, I think, even the Giant Forest of the Kaweah. -Southward from here, though the width and general continuity of the -belt is well sustained, I thought I could detect a slight falling off -in the height of the trees and in closeness of growth. All the basin -was swept by swarms of hoofed locusts, the southern part over and over -again, until not a leaf within the reach was left on the wettest bogs, -the outer edges of the thorniest chaparral beds, or even on the young -conifers, which unless under the stress of dire famine, sheep never -touch. Of course Brownie suffered, though I made diligent search for -grassy sheep-proof spots. Turning him loose one evening on the side of -a carex bog, he dolefully prospected the desolate neighborhood without -finding anything that even a starving mule could eat. Then, utterly -discouraged, he stole up behind me while I was bent over on my knees -making a fire for tea, and in a pitiful mixture of bray and neigh, -begged for help. It was a mighty touching prayer, and I answered it as -well as I could with half of what was left of a cake made from the last -of the flour given me by the Indians, hastily passing it over my -shoulder, and saying, “Yes, poor fellow, I know, but soon you’ll have -plenty. To-morrow down we go to alfalfa and barley,” speaking to him as -if he were human, as through stress of trouble plainly he was. After -eating his portion of bread he seemed content, for he said no more, but -patiently turned away to gnaw leafless ceanothus stubs. Such clinging, -confiding dependence after all our scrambles and adventures together -was very touching, and I felt conscience-stricken for having led him so -far in so rough and desolate a country. “Man,” says Lord Bacon, “is the -god of the dog.” So, also, he is of the mule and many other dependent -fellow mortals. - -Next morning I turned westward, determined to force a way straight to -pasture, letting Sequoia wait. Fortunately ere we had struggled down -through half a mile of chaparral we heard a mill whistle, for which we -gladly made a bee line. At the sawmill we both got a good meal, then -taking the dusty lumber road pursued our way to the lowlands. The -nearest good pasture I counted might be thirty or forty miles away. But -scarcely had we gone ten when I noticed a little log cabin a hundred -yards or so back from the road, and a tall man straight as a pine -standing in front of it observing us as we came plodding down through -the dust. Seeing no sign of grass or hay, I was going past without -stopping, when he shouted, “Travelin’?” Then drawing nearer, “Where -have you come from? I didn’t notice you go up.” I replied I had come -through the woods from the north, looking at the trees. “Oh, then, you -must be John Muir. Halt, you’re tired; come and rest and I’ll cook for -you.” Then I explained that I was tracing the Sequoia belt, that on -account of sheep my mule was starving, and therefore must push on to -the lowlands. “No, no,” he said, “that corral over there is full of hay -and grain. Turn your mule into it. I don’t own it, but the fellow who -does is hauling lumber, and it will be all right. He’s a white man. -Come and rest. How tired you must be! The Big Trees don’t go much -farther south, nohow. I know the country up there, have hunted all over -it. Come and rest, and let your little doggone rat of a mule rest. How -in heavens did you get him across the cañons—roll him? or carry him? -He’s poor, but he’ll get fat, and I’ll give you a horse and go with you -up the mountains, and while you’re looking at the trees I’ll go -hunting. It will be a short job, for the end of the Big Trees is not -far.” Of course I stopped. No true invitation is ever declined. He had -been hungry and tired himself many a time in the Rocky Mountains as -well as in the Sierra. Now he owned a band of cattle and lived alone. -His cabin was about eight by ten feet, the door at one end, a fireplace -at the other, and a bed on one side fastened to the logs. Leading me in -without a word of mean apology, he made me lie down on the bed, then -reached under it, brought forth a sack of apples and advised me to keep -“chawing” at them until he got supper ready. Finer, braver hospitality -I never found in all this good world so often called selfish. - -Next day with hearty, easy alacrity the mountaineer procured horses, -prepared and packed provisions, and got everything ready for an early -start the following morning. Well mounted, we pushed rapidly upon the -South Fork of the river and soon after noon were among the giants once -more. On the divide between the Tule and Deer Creek a central camp was -made, and the mountaineer spent his time in deer-hunting, while with -provisions for two or three days I explored the woods, and in -accordance with what I had been told soon reached the southern -extremity of the belt on the South Fork of Deer Creek. To make sure, I -searched the woods a considerable distance south of the last Deer Creek -grove, passed over into the basin of the Kern, and climbed several high -points commanding extensive views over the sugar-pine woods, without -seeing a single Sequoia crown in all the wide expanse to the southward. -On the way back to camp, however, I was greatly interested in a grove I -discovered on the east side of the Kern River divide, opposite the -North Fork of Deer Creek. The height of the pass where the species -crossed over is about 7000 feet, and I heard of still another grove -whose waters drain into the upper Kern opposite the Middle Fork of the -Tule. - -It appears, therefore, that though the Sequoia belt is two hundred and -sixty miles long, most of the trees are on a section to the south of -Kings River only about seventy miles in length. But though the area -occupied by the species increases so much to the southward, there is -but little difference in the size of the trees. A diameter of twenty -feet and height of two hundred and seventy-five is perhaps about the -average for anything like mature and favorably situated trees. -Specimens twenty-five feet in diameter are not rare, and a good many -approach a height of three hundred feet. Occasionally one meets a -specimen thirty feet in diameter, and rarely one that is larger. The -majestic stump on Kings River is the largest I saw and measured on the -entire trip. Careful search around the boundaries of the forests and -groves and in the gaps of the belt failed to discover any trace of the -former existence of the species beyond its present limits. On the -contrary, it seems to be slightly extending its boundaries; for the -outstanding stragglers, occasionally met a mile or two from the main -bodies, are young instead of old monumental trees. Ancient ruins and -the ditches and root-bowls the big trunks make in falling were found in -all the groves, but none outside of them. We may therefore conclude -that the area covered by the species has not been diminished during the -last eight or ten thousand years, and probably not at all in -post-glacial times. For admitting that upon those areas supposed to -have been once covered by Sequoia every tree may have fallen, and that -fire and the weather had left not a vestige of them, many of the -ditches made by the fall of the ponderous trunks, weighing five hundred -to nearly a thousand tons, and the bowls made by their up-turned roots -would remain visible for thousands of years after the last remnants of -the trees had vanished. Some of these records would doubtless be -effaced in a comparatively short time by the inwashing of sediments, -but no inconsiderable part of them would remain enduringly engraved on -flat ridge tops, almost wholly free from such action. - -In the northern groves, the only ones that at first came under the -observation of students, there are but few seedlings and young trees to -take the places of the old ones. Therefore the species was regarded as -doomed to speedy extinction, as being only an expiring remnant -vanquished in the so-called struggle for life, and shoved into its last -strongholds in moist glens where conditions are exceptionally -favorable. But the majestic continuous forests of the south end of the -belt create a very different impression. Here, as we have seen, no tree -in the forest is more enduringly established. Nevertheless it is -oftentimes vaguely said that the Sierra climate is drying out, and that -this oncoming, constantly increasing drought will of itself surely -extinguish King Sequoia, though sections of wood-rings show that there -has been no appreciable change of climate during the last forty -centuries. Furthermore, that Sequoia can grow and is growing on as dry -ground as any of its neighbors or rivals, we have seen proved over and -over again. “Why, then,” it will be asked, “are the Big Tree groves -always found on well-watered spots?” Simply because Big Trees give rise -to streams. It is a mistake to suppose that the water is the cause of -the groves being there. On the contrary, the groves are the cause of -the water being there. The roots of this immense tree fill the ground, -forming a sponge which hoards the bounty of the clouds and sends it -forth in clear perennial streams instead of allowing it to rush -headlong in short-lived destructive floods. Evaporation is also -checked, and the air kept still in the shady Sequoia depths, while -thirsty robber winds are shut out. - -Since, then, it appears that Sequoia can and does grow on as dry ground -as its neighbors and that the greater moisture found with it is an -effect rather than a cause of its presence, the notions as to the -former greater extension of the species and its near approach to -extinction, based on its supposed dependence on greater moisture, are -seen to be erroneous. Indeed, all my observations go to show that in -case of prolonged drought the sugar pines and firs would die before -Sequoia. Again, if the restricted and irregular distribution of the -species be interpreted as the result of the desiccation of the range, -then, instead of increasing in individuals toward the south, where the -rainfall is less, it should diminish. - -If, then, its peculiar distribution has not been governed by superior -conditions of soil and moisture, by what has it been governed? Several -years before I made this trip, I noticed that the northern groves were -located on those parts of the Sierra soil-belt that were first laid -bare and opened to preëmption when the ice-sheet began to break up into -individual glaciers. And when I was examining the basin of the San -Joaquin and trying to account for the absence of Sequoia, when every -condition seemed favorable for its growth, it occurred to me that this -remarkable gap in the belt is located in the channel of the great -ancient glacier of the San Joaquin and Kings River basins, which poured -its frozen floods to the plain, fed by the snows that fell on more than -fifty miles of the Summit peaks of the range. Constantly brooding on -the question, I next perceived that the great gap in the belt to the -northward, forty miles wide, between the Stanislaus and Tuolumne -groves, occurs in the channel of the great Stanislaus and Tuolumne -glacier, and that the smaller gap between the Merced and Mariposa -groves occurs in the channel of the smaller Merced glacier. The wider -the ancient glacier, the wider the gap in the Sequoia belt, while the -groves and forests attain their greatest development in the Kaweah and -Tule River basins, just where, owing to topographical conditions, the -region was first cleared and warmed, while protected from the main -ice-rivers, that flowed past to right and left down the Kings and Kern -valleys. In general, where the ground on the belt was first cleared of -ice, there the Sequoia now is, and where at the same elevation and time -the ancient glaciers lingered, there the Sequoia is not. What the other -conditions may have been which enabled the Sequoia to establish itself -upon these oldest and warmest parts of the main soil-belt I cannot say. -I might venture to state, however, that since the Sequoia forests -present a more and more ancient and long established aspect to the -southward, the species was probably distributed from the south toward -the close of the glacial period, before the arrival of other trees. -About this branch of the question, however, there is at present much -fog, but the general relationship we have pointed out between the -distribution of the Big Tree and the ancient glacial system is clear. -And when we bear in mind that all the existing forests of the Sierra -are growing on comparatively fresh moraine soil, and that the range -itself has been recently sculptured and brought to light from beneath -the ice-mantle of the glacial winter, then many lawless mysteries -vanish, and harmonies take their places. - -But notwithstanding all the observed phenomena bearing on the -post-glacial history of this colossal tree, point to the conclusion -that it never was more widely distributed on the Sierra since the close -of the glacial epoch; that its present forests are scarcely past prime; -if, indeed, they have reached prime; that the post-glacial day of the -species is probably not half done; yet, when from a wider outlook the -vast antiquity of the genus is considered, and its ancient richness in -species and individuals, comparing our Sierra giant and Sequoia -sempervirens of the coast, the only other living species, with the many -fossil species already discovered, and described by Heer and -Lesquereux, some of which flourished over large areas around the Arctic -Circle, and in Europe and our own territories, during tertiary and -cretaceous times,—then, indeed, it becomes plain that our two surviving -species, restricted to narrow belts within the limits of California, -are mere remnants of the genus both as to species and individuals, and -that they probably are verging to extinction. But the verge of a period -beginning in cretaceous times may have a breadth of tens of thousands -of years, not to mention the possible existence of conditions -calculated to multiply and reëxtend both species and individuals. No -unfavorable change of climate, so far as I can see, no disease, but -only fire and the axe and the ravages of flocks and herds threaten the -existence of these noblest of God’s trees. In Nature’s keeping they are -safe, but through man’s agency destruction is making rapid progress, -while in the work of protection only a beginning has been made. The -Mariposa Grove belongs to and is guarded by the State; the General -Grant and Sequoia National Parks, established ten years ago, are -efficiently guarded by a troop of cavalry under the direction of the -Secretary of the Interior; so also are the small Tuolumne and Merced -groves, which are included in the Yosemite National Park, while a few -scattered patches and fringes, scarce at all protected, though -belonging to the national government, are in the Sierra Forest -Reservation. - -Perhaps more than half of all the Big Trees have been sold, and are now -in the hands of speculators and mill men. Even the beautiful little -Calaveras Grove of ninety trees, so historically interesting from its -being the first discovered, is now owned, together with the much larger -South or Stanislaus Grove, by a lumber company. - -Far the largest and most important section of protected Big Trees is in -the grand Sequoia National Park, now easily accessible by stage from -Visalia. It contains seven townships and extends across the whole -breadth of the magnificent Kaweah basin. But large as it is, it should -be made much larger. Its natural eastern boundary is the high Sierra, -and the northern and southern boundaries, and the Kings and Kern -rivers, and thus including the sublime scenery on the headwaters of -these rivers and perhaps nine tenths of all the Big Trees in existence. -Private claims cut and blotch both of the Sequoia parks as well as all -the best of the forests, every one of which the government should -gradually extinguish by purchase, as it readily may, for none of these -holdings are of much value to their owners. Thus as far as possible the -grand blunder of selling would be corrected. The value of these forests -in storing and dispensing the bounty of the mountain clouds is -infinitely greater than lumber or sheep. To the dwellers of the plain, -dependent on irrigation, the Big Tree, leaving all its higher uses out -of the count, is a tree of life, a never-failing spring, sending living -water to the lowlands all through the hot, rainless summer. For every -grove cut down a stream is dried up. Therefore, all California is -crying, “Save the trees of the fountains,” nor, judging by the signs of -the times, it is likely that the cry will cease until the salvation of -all that is left of Sequoia gigantea is sure. - - - - -CHAPTER X -The American Forests - - -The forests of America, however slighted by man, must have been a great -delight to God; for they were the best he ever planted. The whole -continent was a garden, and from the beginning it seemed to be favored -above all the other wild parks and gardens of the globe. To prepare the -ground, it was rolled and sifted in seas with infinite loving -deliberation and fore-thought, lifted into the light, submerged and -warmed over and over again, pressed and crumpled into folds and ridges, -mountains, and hills, subsoiled with heaving volcanic fires, ploughed -and ground and sculptured into scenery and soil with glaciers and -rivers,—every feature growing and changing from beauty to beauty, -higher and higher. And in the fullness of time it was planted in -groves, and belts, and broad, exuberant, mantling forests, with the -largest, most varied, most fruitful, and most beautiful trees in the -world. Bright seas made its border, with wave embroidery and icebergs; -gray deserts were outspread in the middle of it, mossy tundras on the -north, savannas on the south, and blooming prairies and plains; while -lakes and rivers shone through all the vast forests and openings, and -happy birds and beasts gave delightful animation. Everywhere, -everywhere over all the blessed continent, there were beauty and melody -and kindly, wholesome, foodful abundance. - -These forests were composed of about five hundred species of trees, all -of them in some way useful to man, ranging in size from twenty-five -feet in height and less than one foot in diameter at the ground to four -hundred feet in height and more than twenty feet in diameter,—lordly -monarchs proclaiming the gospel of beauty like apostles. For many a -century after the ice-ploughs were melted, nature fed them and dressed -them every day,—working like a man, a loving, devoted, painstaking -gardener; fingering every leaf and flower and mossy furrowed bole; -bending, trimming, modeling, balancing; painting them with the -loveliest colors; bringing over them now clouds with cooling shadows -and showers, now sunshine; fanning them with gentle winds and rustling -their leaves; exercising them in every fibre with storms, and pruning -them; loading them with flowers and fruit, loading them with snow, and -ever making them more beautiful as the years rolled by. Wide-branching -oak and elm in endless variety, walnut and maple, chestnut and beech, -ilex and locust, touching limb to limb, spread a leafy translucent -canopy along the coast of the Atlantic over the wrinkled folds and -ridges of the Alleghanies,—a green billowy sea in summer, golden and -purple in autumn, pearly gray like a steadfast frozen mist of -interlacing branches and sprays in leafless, restful winter. - -To the southward stretched dark, level-topped cypresses in knobby, -tangled swamps, grassy savannas in the midst of them like lakes of -light, groves of gay, sparkling spice-trees, magnolias and palms, -glossy-leaved and blooming and shining continually. To the northward, -over Maine and Ottawa, rose hosts of spiry, rosiny evergreens,—white -pine and spruce, hemlock and cedar, shoulder to shoulder, laden with -purple cones, their myriad needles sparkling and shimmering, covering -hills and swamps, rocky headlands and domes, ever bravely aspiring and -seeking the sky; the ground in their shade now snow-clad and frozen, -now mossy and flowery; beaver meadows here and there, full of lilies -and grass; lakes gleaming like eyes, and a silvery embroidery of rivers -and creeks watering and brightening all the vast glad wilderness. - -Thence westward were oak and elm, hickory and tupelo, gum and -liriodendron, sassafras and ash, linden and laurel, spreading on ever -wider in glorious exuberance over the great fertile basin of the -Mississippi, over damp level bottoms, low dimpling hollows, and round -dotting hills, embosoming sunny prairies and cheery park openings, half -sunshine, half shade; while a dark wilderness of pines covered the -region around the Great Lakes. Thence still westward swept the forests -to right and left around grassy plains and deserts a thousand miles -wide: irrepressible hosts of spruce and pine, aspen and willow, -nut-pine and juniper, cactus and yucca, caring nothing for drought, -extending undaunted from mountain to mountain, over mesa and desert, to -join the darkening multitudes of pines that covered the high Rocky -ranges and the glorious forests along the coast of the moist and balmy -Pacific, where new species of pine, giant cedars and spruces, silver -firs and Sequoias, kings of their race, growing close together like -grass in a meadow, poised their brave domes and spires in the sky, -three hundred feet above the ferns and the lilies that enameled the -ground; towering serene through the long centuries, preaching God’s -forestry fresh from heaven. - -[Illustration: In a Puget Sound Forest.] - -Here the forests reached their highest development. Hence they went -wavering northward over icy Alaska, brave spruce and fir, poplar and -birch, by the coasts and the rivers, to within sight of the Arctic -Ocean. American forests! the glory of the world! Surveyed thus from the -east to the west, from the north to the south, they are rich beyond -thought, immortal, immeasurable, enough and to spare for every feeding, -sheltering beast and bird, insect and son of Adam; and nobody need have -cared had there been no pines in Norway, no cedars and deodars on -Lebanon and the Himalayas, no vine-clad selvas in the basin of the -Amazon. With such variety, harmony, and triumphant exuberance, even -nature, it would seem, might have rested content with the forests of -North America, and planted no more. - -So they appeared a few centuries ago when they were rejoicing in -wildness. The Indians with stone axes could do them no more harm than -could gnawing beavers and browsing moose. Even the fires of the Indians -and the fierce shattering lightning seemed to work together only for -good in clearing spots here and there for smooth garden prairies, and -openings for sunflowers seeking the light. But when the steel axe of -the white man rang out on the startled air their doom was sealed. Every -tree heard the bodeful sound, and pillars of smoke gave the sign in the -sky. - -I suppose we need not go mourning the buffaloes. In the nature of -things they had to give place to better cattle, though the change might -have been made without barbarous wickedness. Likewise many of nature’s -five hundred kinds of wild trees had to make way for orchards and -cornfields. In the settlement and civilization of the country, bread -more than timber or beauty was wanted; and in the blindness of hunger, -the early settlers, claiming Heaven as their guide, regarded God’s -trees as only a larger kind of pernicious weeds, extremely hard to get -rid of. Accordingly, with no eye to the future, these pious destroyers -waged interminable forest wars; chips flew thick and fast; trees in -their beauty fell crashing by millions, smashed to confusion, and the -smoke of their burning has been rising to heaven more than two hundred -years. After the Atlantic coast from Maine to Georgia had been mostly -cleared and scorched into melancholy ruins, the overflowing multitude -of bread and money seekers poured over the Alleghanies into the fertile -middle West, spreading ruthless devastation ever wider and farther over -the rich valley of the Mississippi and the vast shadowy pine region -about the Great Lakes. Thence still westward, the invading horde of -destroyers called settlers made its fiery way over the broad Rocky -Mountains, felling and burning more fiercely than ever, until at last -it has reached the wild side of the continent, and entered the last of -the great aboriginal forests on the shores of the Pacific. - -Surely, then, it should not be wondered at that lovers of their -country, bewailing its baldness, are now crying aloud, “Save what is -left of the forests!” Clearing has surely now gone far enough; soon -timber will be scarce, and not a grove will be left to rest in or pray -in. The remnant protected will yield plenty of timber, a perennial -harvest for every right use, without further diminution of its area, -and will continue to cover the springs of the rivers that rise in the -mountains and give irrigating waters to the dry valleys at their feet, -prevent wasting floods and be a blessing to everybody forever. - -Every other civilized nation in the world has been compelled to care -for its forests, and so must we if waste and destruction are not to go -on to the bitter end, leaving America as barren as Palestine or Spain. -In its calmer moments, in the midst of bewildering hunger and war and -restless over-industry, Prussia has learned that the forest plays an -important part in human progress, and that the advance in civilization -only makes it more indispensable. It has, therefore, as shown by Mr. -Pinchot, refused to deliver its forests to more or less speedy -destruction by permitting them to pass into private ownership. But the -state woodlands are not allowed to lie idle. On the contrary, they are -made to produce as much timber as is possible without spoiling them. In -the administration of its forests, the state righteously considers -itself bound to treat them as a trust for the nation as a whole, and to -keep in view the common good of the people for all time. - -In France no government forests have been sold since 1870. On the other -hand, about one half of the fifty million francs spent on forestry has -been given to engineering works, to make the replanting of denuded -areas possible. The disappearance of the forests in the first place, it -is claimed, may be traced in most cases directly to mountain pasturage. -The provisions of the Code concerning private woodlands are -substantially these: no private owner may clear his woodlands without -giving notice to the government at least four months in advance, and -the forest service may forbid the clearing on the following grounds,—to -maintain the soil on mountains, to defend the soil against erosion and -flooding by rivers or torrents, to insure the existence of springs or -watercourses, to protect the dunes and seashore, etc. A proprietor who -has cleared his forest without permission is subject to heavy fine, and -in addition may be made to replant the cleared area. - -In Switzerland, after many laws like our own had been found wanting, -the Swiss forest school was established in 1865, and soon after the -federal forest law was enacted, which is binding over nearly two thirds -of the country. Under its provisions, the cantons must appoint and pay -the number of suitably educated foresters required for the fulfillment -of the forest law; and in the organization of a normally stocked -forest, the object of first importance must be the cutting each year of -an amount of timber equal to the total annual increase, and no more. - -The Russian government passed a law in 1888, declaring that clearing is -forbidden in protected forests, and is allowed in others “only when its -effects will not be to disturb the suitable relations which should -exist between forest and agricultural lands.” - -Even Japan is ahead of us in the management of her forests. They cover -an area of about twenty-nine million acres. The feudal lords valued the -woodlands, and enacted vigorous protective laws; and when, in the -latest civil war, the Mikado government destroyed the feudal system, it -declared the forests that had belonged to the feudal lords to be the -property of the state, promulgated a forest law binding on the whole -kingdom, and founded a school of forestry in Tokio. The forest service -does not rest satisfied with the present proportion of woodland, but -looks to planting the best forest trees it can find in any country, if -likely to be useful and to thrive in Japan. - -In India systematic forest management was begun about forty years ago, -under difficulties—presented by the character of the country, the -prevalence of running fires, opposition from lumbermen, settlers, -etc.—not unlike those which confront us now. Of the total area of -government forests, perhaps seventy million acres, fifty-five million -acres have been brought under the control of the forestry department,—a -larger area than that of all our national parks and reservations. The -chief aims of the administration are effective protection of the -forests from fire, an efficient system of regeneration, and cheap -transportation of the forest products; the results so far have been -most beneficial and encouraging. - -It seems, therefore, that almost every civilized nation can give us a -lesson on the management and care of forests. So far our government has -done nothing effective with its forests, though the best in the world, -but is like a rich and foolish spendthrift who has inherited a -magnificent estate in perfect order, and then has left his fields and -meadows, forests and parks, to be sold and plundered and wasted at -will, depending on their inexhaustible abundance. Now it is plain that -the forests are not inexhaustible, and that quick measures must be -taken if ruin is to be avoided. Year by year the remnant is growing -smaller before the axe and fire, while the laws in existence provide -neither for the protection of the timber from destruction nor for its -use where it is most needed. - -As is shown by Mr. E. A. Bowers, formerly Inspector of the Public Land -Service, the foundation of our protective policy, which has never -protected, is an act passed March 1, 1817, which authorized the -Secretary of the Navy to reserve lands producing live-oak and cedar, -for the sole purpose of supplying timber for the navy of the United -States. An extension of this law by the passage of the act of March 2, -1831, provided that if any person should cut live-oak or red cedar -trees or _other timber_ from the lands of the United States for any -other purpose than the construction of the navy, such person should pay -a fine not less than triple the value of the timber cut, and be -imprisoned for a period not exceeding twelve months. Upon this old law, -as Mr. Bowers points out, having the construction of a wooden navy in -view, the United States government has to-day chiefly to rely in -protecting its timber throughout the arid regions of the West, where -none of the naval timber which the law had in mind is to be found. - -By the act of June 3, 1878, timber can be taken from public lands not -subject to entry under any existing laws except for minerals, by _bona -fide_ residents of the Rocky Mountain states and territories and the -Dakotas. Under the timber and stone act, of the same date, land in the -Pacific States and Nevada, valuable mainly for timber, and unfit for -cultivation if the timber is removed, can be purchased for two dollars -and a half an acre, under certain restrictions. By the act of March 3, -1875, all land-grant and right-of-way railroads are authorized to take -timber from the public lands adjacent to their lines for construction -purposes; and they have taken it with a vengeance, destroying a hundred -times more than they have used, mostly by allowing fires to run in the -woods. The settlement laws, under which a settler may enter lands -valuable for timber as well as for agriculture, furnish another means -of obtaining title to public timber. - -With the exception of the timber culture act, under which, in -consideration of planting a few acres of seedlings, settlers on the -treeless plains got 160 acres each, the above is the only legislation -aiming to protect and promote the planting of forests. In no other way -than under some one of these laws can a citizen of the United States -make any use of the public forests. To show the results of the -timber-planting act, it need only be stated that of the thirty-eight -million acres entered under it, less than one million acres have been -patented. This means that less than fifty thousand acres have been -planted with stunted, woebegone, almost hopeless sprouts of trees, -while at the same time the government has allowed millions of acres of -the grandest forest trees to be stolen or destroyed, or sold for -nothing. Under the act of June 3, 1878, settlers in Colorado and the -Territories were allowed to cut timber for mining and educational -purposes from mineral land, which in the practical West means both -cutting and burning anywhere and everywhere, for any purpose, on any -sort of public land. Thus, the prospector, the miner, and mining and -railroad companies are allowed by law to take all the timber they like -for their mines and roads, and the forbidden settler, if there are no -mineral lands near his farm or stock-ranch, or none that he knows of, -can hardly be expected to forbear taking what he needs wherever he can -find it. Timber is as necessary as bread, and no scheme of management -failing to recognize and properly provide for this want can possibly be -maintained. In any case, it will be hard to teach the pioneers that it -is wrong to steal government timber. Taking from the government is with -them the same as taking from nature, and their consciences flinch no -more in cutting timber from the wild forests than in drawing water from -a lake or river. As for reservation and protection of forests, it seems -as silly and needless to them as protection and reservation of the -ocean would be, both appearing to be boundless and inexhaustible. - -The special land agents employed by the General Land Office to protect -the public domain from timber depredations are supposed to collect -testimony to sustain prosecution and to superintend such prosecution on -behalf of the government, which is represented by the district -attorneys. But timber thieves of the Western class are seldom -convicted, for the good reason that most of the jurors who try such -cases are themselves as guilty as those on trial. The effect of the -present confused, discriminating, and unjust system has been to place -almost the whole population in opposition to the government; and as -conclusive of its futility, as shown by Mr. Bowers, we need only state -that during the seven years from 1881 to 1887 inclusive, the value of -the timber reported stolen from the government lands was $36,719,935, -and the amount recovered was $478,073, while the cost of the services -of special agents alone was $455,000, to which must be added the -expense of the trials. Thus for nearly thirty-seven million dollars -worth of timber the government got less than nothing; and the value of -that consumed by running fires during the same period, without benefit -even to thieves, was probably over two hundred millions of dollars. -Land commissioners and Secretaries of the Interior have repeatedly -called attention to this ruinous state of affairs, and asked Congress -to enact the requisite legislation for reasonable reform. But, busied -with tariffs, etc., Congress has given no heed to these or other -appeals, and our forests, the most valuable and the most destructible -of all the natural resources of the country, are being robbed and -burned more rapidly than ever. The annual appropriation for so-called -“protection service” is hardly sufficient to keep twenty-five timber -agents in the field, and as far as any efficient protection of timber -is concerned these agents themselves might as well be timber.[7] - - [7] A change for the better, compelled by public opinion, is now going - on,—1901. - - -That a change from robbery and ruin to a permanent rational policy is -urgently needed nobody with the slightest knowledge of American forests -will deny. In the East and along the northern Pacific coast, where the -rainfall is abundant, comparatively few care keenly what becomes of the -trees so long as fuel and lumber are not noticeably dear. But in the -Rocky Mountains and California and Arizona, where the forests are -inflammable, and where the fertility of the lowlands depends upon -irrigation, public opinion is growing stronger every year in favor of -permanent protection by the federal government of all the forests that -cover the sources of the streams. Even lumbermen in these regions, long -accustomed to steal, are now willing and anxious to buy lumber for -their mills under cover of law: some possibly from a late second growth -of honesty, but most, especially the small mill-owners, simply because -it no longer pays to steal where all may not only steal, but also -destroy, and in particular because it costs about as much to steal -timber for one mill as for ten, and, therefore, the ordinary lumberman -can no longer compete with the large corporations. Many of the miners -find that timber is already becoming scarce and dear on the denuded -hills around their mills, and they, too, are asking for protection of -forests, at least against fire. The slow-going, unthrifty farmers, -also, are beginning to realize that when the timber is stripped from -the mountains the irrigating streams dry up in summer, and are -destructive in winter; that soil, scenery, and everything slips off -with the trees: so of course they are coming into the ranks of -tree-friends. - -Of all the magnificent coniferous forests around the Great Lakes, once -the property of the United States, scarcely any belong to it now. They -have disappeared in lumber and smoke, mostly smoke, and the government -got not one cent for them; only the land they were growing on was -considered valuable, and two and a half dollars an acre was charged for -it. Here and there in the Southern States there are still considerable -areas of timbered government land, but these are comparatively -unimportant. Only the forests of the West are significant in size and -value, and these, although still great, are rapidly vanishing. Last -summer, of the unrivaled red-wood forests of the Pacific Coast Range, -the United States Forestry Commission could not find a single -quarter-section that remained in the hands of the government.[8] - - [8] The State of California recently appropriated two hundred and - fifty thousand dollars to buy a block of redwood land near Santa Cruz - for a state park. A much larger national park should be made in - Humboldt or Mendocino county. - - -Under the timber and stone act of 1878, which might well have been -called the “dust and ashes act,” any citizen of the United States could -take up one hundred and sixty acres of timber land, and by paying two -dollars and a half an acre for it obtain title. There was some virtuous -effort made with a view to limit the operations of the act by requiring -that the purchaser should make affidavit that he was entering the land -exclusively for his own use, and by not allowing any association to -enter more than one hundred and sixty acres. Nevertheless, under this -act wealthy corporations have fraudulently obtained title to from ten -thousand to twenty thousand acres or more. The plan was usually as -follows: A mill company, desirous of getting title to a large body of -redwood or sugar-pine land, first blurred the eyes and ears of the land -agents, and then hired men to enter the land they wanted, and -immediately deed it to the company after a nominal compliance with the -law; false swearing in the wilderness against the government being held -of no account. In one case which came under the observation of Mr. -Bowers, it was the practice of a lumber company to hire the entire crew -of every vessel which might happen to touch at any port in the red-wood -belt, to enter one hundred and sixty acres each and immediately deed -the land to the company, in consideration of the company’s paying all -expenses and giving the jolly sailors fifty dollars apiece for their -trouble. - -By such methods have our magnificent redwoods and much of the -sugar-pine forests of the Sierra Nevada been absorbed by foreign and -resident capitalists. Uncle Sam is not often called a fool in business -matters, yet he has sold millions of acres of timber land at two -dollars and a half an acre on which a single tree was worth more than a -hundred dollars. But this priceless land has been patented, and nothing -can be done now about the crazy bargain. According to the everlasting -law of righteousness, even the fraudulent buyers at less than one per -cent of its value are making little or nothing, on account of fierce -competition. The trees are felled, and about half of each giant is left -on the ground to be converted into smoke and ashes; the better half is -sawed into choice lumber and sold to citizens of the United States or -to foreigners: thus robbing the country of its glory and impoverishing -it without right benefit to anybody,—a bad, black business from -beginning to end. - -The redwood is one of the few conifers that sprout from the stump and -roots, and it declares itself willing to begin immediately to repair -the damage of the lumberman and also that of the forest-burner. As soon -as a redwood is cut down or burned it sends up a crowd of eager, -hopeful shoots, which, if allowed to grow, would in a few decades -attain a height of a hundred feet, and the strongest of them would -finally become giants as great as the original tree. Gigantic second -and third growth trees are found in the redwoods, forming magnificent -temple-like circles around charred ruins more than a thousand years -old. But not one denuded acre in a hundred is allowed to raise a new -forest growth. On the contrary, all the brains, religion, and -superstition of the neighborhood are brought into play to prevent a new -growth. The sprouts from the roots and stumps are cut off again and -again, with zealous concern as to the best time and method of making -death sure. In the clearings of one of the largest mills on the coast -we found thirty men at work, last summer, cutting off redwood shoots -“in the dark of the moon,” claiming that all the stumps and roots -cleared at this auspicious time would send up no more shoots. Anyhow, -these vigorous, almost immortal trees are killed at last, and black -stumps are now their only monuments over most of the chopped and burned -areas. - -The redwood is the glory of the Coast Range. It extends along the -western slope, in a nearly continuous belt about ten miles wide, from -beyond the Oregon boundary to the south of Santa Cruz, a distance of -nearly four hundred miles, and in massive, sustained grandeur and -closeness of growth surpasses all the other timber woods of the world. -Trees from ten to fifteen feet in diameter and three hundred feet high -are not uncommon, and a few attain a height of three hundred and fifty -feet or even four hundred, with a diameter at the base of fifteen to -twenty feet or more, while the ground beneath them is a garden of -fresh, exuberant ferns, lilies, gaultheria, and rhododendron. This -grand tree, Sequoia sempervirens, is surpassed in size only by its near -relative, Sequoia gigantea, or Big Tree, of the Sierra Nevada, if, -indeed, it is surpassed. The sempervirens is certainly the taller of -the two. The gigantea attains a greater girth, and is heavier, more -noble in port, and more sublimely beautiful. These two Sequoia are all -that are known to exist in the world, though in former geological times -the genus was common and had many species. The redwood is restricted to -the Coast Range, and the Big Tree to the Sierra. - -As timber the redwood is too good to live. The largest sawmills ever -built are busy along its seaward border, “with all the modern -improvements,” but so immense is the yield per acre it will be long ere -the supply is exhausted. The Big Tree is also, to some extent, being -made into lumber. It is far less abundant than the redwood, and is, -fortunately, less accessible, extending along the western flank of the -Sierra in a partially interrupted belt, about two hundred and fifty -miles long, at a height of from four to eight thousand feet above the -sea. The enormous logs, too heavy to handle, are blasted into -manageable dimensions with gunpowder. A large portion of the best -timber is thus shattered and destroyed, and, with the huge, knotty -tops, is left in ruins for tremendous fires that kill every tree within -their range, great and small. Still, the species is not in danger of -extinction. It has been planted and is flourishing over a great part of -Europe, and magnificent sections of the aboriginal forests have been -reserved as national and State parks,—the Mariposa Sequoia Grove, near -Yosemite, managed by the State of California, and the General Grant and -Sequoia national parks on the Kings, Kaweah, and Tule rivers, -efficiently guarded by a small troop of United States cavalry under the -direction of the Secretary of the interior. But there is not a single -specimen of the redwood in any national park. Only by gift or purchase, -so far as I know, can the government get back into its possession a -single acre of this wonderful forest. - -The legitimate demands on the forests that have passed into private -ownership, as well as those in the hands of the government, are -increasing every year with the rapid settlement and up-building of the -country, but the methods of lumbering are as yet grossly wasteful. In -most mills only the best portions of the best trees are used, while the -ruins are left on the ground to feed great fires, which kill much of -what is left of the less desirable timber, together with the seedlings, -on which the permanence of the forest depends. Thus every mill is a -centre of destruction far more severe from waste and fire than from -use. The same thing is true of the mines, which consume and destroy -indirectly immense quantities of timber with their innumerable fires, -accidental or set to make open ways, and often without regard to how -far they run. The prospector deliberately sets fires to clear off the -woods just where they are densest, to lay the rocks bare and make the -discovery of mines easier. Sheep-owners and their shepherds also set -fires everywhere through the woods in the fall to facilitate the march -of their countless flocks the next summer, and perhaps in some places -to improve the pasturage. The axe is not yet at the root of every tree, -but the sheep is, or was before the national parks were established and -guarded by the military, the only effective and reliable arm of the -government free from the blight of politics. Not only do the shepherds, -at the driest time of the year, set fire to everything that will burn, -but the sheep consume every green leaf, not sparing even the young -conifers, where they are in a starving condition from crowding, and -they rake and dibble the loose soil of the mountain sides for the -spring floods to wash away, and thus at last leave the ground barren. - -Of all the destroyers that infest the woods, the shake-maker seems the -happiest. Twenty or thirty years ago, shakes, a kind of long, -board-like shingles split with a mallet and a frow, were in great -demand for covering barns and sheds, and many are used still in -preference to common shingles, especially those made from the -sugar-pine, which do not warp or crack in the hottest sunshine. -Drifting adventurers in California, after harvest and threshing are -over, oftentimes meet to discuss their plans for the winter, and their -talk is interesting. Once, in a company of this kind, I heard a man -say, as he peacefully smoked his pipe: “Boys, as soon as this job’s -done I’m goin’ into the duck business. There’s big money in it, and -your grub costs nothing. Tule Joe made five hundred dollars last winter -on mallard and teal. Shot ’em on the Joaquin, tied ’em in dozens by the -neck, and shipped ’em to San Francisco. And when he was tired wading in -the sloughs and touched with rheumatiz, he just knocked off on ducks, -and went to the Contra Costa hills for dove and quail. It’s a mighty -good business, and you’re your own boss, and the whole thing’s fun.” - -Another of the company, a bushy-bearded fellow, with a trace of brag in -his voice, drawled out: “Bird business is well enough for some, but -bear is my game, with a deer and a California lion thrown in now and -then for change. There’s always market for bear grease, and sometimes -you can sell the hams. They’re good as hog hams any day. And you are -your own boss in my business, too, if the bears ain’t too big and too -many for you. Old grizzlies I despise,—they want cannon to kill ’em; -but the blacks and browns are beauties for grease, and when once I get -’em just right, and draw a bead on ’em, I fetch ’em every time.” -Another said he was going to catch up a lot of mustangs as soon as the -rains set in, hitch them to a gang-plough, and go to farming on the San -Joaquin plains for wheat. But most preferred the shake business, until -something more profitable and as sure could be found, with equal -comfort and independence. - -With a cheap mustang or mule to carry a pair of blankets, a sack of -flour, a few pounds of coffee, and an axe, a frow, and a cross-cut saw, -the shake-maker ascends the mountains to the pine belt where it is most -accessible, usually by some mine or mill road. Then he strikes off into -the virgin woods, where the sugar pine, king of all the hundred species -of pines in the world in size and beauty, towers on the open sunny -slopes of the Sierra in the fullness of its glory. Selecting a -favorable spot for a cabin near a meadow with a stream, he unpacks his -animal and stakes it out on the meadow. Then he chops into one after -another of the pines, until he finds one that he feels sure will split -freely, cuts this down, saws off a section four feet long, splits it, -and from this first cut, perhaps seven feet in diameter, he gets shakes -enough for a cabin and its furniture,—walls, roof, door, bedstead, -table, and stool. Besides his labor, only a few pounds of nails are -required. Sapling poles form the frame of the airy building, usually -about six feet by eight in size, on which the shakes are nailed, with -the edges overlapping. A few bolts from the same section that the -shakes were made from are split into square sticks and built up to form -a chimney, the inside and interspaces being plastered and filled in -with mud. Thus, with abundance of fuel, shelter and comfort by his own -fireside are secured. Then he goes to work sawing and splitting for the -market, tying the shakes in bundles of fifty or a hundred. They are -four feet long, four inches wide, and about one fourth of an inch -thick. The first few thousands he sells or trades at the nearest mill -or store, getting provisions in exchange. Then he advertises, in -whatever way he can, that he has excellent sugar-pine shakes for sale, -easy of access and cheap. - -[Illustration: Sugar Pine.] - -Only the lower, perfectly clear, free-splitting portions of the giant -pines are used,—perhaps ten to twenty feet from a tree two hundred and -fifty in height; all the rest is left a mass of ruins, to rot or to -feed the forest fires, while thousands are hacked deeply and rejected -in proving the grain. Over nearly all of the more accessible slopes of -the Sierra and Cascade mountains in southern Oregon, at a height of -from three to six thousand feet above the sea, and for a distance of -about six hundred miles, this waste and confusion extends. Happy -robbers! dwelling in the most beautiful woods, in the most salubrious -climate, breathing delightful odors both day and night, drinking cool -living water,—roses and lilies at their feet in the spring, shedding -fragrance and ringing bells as if cheering them on in their desolating -work. There is none to say them nay. They buy no land, pay no taxes, -dwell in a paradise with no forbidding angel either from Washington or -from heaven. Every one of the frail shake shanties is a centre of -destruction, and the extent of the ravages wrought in this quiet way is -in the aggregate enormous. - -It is not generally known that, notwithstanding the immense quantities -of timber cut every year for foreign and home markets and mines, from -five to ten times as much is destroyed as is used, chiefly by running -forest fires that only the federal government can stop. Travelers -through the West in summer are not likely to forget the fire-work -displayed along the various railway tracks. Thoreau, when contemplating -the destruction of the forests on the east side of the continent, said -that soon the country would be so bald that every man would have to -grow whiskers to hide its nakedness, but he thanked God that at least -the sky was safe. Had he gone West he would have found out that the sky -was not safe; for all through the summer months, over most of the -mountain regions, the smoke of mill and forest fires is so thick and -black that no sunbeam can pierce it. The whole sky, with clouds, sun, -moon, and stars, is simply blotted out. There is no real sky and no -scenery. Not a mountain is left in the landscape. At least none is in -sight from the lowlands, and they all might as well be on the moon, as -far as scenery is concerned. - -The half-dozen transcontinental railroad companies advertise the -beauties of their lines in gorgeous many-colored folders, each claiming -its as the “scenic route.” “The route of superior desolation”—the -smoke, dust, and ashes route—would be a more truthful description. -Every train rolls on through dismal smoke and barbarous, melancholy -ruins; and the companies might well cry in their advertisements: “Come! -travel our way. Ours is the blackest. It is the only genuine Erebus -route. The sky is black and the ground is black, and on either side -there is a continuous border of black stumps and logs and blasted trees -appealing to heaven for help as if still half alive, and their mute -eloquence is most interestingly touching. The blackness is perfect. On -account of the superior skill of our workmen, advantages of climate, -and the kind of trees, the charring is generally deeper along our line, -and the ashes are deeper, and the confusion and desolation displayed -can never be rivaled. No other route on this continent so fully -illustrates the abomination of desolation.” Such a claim would be -reasonable, as each seems the worst, whatever route you chance to take. - -Of course a way had to be cleared through the woods. But the felled -timber is not worked up into firewood for the engines and into lumber -for the company’s use; it is left lying in vulgar confusion, and is -fired from time to time by sparks from locomotives or by the workmen -camping along the line. The fires, whether accidental or set, are -allowed to run into the woods as far as they may, thus assuring -comprehensive destruction. The directors of a line that guarded against -fires, and cleared a clean gap edged with living trees, and fringed and -mantled with the grass and flowers and beautiful seedling that are ever -ready and willing to spring up, might justly boast of the beauty of -their road; for nature is always ready to heal every scar. But there is -no such road on the western side of the continent. Last summer, in the -Rocky Mountains, I saw six fires started by sparks from a locomotive -within a distance of three miles, and nobody was in sight to prevent -them from spreading. They might run into the adjacent forests and burn -the timber from hundreds of square miles; not a man in the State would -care to spend an hour in fighting them, as long as his own fences and -buildings were not threatened. - -Notwithstanding all the waste and use which have been going on -unchecked like a storm for more than two centuries, it is not yet too -late—though it is high time—for the government to begin a rational -administration of its forests. About seventy million acres it still -owns,—enough for all the country, if wisely used. These residual -forests are generally on mountain slopes, just where they are doing the -most good, and where their removal would be followed by the greatest -number of evils; the lands they cover are too rocky and high for -agriculture, and can never be made as valuable for any other crop as -for the present crop of trees. It has been shown over and over again -that if these mountains were to be stripped of their trees and -underbrush, and kept bare and sodless by hordes of sheep and the -innumerable fires the shepherds set, besides those of the millmen, -prospectors shake-makers, and all sorts of adventurers, both lowlands -and mountains would speedily become little better than desert, compared -with their present beneficent fertility. During heavy rainfalls and -while the winter accumulations of snow were melting, the large streams -would swell into destructive torrents, cutting deep, rugged-edged -gullies, carrying away the fertile humus and soil as well as sand and -rocks, filling up and overflowing their lower channels, and covering -the lowland fields with raw detritus. Drought and barrenness would -follow. - -In their natural condition, or under wise management, keeping out -destructive sheep, preventing fires, selecting the trees that should be -cut for lumber, and preserving the young ones and the shrubs and sod of -herbaceous vegetation, these forests would be a never failing fountain -of wealth and beauty. The cool shades of the forest give rise to moist -beds and currents of air, and the sod of grasses and the various -flowering plants and shrubs thus fostered, together with the network -and sponge of tree roots, absorb and hold back the rain and the waters -from melting snow, compelling them to ooze and percolate and flow -gently through the soil in streams that never dry. All the pine needles -and rootlets and blades of grass, and the fallen, decaying trunks of -trees, are dams, storing the bounty of the clouds and dispensing it in -perennial life-giving streams, instead of allowing it to gather -suddenly and rush headlong in short-lived devastating floods. Everybody -on the dry side of the continent is beginning to find this out, and, in -view of the waste going on, is growing more and more anxious for -government protection. The outcries we hear against forest reservations -come mostly from thieves who are wealthy and steal timber by wholesale. -They have so long been allowed to steal and destroy in peace that any -impediment to forest robbery is denounced as a cruel and irreligious -interference with “vested rights,” likely to endanger the repose of all -ungodly welfare. - -Gold, gold, gold! How strong a voice that metal has! - -“O wae for the siller, it is sae preva’lin’!” - - -Even in Congress a sizable chunk of gold, carefully concealed, will -outtalk and outfight all the nation on a subject like forestry, well -smothered in ignorance, and in which the money interests of only a few -are conspicuously involved. Under these circumstances, the bawling, -blethering oratorical stuff drowns the voice of God himself. Yet the -dawn of a new day in forestry is breaking. Honest citizens see that -only the rights of the government are being trampled, not those of the -settlers. Only what belongs to all alike is reserved, and every acre -that is left should be held together under the federal government as a -basis for a general policy of administration for the public good. The -people will not always be deceived by selfish opposition, whether from -lumber and mining corporations or from sheepmen and prospectors, -however cunningly brought forward underneath fables and gold. - -Emerson says that things refuse to be mismanaged long. An exception -would seem to be found in the case of our forests, which have been -mismanaged rather long, and now come desperately near being like -smashed eggs and spilt milk. Still, in the long run the world does not -move backward. The wonderful advance made in the last few years, in -creating four national parks in the West, and thirty forest -reservations, embracing nearly forty million acres; and in the planting -of the borders of streets and highways and spacious parks in all the -great cities, to satisfy the natural taste and hunger for landscape -beauty and righteousness that God has put, in some measure, into every -human being and animal, shows the trend of awakening public opinion. -The making of the far-famed New York Central Park was opposed by even -good men, with misguided pluck, perseverance, and ingenuity; but -straight right won its way, and now that park is appreciated. So we -confidently believe it will be with our great national parks and forest -reservations. There will be a period of indifference on the part of the -rich, sleepy with wealth, and of the toiling millions, sleepy with -poverty, most of whom never saw a forest; a period of screaming protest -and objection from the plunderers, who are as unconscionable and -enterprising as Satan. But light is surely coming, and the friends of -destruction will preach and bewail in vain. - -The United States government has always been proud of the welcome it -has extended to good men of every nation, seeking freedom and homes and -bread. Let them be welcomed still as nature welcomes them, to the woods -as well as to the prairies and plains. No place is too good for good -men, and still there is room. They are invited to heaven, and may well -be allowed in America. Every place is made better by them. Let them be -as free to pick gold and gems from the hills, to cut and hew, dig and -plant, for homes and bread, as the birds are to pick berries from the -wild bushes, and moss and leaves for nests. The ground will be glad to -feed them, and the pines will come down from the mountains for their -homes as willingly as the cedars came from Lebanon for Solomon’s -temple. Nor will the woods be the worse for this use, or their benign -influences be diminished any more than the sun is diminished by -shining. Mere destroyers, however, tree-killers, wool and mutton men, -spreading death and confusion in the fairest groves and gardens ever -planted,—let the government hasten to cast them out and make an end of -them. For it must be told again and again, and be burningly borne in -mind, that just now, while protective measures are being deliberated -languidly, destruction and use are speeding on faster and farther every -day. The axe and saw are insanely busy, chips are flying thick as -snowflakes, and every summer thousands of acres of priceless forests, -with their underbrush, soil, springs, climate, scenery, and religion, -are vanishing away in clouds of smoke, while, except in the national -parks, not one forest guard is employed. - -All sorts of local laws and regulations have been tried and found -wanting, and the costly lessons of our own experience, as well as that -of every civilized nation, show conclusively that the fate of the -remnant of our forests is in the hands of the federal government, and -that if the remnant is to be saved at all, it must be saved quickly. - -Any fool can destroy trees. They cannot run away; and if they could, -they would still be destroyed,—chased and hunted down as long as fun or -a dollar could be got out of their bark hides, branching horns, or -magnificent bole backbones. Few that fell trees plant them; nor would -planting avail much towards getting back anything like the noble -primeval forests. During a man’s life only saplings can be grown, in -the place of the old trees—tens of centuries old—that have been -destroyed. It took more than three thousand years to make some of the -trees in these Western woods,—trees that are still standing in perfect -strength and beauty, waving and singing in the mighty forests of the -Sierra. Through all the wonderful, eventful centuries since Christ’s -time—and long before that—God has cared for these trees, saved them -from drought, disease, avalanches, and a thousand straining, leveling -tempests and floods; but he cannot save them from fools,—only Uncle Sam -can do that. - - - - -APPENDIX - - -I. NATIONAL PARKS - -Map -No. Name Location Established Characteristic Area: Acres Private Revenue Appropriation, Visitors - Features Claims: 1908 1909 1908 - Acres11 -1 Yellowstone1 Wyoming March 1, 18723 Unique volcanic - mountain scenery 22,142,720.00 None $4,125.65 $73,000.0018 19,542 -2 Hot Springs1 Arkansas June 16, 18803 Medicinal springs, - wooded mountains 911.63 None 28,090.00 None 898,00422 - 14,418 -3 Sequoia1 California Sept. 25, 18903 “Big Trees” 161,597.00 3,716.9612 59.72 15,550.00 1,251 -4 Yosemite1 8 California Oct. 1, 18903 Unique glacial valleys - and snow mountains 719,622.00 19,827.0013 18,260.98 30,000.00 8,850 -5 Gen. Grant1 California Oct. 1, 18903 “Big Trees” 2,536.00 160.0012 None 2,000.00 1,773 -6 Casa Grande1 Arizona June 22, 18924 Prehistoric dwellings 480.009 None None 900.00 No count -7 Mt. Rainier2 Washington March 2, 18993 Snow peak and glaciers 207,360.00 18.2014 1,064.84 28,000.0019 2,826 -8 Crater Lake1 Oregon May 22, 19023 Lake in extinct volcano 159,360.0010 1,914.22 15.00 3,000.00 5,27523 -9 Platt6 Oklahoma July 1, 19023 Mineral springs 848.22 None 72.00 16,000.0020 26,00024 -10 Wind Cave1 So. Dakota Jan. 9, 19033 Caverns 10,522.00 719.3915 400.00 2,500.00 3,17124 -11 Sully’s Hill5 No. Dakota June 2, 19045 Wooded hills and lake 780.00 None None None21 25023 -12 Mesa Verde1 Colorado June 29, 19063 Prehistoric dwellings 42,376.00 2,080.0016 None 7,500.00 8025 - 5-mile strip - surrounding - Mesa Verde1 Colorado June 29, 1906 Prehistoric dwellings 175,360.00 50,346.1417 - TOTALS 3,624,9472.85 78,781.9111 $52,088.19 $178,450.00 -13* Glacier Montana Pending 915,000.00 6,000.00 - -_Name, location, and establishment:_ - -1 Constituted from unpatented lands of the public domain. - -2 Constituted from unpatented lands of National Forests. - -3 By direct Act of Congress. - -4 By executive order authorized by Sundry Civil Act, March 2, 1889. - -5 By executive order authorized by Act of April 27, 1904, amending -agreement with Devil’s Lake Indians. A cash purchase. - -6 Cash purchase from Choctaw and Chickasaw Indians, acts of July 1, -1902, and April 21, 1904. Renamed in honor of late Senator Platt of -Connecticut, long member of Indian Affairs Committee, by Act of June -29, 1906. - -7 A small percentage of park laps over into Montana and Idaho. - -8 Yosemite _Valley_ set aside June 30, 1864, as a _State_ park. Receded -to United Sates by California, March 3, 1905, and accepted by acts of -Congress, March 3, 1905, June 11,1906. - -9 Extension recommended to include neighboring ruins. - -10 Extension recommended by Superintendent to include lower slopes of -mountain to supply winter sanctuary for game. - -_Private Lands:_ - -11 Three areas are included in total areas of parks. Total private -claims amount to about 2.8% of total park areas. State school lands may -be exchanged if same lie within any government reservation, under -Section 2275 Revised Statutes as amended in 1891. - -12 Secretary of Interior repeatedly recommended purchase of claims, but -Congress has failed to act on his bills. - -13 About 2% of park area is patented, including some of finest timber. - -14 This is a placer mine patent. There are also 178 unperfected claims. - -15 Establishing act allows claimants to exchange for outside lands -under forest lieu land laws. No exchanges to date. State school lands -have been exchanged. - -16 Of this 360 acres are patented. Remainder in unperfected claims and -school lands. Workable coal underlies whole park. - -17 Of this 31,535.98 acres are patented. Remainder as noted in Note 16. - -_Finances_ (revenues are from leases and concessions): - -18 Of this $65,000 is for “maintenance and repair of improvements,” to -be expended by War Department. - -19 Of this $25,000 is for road building under War Department. - -20 Of this $15,000 is toward a sewer if city of Sulphur provides a like -amount. - -21 Park is supervised by an Indian school officer stationed in the -neighborhood. - -_Visitors:_ - -22 First figure is number of baths, free and paid. Second figure is -number of persons visiting the mountain observation tower at 25 cents -each. - -23 Estimated. - -24 Includes visitors from outside the immediate neighborhood. Park also -serves city of Sulphur. - -25 No carriage road to this park. Horse trail, steep and dangerous, 10 -miles. - -* Proposed park. Bill to establish passed both branches in 60th -Congress, but no in identical form. The bills failed to each a -conference vote. Tract is now in a National Forest. - -II. STATUTORY PROVISIONS RELATING TO NATIONAL PARKS - -Name Departments Allied Penalties Protection of “Natural Special Privleges Allowed - in Control1 for Misdemeanors10 Condition” specified19 -Yellowstone War3 4 Yes11 Yes Hotels, etc.23 -Hot Springs2 None Yes12 No Numerous24 -Sequoia War3 None13 Yes Hotels, etc.25 -Yosemite War3 None13 Yes Hotels, etc.25 -Gen. Grant War3 None13 Yes Hotels, etc.25 -Casa Grande2 Smithsonian5 None14 Yes20 None -Mt. Rainier War4: Agriculture6 None13 Yes Hotels26: Mining27 -Crater Lake None Yes15 No21 Hotels26: Mining28 -Platt None7 Yes16 No22 Water29 -Wind Cave Justice8 Yes17 No22 Hotels: Cavern30 -Sully’s Hill None None14 No None -Mesa Verde None9 Yes18 Yes Scientific Research31 - -_Nomenclature and Management:_ - -1 Interior Department is in all cases the custodian. - -2 All are specifically called “parks” in the establishing acts or their -amendments except Hot Springs and Casa Grande Ruin. These are termed -“reservations.” - -3 Policed by troops on request of Interior Department (Sundry Civil -Acts of March 3, 1883, and June 6, 1900). Paid for from Army -appropriation. Same Superintendent and guard cares for both Sequoia and -Gen. Grant Parks. - -4 Road construction by Army Engineers (Act of June 6, 1900). - -5 Scientific excavations and protective works placed under Smithsonian -Institution by Sundry Civil Act of June 30, 1906. - -6 At present the Supervisor of Rainier National Forest acts as -superintendent of park. Forest surrounds the park. Forest rangers -police park in part. - -7 Superintendent of park recommends a military guard in summer. - -8 The U. S. Marshall for So. Dakota acts voluntarily as advisory -superintendent. - -9 Scientific excavations and protective works undertaken voluntarily by -Smithsonian Institution at request of Interior Department. - - -_Misdemeanor Penalties:_ - -10 All National Forest and National Park employees given power of -arrest for violation of laws and regulations by Act of Feb. 6, 1905, -reënacted by Agriculture Appropriation Act of March 3, 1905. Act of -March 3, 1875, provides a fine up to $500 or imprisonment up to one -year for cutting or injuring trees or fences, or for unauthorized -pasturing on any reserved public lands. Act of June 3, 1878, as amended -August 4, 1892, forbids unlawful timber cutting on public lands, the -fine being $100 to $1000. Section 5391 Revised Statues and Act of July -7, 1898, makes offences on U. S. property punishable under the law of -the State where committed, if such law exists, in cases where there is -no U. S. law to cover same. See 11, 12, 13. - -11 Special Act of May 7, 1894, “to protect birds and animals in -Yellowstone National Park, and to punish crimes in said park.” Fine up -to $1000 or imprisonment up to 2 years, or both, with costs. Wyoming -State laws apply where U. S. laws are deficient. - -12 Fine up to $100 and costs in certain cases on a portion of the -reservation (Act of April 20, 1904, amended March 2, 1907). City -ordinances and State laws apply in some cases. - -13 Violators of rules governing park may only be ejected. State laws do -not cover sufficiently. In the case of the Yosemite there is no U. S. -Commissioner within 100 miles. - -14 Rules and regulations for government are required by law in -connection with all National Parks except Casa Grande and Sully’s Hill. - -15 Fine up to $500 or imprisonment up to 1 year and liability for all -damages. - -16 Fine of $5 to $100 or imprisonment up to 6 months. - -17 Fine up to $1000, or imprisonment up to 1 year, or both. - -18 Fine up to $1000, or imprisonment up to 1 year, and obligation to -restore removed property. - - -_Preservation Terms:_ - -19 The preservation of the park in its _natural condition_ is required -by law on 7 of the 12 parks. - -20 Establishing act specifies “protection of said ruin and of the -ancient city of which it is a part.” Custodian provided annually by -Sundry Civil Act. - -21 Custodian required by establishing act to “cause adequate measures -to be taken for the preservation of the natural objects” and of timer, -game, and fish. - -22 Requirement might be implied, however, from general terms of -establishing act. - - -_Privileges:_ - -23 Act of August 3, 1894, amended March 2, 1907, redefined leasing -terms, limiting area to 10 acres, or where more than one location was -granted one person or concern, not over 20 acres all told. It forbade -leasing any natural wonders, or any land within a fixed distance of -chief objects. - -24 Railway locations, revocable by Congress, granted by acts of March -3, 1877, and Oct. 19, 1888. Another railway right of Dec. 21, 1893, was -defaulted. City reservoir site granted by Act of August 7, 1894. An -observation tower with elevator, admission 25 cents, leased a site on -the mountain under Act of March 19, 1898. Hotel, bath-house, and -sanatorium locations allotted, and hot water from springs sold pursuant -to sundry acts of Congress. - -25 Revocable locations to power-plants, water-supply works, pole lines, -conduits, etc. authorized by Act of Feb. 15, 1901, when not deemed -“incompatible with the public interest.” Hetch-Hetchy storage basin -grant to San Francisco made hereunto, May, 1908. - -26 Hotel leases unlimited as to area or time. Railways may be built -_into_, not through, park. - -27 Mining claims proved in good faith prior to Act of May 27, 1908, may -be worked under regulation of department. 178 such claims in park. - -28 Mining claims may be located and worked under regulation of -department. Such claims do not carry a fee title to land here. - -29 Village of Sulphur supplied from creek under department regulation. - -30 Establishing act permits renting cavern, the chief natural feature -of the park. Mining claims antedating park would be protected. - -31 A bill introduced in 60th Congress by Secretary of Interior to allow -hotel and similar leases failed to become law. - -(Bill now pending to create Glacier National Park, Montana, allows -20-year leases for private cottages, and also allows removal of mature -timber “for the protection and improvement of the park.” No penalties -for misdemeanor are provided.) - -III. NATIONAL MONUMENTS1 - -Map Name Location Established Characteristic Features Area: Acres2 -No. -14 Devil’s Tower Wyoming Sept. 24, 1906 Example of erosion 1,152.91 -15 Petrified Forest Arizona Dec. 8, 1906 Silicified mesozoic forest remains 60,776.02 -16 Montezuma Castle Arizona Dec. 8, 1906 Cliff-dwellings, prehistoric 160.02 -17 El Moro New Mexico Dec. 8, 1906 Inscribed rocks 160.00 -18 Chaco Canyon New Mexico Mch. 11, 1907 Pueblo ruin, prehistoric 20,629.40 -19 *Lassen Peak California May 6, 1907 Extinct volcano 1,280.00 -20 *Cinder Cone California May 6, 1907 Lava field 5,120.00 -21 *Gila Cliff-Dwellings New Mexico Nov. 16, 1907 Cliff-dwellings, prehistoric 160.00 -22 *Tonto Arizona Dec. 19, 1907 Cliff-dwellings, prehistoric 640.00 -23 Muir Woods3 California Jan. 9, 1908 Primeval redwood forest 295.00 -24 *Grand Canyon Arizona Jan. 11, 1908 “Titan of chasms” 806,400.00 -25 *Pinnacles California Jan. 16, 1908 Rock pinnacles and caves 2,080.00 -26 *Jewel Cave So. Dakota Feb. 7, 1908 Large cavern 1280.00 -27 Natural Bridges Utah Apr. 16, 1908 Three natural bridges 4120.00 -28 Lewis and Clark Cavern Montana May 11, 1908 Limestone cavern 160,00 -29 Tumacacori5 Arizona Sept. 5, 1908 Spanish mission ruin 10.00 -30 *Wheeler Colorado Dec. 7, 1908 Volcanic formations 300.00 -31 *Mt. Olympus Washington Mch. 2, 1909 Habitat of Olympic elk6 608,640.00 -32 Navajo Arizona Mch. 20, 1909 Cliff-dwellings and pueblos 600.00 -33 *Oregon Caves Oregon July 10, 1909 Limestone caverns 480.00 - 1,510,443.35 - -* Managed by U. S. Forest Service, Department of Agriculture. These -areas lie within National Forests. All others managed by Department of -Interior. These were created out of National Forest lands. All others -except Muir Woods and Tumacacori were created from unpatented public -lands. See notes 3 and 5. - -1 Monuments created by Presidential proclamation under Act of June 8, -1906, “For the Preservation of American Antiquities.” Act specifies -“historic landmarks, historic and prehistoric structures, and other -objects of historic or scientific interest” as reservable under this -authority. No power given to lease any part of such lands. The -Secretaries of the Interior, Agriculture, and War are directed to draw -uniform rules for the control of these tracts. They may permit -“properly qualified institutions” to carry on scientific -investigations, including excavations and collecting. No appropriation -ever made for maintenance of monuments. No revenue derived therefrom. A -fine up to $500 or imprisonment up to 90 days, or both, is the penalty -for unlicensed excavating or collecting, or for injuring the reserved -properties. - -2 Includes any possible private claims. Extent of patented lands not -known to Interior Department. - -3 Gift of WIlliam and Elizabeth Thacher Kent of Chicago, Illinois. - -4 Proposal to enlarge under consideration. - -5 A perfected patent on this land was relinquished by the entryman. - -6 The Olympic elk is a rare species and found only in this section of -Cascade Mountains. - -IV. LOCATION AND AREA OF THE NATIONAL FORESTS IN THE UNITED STATES, -ALASKA, AND PORTO RICO, AND DATES WHEN LATEST PROCLAMATIONS BECAME -EFFECTIVE. - - -June 30, 1909. - - -[_Official Table of the Forest Service, United States Department of -Agriculture._] - -State or Territory Forest Headquarters of Proclamation Area: Acres Total - Supervisor Effective -Arizona Apache Springerville Mar. 2, 1909 1,785,711 - Chiricahua1 Douglas July 2, 1908 287,520 - Coconino Flagstaff July 2, 1908 3,689,982 - Coronado Benson July 2, 1908 966,368 - Crook Stafford July 1, 1908 788,624 - Dixie2 St. George, Utah Feb. 10, 1909 626,800 - Garces Nogales July 2, 1908 644,395 - Kaibab Kanab, Utah July 2, 1908 1,080,000 - Prescot Prescott Feb 1, 1908 1,541,762 - Sitgreaves Snowflake Mar. 2, 1909 1,470,364 - Tonto Roosevelt Feb. 10, 1909 2,110,354 - Zuñi3 Mar. 2, 1909 266,981 - 15,258,861 -Arkansas Arkansas Mena Feb. 27, 1909 1,663,300 - Ozark Harrison Feb. 25, 1909 1,526,481 - 3,189,781 -California Angeles Los Angeles July 1, 1908 1,350,900 - California Willows Feb. 25, 1909 1,114,904 - Cleveland San Diego Jan. 26, 1909 2,236,178 - Crater4 Medford, Oreg. July 1, 1908 58,614 - Inyo5 Bishop July 2, 1908 1,458,444 - Klamath Yreka Feb. 13, 1909 2,094,467 - Lassen Red Buff Mar. 2, 1909 1,373,043 - Modoc Alturas Feb. 25, 1909 1,471,817 - Mono6 Gardnerville, Nevada Mar. 2, 1909 813,789 - Monterey Salinas July 2, 1908 514,477 - Plumas Quincy Mar. 2, 1909 1,407,053 - San Luis San Luis Obispo July 1, 1908 355,990 - Santa Barbara Santa Barbara July 1, 1908 2,027,180 - Sequoia Hot Springs, Tulare Co. Mar. 2, 1909 3,079,942 - Shasta Sisson Mar. 2, 1909 1,754,718 - Sierra Northfork July 2, 1908 1,935,680 - Siskiyou7 Grants Pass, Oregon July 1, 1908 37,814 - Stanislaus Sonora July 2, 1908 1,117,625 - Tahoe8 Nevada City Mar. 2, 1909 1,931,042 - Trinity Weaverville Mar. 2, 1909 1,834,833 - 27,968,510 -Colorado Arapaho Sulphur Springs July 1, 1908 796,815 - Battlement9 Collbran July 1, 1908 759,002 - Cochetopa Saguache July 1, 1908 932,890 - Cochetopa Saguache July 1, 1908 932,890 - Gunnison Gunnison July 1, 1908 945,350 - Hayden10 Encampment, Wyoming July 1, 1908 84,000 - -1 Total of Chiricahua in Arizona and New Mexico = 466,497 acres. - -2 Total of Dixie in Arizona and Utah = 1,102,655 acres. - -3 Total of Zuñi in Arizona and New Mexico = 670,981 acres. - -4 Total of Crater in California and Oregon = 1,119,834 acres. - -5 Total of Inyo in California and Nevada = 1,521,017 acres. - -6 Total of Mono in California and Nevada = 1,349,126 acres. - -7 Total of Siskiyou in California and Oregon = 1,302,393 acres. - -8 Total of Tahoe in California and Nevada = 1,992,127 acres. - -9 Area of Battlement revised by General Land Office, May 27, 1909. - -10 Total of Hayden in Colorado and Wyoming = 454,911 acres. - -State or Territory Forest Headquarters of Proclamation Area: Acres Total - Supervisor Effective -Colorado Holly Cross1 Glenwood Springs April 26, 1909 595,840 -—cont. La Sal2 Moab, Utah Mar. 16, 1909 29,502 - Las Animas3 La Veta Mar. 1, 1907 196,140 - Leadville Leadville July 1, 1908 1,184,730 - Medicine Bow Fort Colins July 1, 1908 659,780 - Montezuma Mancos July 1, 1908 1,175,811 - Pike Denver July 1, 1908 1,457,524 - Rio Grande Monte Vista July 1, 1908 1,262,158 - Routt Steamboat Springs July 1, 1908 1,049,686 - San Isabel Westcliffe July 2, 1908 560,848 - San Juan Durango July 1, 1908 1,460,880 - Sopris1 Aspen April 26, 1909 655,360 - Uncompahgre Delta July 1, 1908 921,243 - White River Meeker May 21, 1904 970,880 - 15,698,439 -Florida Choctawhatchee Nov. 27, 1908 467,606 - Ocala Nov. 24, 1908 207,285 - 674,891 -Idaho Beverhead4 Dillon, Mont. July 1, 1908 304,140 - Boise Boise July 1, 1908 1,147,360 - Cache5 Logan, Utah July 1, 1908 276,640 - Caribou6 Idaho Falls Jan. 15, 1907 733,000 - Challis Challis July 1, 1908 1,161,040 - Clearwater Kooskia July 1, 1908 2,687,860 - Coeur d’Alene Wallace July 1, 1908 1,543,844 - Idaho Elo July 1, 1908 1,293,280 - Kaniksu7 Newport, Wash. July 1, 1908 544,220 - Lemhi Mackay July 1, 1908 955,408 - Minidoka8 Oakley July 2, 1908 619,204 - Nezperce Grangeville July 1, 1908 1,946,340 - Payette Emmett July 1, 1908 844,240 - Pend d’Oreille Sandpoint July 1, 1908 913,364 - Pocatello9 Pocatello July 1, 1908 288,148 - Salmon Salmon July 1, 1908 1,762,472 - Sawtooth Hailey July 1, 1908 1,211,920 - Targhee10 St. Anthony July 1, 1908 1,101,720 - Weiser Weiser July 1, 1908 764,829 - 20,099,029 -Kansas Kansas Garden City May 15, 1908 302,387 - 302,387 -Michigan Marquette Feb. 10, 1909 30,603 - Michigan Feb. 11, 1909 132,770 - 163,373 -Minnesota Minnesota Cass Lake May 23, 1908 294,752 - Superior Ely Feb. 13, 1909 909,734 - 1,204,486 -Montana Absaroka Livingston July 1, 1908 980,440 - Beartooth Red Lodge July 1, 1908 685,293 - Beaverhead4 Dillon July 1, 1908 1,506,680 - -1 Holy Cross divided into Holy Cross and Sopris National Forests, April -26, 1909. - -2 Total of La Sal in Colorado and Utah = 474,130 acres. - -3 Total of Las Animas in Colorado and New Mexico = 196,620 acres. - -4 Total of Beaverhead in Idaho and Montana = 1,810,820 acres. - -5 Total of Cache in Idaho and Utah = 533,840 acres. - -6 Total of Caribou in Idaho and Wyoming = 740,740 acres. - -7 Total of Kaniksu in Idaho and Washington = 950,740 acres. - -8 Total of Minidoka in Idaho and Utah = 736,407 acres. - -9 Total of Pocatello in Idaho and Utah = 298,868 acres - -10 Total of Targhee in Idaho and Wyoming = 1,479,320 acres. - -11 Minnesota National Forest created by act of Congress. - -State or Territory Forest Headquarters of Proclamation Area: Acres Total - Supervisor Effective -Montana Bitterroot Missoula July 1, 1908 1,180,900 -—cont. Blackfeet Kalispell July 1, 1908 1,956,340 - Cabinet Thompson Falls July 1, 1908 1,020,960 - Custer Ashland July 2, 1908 590,720 - Deerlodge Anaconda July 1, 1908 1,080,220 - Flathead Kalispell July 1, 1908 2,092,785 - Gallatin Bozeman July 1, 1908 907,160 - Helena Helena July 1, 1908 930,180 - Jefferson Great Falls July 2, 1908 1,255,320 - Kootenai Libby July 1, 1908 1,661,260 - Lewis and Clark Chouteau July 1, 1908 884,136 - Lolo Missoula Nov. 6, 1906 1,211,680 - Madison Sheridan July 1, 1908 1,102,860 - Missoula Missoula July 1, 1908 1,237,509 - Sioux1 Camp Crook, So. Dakota Feb. 15, 1909 145,253 - 20,389,696 -Nebraska Nebraska Halsey July 2, 1908 566,072 - 566,072 -Nevada Humboldt Elko Jan. 20, 1909 1,158,814 - Inyo2 Bishop, Cal. July 2, 1908 62,573 - Moapa Las Vegas Jan. 21, 1909 390,580 - Mono3 Gardnerville Mar. 2, 1909 535,337 - Nevada Ely Feb. 10, 1909 1,222,312 - Tahoe4 Nevada City, Cal. Mar. 2, 1909 61,085 - Toiyabe Austin Feb. 20, 1909 1,678,714 - 5,109,415 -New Mexico Alamo Alamogordo Mar. 2, 1909 1,513,817 - Carson Antonito, Colo. Mar. 2, 1909 1,390,680 - Chiricahua5 Douglas, Ariz. July 2, 1908 178,977 - Datil Magdalena Feb. 23, 1909 2,869,888 - Gila Silver City Feb. 15, 1909 1,782,562 - Jemez Santa Fé July 1, 1908 944,085 - Las Animas6 La Veta, Colo. Mar. 1, 1907 480 - Lincoln Capitan Mar. 2, 1909 677,790 - Manzano Albuquerque Apr. 16, 1908 587,110 - Pecos Santa Fé Jan. 28, 1909 622,322 - Zuñi7 Mar. 2, 1909 404,000 - 10,971,711 -North Dakota Dakota Camp Crook, So. Dakota Nov. 24, 1908 13,940 - 13,940 -Oklahoma Whichita Cache May 29, 1906 60,800 - 60,800 -Oregon Cascade Eugene July 1, 1908 1,767,370 - Crater8 Medford July 1, 1908 1,061,220 - Deschutes Prineville July 14, 1908 1,504,207 - Fremont Lakeview July 14, 1908 1,260,320 - Malheur John Day July 1, 1908 1,167,400 - Oregon Portland July 1, 1908 1,787,280 - Siskiyou9 Grants Pass July 1, 1908 1,264,579 - Siuslaw Eugene July 1, 1908 821,794 - Umatilla Heppner July 1, 1908 540,496 - Umpqua Roseburg July 1, 1908 1,567,500 - -1 Total of Sioux in Montana and South Dakota = 249,653 acres. - -2 Total of Inyo in California and Nevada = 1,521,017 acres. - -3 Total of Mono in California and Nevada = 1,349,126 acres. - -4 Total of Tahoe in California and Nevada = 1,992,127 acres. - -5 Total Chiricahua in Arizona and New Mexico = 466,497 acres. - -6 Total of Las Animas in Colorado and New Mexico = 196,620 acres. - -7 Total of Zuñi in Arizona and New Mexico = 670,981 acres. - -8 Total of Crater in California and Oregon = 1,119,834 acres. - -9 Total of Siskiyou in California and Oregon = 1,302,393 acres. - -State or Territory Forest Headquarters of Proclamation Area: Acres Total - Supervisor Effective -Oregon Wallowa Wallowa July 2, 1908 1,750,240 -—cont. Wenaha1 Walla Walla, Washington Mar. 1, 1907 494,942 - Whitman Sumpter July 1, 1908 1,234,020 - 16,221,368 -South Dakota Black Hills Deadwood Feb. 15, 1909 1,190,040 - Sioux2 Camp Crook Feb. 15, 1909 104,400 - 1,294,440 -Utah Ashley3 Vernal July 1, 1908 947,490 - Cache4 Logan July 1, 1908 257,200 - Dixie5 St. George Feb. 10, 1909 475,865 - Fillmore Beaver July 1, 1908 578,459 - Fishlake Salina July 2, 1908 537,233 - La Sal6 Moab Mar. 16, 1909 444,628 - Manti Ephraim Apr. 25, 1907 786,080 - Minidoka7 Oakley, Idaho July 2, 1908 117,203 - Nebo Nephi July 1, 1908 343,920 - Pocatello8 Pocatello, Idaho July 1, 1908 10,720 - Powell Escalante July 2, 1908 726,159 - Sevier Panguitch Jan. 17, 1906 710,920 - Uinta Provo July 1, 1908 1,250,610 - Wasatch Salt Lake City July 2, 1908 249,840 - 7,436,327 -Washington Chelan Chelan July 1, 1908 2,492,500 - Columbia Portland, Oreg. July 1, 1908 941,440 - Colville Republic Mar. 1, 1907 869,520 - Kaniksu9 Newport July 1, 1908 406,520 - Olympic Olympia Mar. 2, 1907 1,594,560 - Rainier Orting July 1, 1908 1,641,280 - Snoqualmie Seattle July 1, 1908 961,120 - Washington Bellingham July 1, 1908 1,419,040 - Wenaha1 Walla Walla Mar. 1, 1907 318,400 - Wenatchee Leavenworth July 1, 1908 1,421,120 - 12,065,500 -Wyoming Ashley3 Vernal, Utah July 1, 1908 4,596 - Bighorn Sheridan July 2, 1908 1,151,680 - Bonneville Pinedale July 1, 1908 1,627,840 - Caribou10 Idaho Falls, Idaho Jan. 15, 1907 7,740 - Cheyenne Laramie July 1, 1908 617,932 - Hayden11 Encampment July 1, 1908 370,911 - Shoshone Cody July 1, 1908 1,689,680 - Sundance Sundance July 1, 1908 183,224 - Targhee St. Anthony, Idaho July 1, 1908 377,600 - Teton Jackson July 1, 1908 1,991,200 -Wyoming Afton July 1, 1908 976,320 - 8,998,723 - -Total of 147 National Forests in the United States . . . . . . . . . . -. . . . . . . . . . . 167,677,749 - -1 Total of Wenaha in Oregon and Washington = 813,342 acres. - -2 Total of Sioux in Montana and South Dakota = 249,653 acres. - -3 Total of Ashley in Utah and Wyoming = 952,086 acres. - -4 Total of Cache in Idaho and Utah = 523,840 acres. - -5 Total of Dixie in Arizona and Utah = 1,102,665 acres. - -6 Total of La Sal in Colorado and Utah = 474,130 acres. - -7 Total of Minidoka in Idaho and Utah = 736,407 acres. - -8 Total of Pocatello in Idaho and Utah = 298,868 acres. - -9 Total of Kaniksu in Idaho and Washington = 950,740 acres. - -10 Total of Caribou in Idaho and Wyoming = 740,740 acres. - -11 Total of Hayden in Colorado and Wyoming = 454,911 acres. - -12 Total of Targhee in Idaho and Wyoming = 1,479,320 acres. - -State or Territory Forest Headquarters of Proclamation Area: Acres Total - Supervisor Effective -Alaska Chugach Ketchikan Feb. 23, 1909 11,280,640 - Tongass Ketchikan Feb. 16, 1909 15,480,986 - 26,761,626 -Porto Rico Luquillo Jan. 17, 1903 65,950 - 65,950 - -Grand total of 150 National Forests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . -. . . 194,505,325 - - - - -INDEX - -Adenostema fasciculatum, heathlike shrub, its influence on the -physiognomy of Sierra landscapes, 142. - - -Age of trees, pine, 69, 104, 107, 108, 114, 275; libocedrus, 118; -juniper, 124; fir, 275, 276; sequoia, 260, 275-280, 297, 299. - - -Alaska, plants and animals of, 7-11. - - -Alpenglow, 74. - - -Apple, wild, 22, 23. - - -Aspen, 131 - - -Aster, 164 - - -Avalanches, snow, 27, 251-255; rock, 140, 259. - - -Azalea, 146, 181, 303. - - -Axe clearings, 101. - -Bear-hunters, 353; Duncan, 179; David Brown and his dog Sandy, 181. - - -Bears, 28, 52, 57, 144, 314; food of Sierra, 172; interviews with 174, -177; tracks, 178; and sheep, 185. - - -Beaver, 16, 25, 53. - - -Beaver, mountain, 201. - - -Beaver meadows, 23, 37. - - -Birds, of the Yosemite Park, 213. - - -Blackberries, 24. - - -Bogs, 139, 166. - - -Brodiæa, 23, 155. - - -Bryanthus, 148. - -California, floweriness of, 137. - - -Calochortus, 23, 145. - - -Calypso borealis, 7, 23. - - -Camassia, 156. - - -Campanula, 282. - - -Camping, 56, 133, 161, 163. - - -Cañon, the Grand, of the Colorado, 35; Yellowstone, 49; Merced, 259; -Tuolumne, 259. - - -Cañons of the Sierra, 83. - - -Cassiope, 147. - - -Cathedral Peak, 90. - - -Ceanothus, 145. - - -Cedar, incense, 116; red, 123, 273. - - -Chamæbatia foliolosa, a forest carpet, 143. - - -Chaparral, 142, 144, 146. - - -Cherry, 23, 146. - - -Chestnut, 22. - - -Chinquapin, 146. - - -Chipmunk, 196. - - -Climates of the Sierra, 138, 160, 161, 164. - - -Clintonia, 18, 23. - - -Clouds, 77, 164, 276, 281. - - -Colds, 133. - - -Coyote, 194. - - -Crow, Clarke, 228. - - -Crystals, 161. - - -Currants, 24. - - -Cypripedium, 156. - -Daisy, 94, 149. - - -Danger, 28, 57, 133, 184, 208. - - -Deer, 189, 315. - - -Deserts, 6. - - -De Soto, 71. - - -Diver, great northern, 227. - - -Dog, Carlo, 175; Sandy, 181. - - -Dogwood, flowering, 22, 130. - - -Douglas, David, in forests of Oregon, 110. - - -Duck-hunters, 353. - - -Ducks, 226. - - -Dwarf willow, 94. - -Eagle, 228. - - -Earthquake, 261; ancient, 265; taluses, formation of, 260; influence on -cañon scenery, 265. - - -Emerson, his visit to Yosemite and the Mariposa Grove of Big Trees, -131, 235. - - -Eriogonum, 149, 166. - - -Erythronium, 23, 31. - -Farm lands of Washington and Oregon, 24, 25. - - -Ferns, 149, 160; Woodwardia, 149; Pteris, 150; Pellæa, five species of, -151; Cryptogramme, 151; Phegopteris, 151; Cheilanthes, three species -of, 152; - - -Adiantum, two species, 152. - - -Fir. _See_ Silver fir. - - -Floods, 256. - - -Floral cascades, 159. - - -Flower beds of the Sierra, 142. - - -Flowers, of pine, spruce, fir, and hemlock, 168, 169; sequoia, 284. - - -Forest fires, 297, 307, 335, 352, 356-359. - - -Forest picture, 302. - - -Forest Reservations, Rocky Mountain, 15; Pacific Coast, 19, 31, 34; -opposition to, 24, 360; wildness of, 24. - - -Forest Reserve, Black Hills, 13; Bitter Root, 16; Flathead, 17; Sierra, -31; Grand Cañon, 34. - - -Forest sepulchres, 64. - - -Forests, growing interest in, 2, 5, 33; of the Cascade Mountains, 22; -fossil, 60; of the Yellowstone Park, 67; Sierra, 80, 98-136; Giant, of -the Kaweah, 300; of the Tule River, 318; American, 331; destruction of, -336, 344; influence on streams, 337, 346, 359; management of, 337-365; -redwood (_Sequoia semper-virens_), 347-352. - - -Fountains of the Sierra, 241, 245. - - -Fritillaria, 23, 156. - - -Frogs, 211. - - -Frost crystals, 165. - -Gardens, wild, of California, 5; the East, 6; Alaska, 7; Black Hills, -14; Rocky Mountains, 18, 19; Cascade Mountains, 23, 30; Sierra, -137-142; forest 155; cliff, 157; wall, 159; pot-hole, shadow, alpine, -160; winter, 161; meadow, 163; sky, Mono, and tree, 167. - - -Gaultheria, 23, 350. - - -Geese, 225. - - -General Grant National Park and tree, 298. - - -Gentians, 94, 142, 164. - - -Geyser basins, 43, 44. - - -Geyser craters, 46. - - -Geysers, 38, 41, 43, 53; distribution of, 55. - - -Giants of Sierra forests, 108; Western, 116. - - -Glacial action, 84, 92, 96, 138. - - -Glacial and post-glacial denudation, 84, 89. - - -Glacial period, 64, 65, 78, 96, 242. - - -Glacier lakes, 78, 95. - - -Glacier landscapes, 65, 91. - - -Glacier meadows, 37, 163. - - -Glacier monuments, 84. - - -Glacier pavements, 83, 84-86. - - -Glacier sparrow, 231. - - -Glaciers, 19, 30, 64, 78; of the Sierra, 95; ancient Tuolumne, 88, 90. - - -Goat, wild, 24, 29. - - -Gold, influence of, 11, 361. - - -Goldenrods, 17, 142, 164. - - -Gray, Asa, 33. - - -Great Basin, the, 94. - - -Grouse, 215. - -Hackmatack, 18. - - -Hawks, 228. - - -Hayden, F. V., his work exploring the Yellowstone region, and getting -it set apart as a national park, 39. - - -Hazel, 23, 146. - - -Hazel Green, 81. - - -Heathworts, 23, 147. - - -Hemlock, mountain, 125, 170. - - -Home-going, 98. - - -Honeysuckle, 142, 147. - - -Hooker, Sir Joseph, 33. - - -Hothouses, natural, 161. - - -Hot springs, 38, 41, 43, 54. - - -Huckleberries, 24. - - -Hulsea, 167. - - -Hunters and trappers, 51, 58. - -Indian summer, 165, 283, 316. - - -Indians, 24, 51, 263; their orchards, 105; hunting grounds, 14, 122, -193; tame, 317. - -Johnson, Dr., on the trees of Scotland, 108. - - -Joliet and Father Marquette on the upper Mississippi, 71. - - -Juniper, western, 123, 273. - -Lakes, McDonald, 18; Avalanche, 19; Yellowstone, 47, 70; Mono, 94, -Tahoe, 48; Tenaya, 86. - - -Landscapes, new, 8; changes in, 4; of the Sierra, 87. - - -Landslip, 287. - - -Larch, western, 18; Lyall, 18. - - -Lark, meadow, 238. - - -La Salle, 71. - - -Lewis and Clark, 28. - - -Library, geological, 59. - - -Light, 82, 165. - - -Lightning, 276. - - -Lilies, 23, 153, 155, 350. - - -Linnæa borealis and companions, 18, 50. - - -Lizards, 204. - - -Log houses, 288, 305, 320. - - -Loggers, 29. - - -Lumbering in the Sierra, 100. - -Man influence on landscapes, 4. - - -Manzanita, 143. - - -Maple, 22, 130. - - -Mariposa tulip, 155. - - -Marmot, 17, 199. - - -Meadows, glacier, 37, 163; in sequoia woods, 296, 302. - - -Monardella, 282. - - -Moneses, 18. - - -Monument, the Glacier, 87. - - -Mosses, 22. - - -Mt. Rainier, 30; Amethyst, 60, 73; Washburn, 66; Dana, 90, 93; Lyell, -McClure, Gibbs, 90; Hoffman, 161. - - -Mountaineering, 285, 306. - - -Mountains, the Western, 2; new, 4; Cascade, 19; Olympic, 19; Rocky, -12-18, 37, 38; Sierra, 76. - - -Mud, 44. - - -Mule, Brownie, 285, 295, 301; his prayer, 318. - -Names, 58. - - -Nature, 56, 73, 97, 332; laboratories of, 44. - - -Night air, 133. - - -Nights, 165 - - -Nuts, pine, 103. - -Oaks, California black, 128; gold-cup live-oak, 128. - - -Orchids, 23, 156. - - -Ousel, water, 29, 52, 238. - - -Owens River water, 246. - -Parks, national, of the West, 12; Mt. Rainier, 30; Yellowstone, 37; -Yomesite, 76; animals of, 172, 201; birds, 213; General Grant and -Sequoia, 298, 328, 329; management of, 40, 351. - - -Petrified forests, 38, 60. - - -Phlox, 94. - - -Pika, 162, 201. - - -Pine, yellow, 13, 112, 115; contorted, lodge-pole, Murray, two leaved, -tamarack, 15, 18, 67, 68, 83, 121, 122; mountain, 18, 108; Sabine, 102; -hard cone (attenuata), 103; dwarf, 106; sugar, 100, 109; nut, 105; -white, 68, 105. - - -Plover, 227. - - -Plum, 23. - - -Polemonium, alpine, 167. - - -Poplar, 130. - - -Primrose, shrubby, 147. - - -Prospectors, 289, 352. - - -Pyrola, 18. - -Quail, mountain, 219; valley, 222. - -Railroads in western forests, 357. - - -Rain, 26. - - -Raspberries, 24. - - -Rat, wood, 201. - - -Rattlesnakes, 28, 57, 206. - - -Redwood, 100, 268. - - -Reservations, _See_ Forest Reservations. - - -Rhododendron, 23, 146, 350. - - -Ribes, 282. - - -River, the Yellowstone, 48; Mississippi, 71; Columbia, 73; Missouri, -73; Colorado, 73; Tuolumne, 95, 258; Merced, 95, 258; San Joaquin, 95. - - -Rivers, 37; Sierra, 242. - - -Riverside trees, 130. - - -Robin, 236. - - -Rock ferns, 149. - - -Rose, 23, 147, 282. - - -Rubus, 147. - -Sage-cock, 214. - - -Salmon berries, 24. - - -Sandhill crane, 227. - - -Sanger Lumber Co., 298. - - -Sarcodes, 281. - - -Sawmills, in sequoia woods, 292, 298, 299, 319, 351. - - -Scenery, habit, 2, 3; best, care-killing, 17; cañon, 259, 266. - - -Seed collectors, 101. - - -Seeds of conifers, 120. - - -Sequoia ditches, 291. - - -Sequoia gigantea, 268; cones, 274; age, 275; death, 276; groves in -spring, 281; summer, 282; autumn, 283; winter, 283; studies, 285; -seedlings, 297; young trees, 288, 296; oldest, 297; size of, 294, 322; -durability of wood, 291; gum, 292; groves of Yosemite Park, 109; -Mariposa Grove, 286, 328; Fresno Grove, 287-292; Dinky Grove, 293; -forests of Kings River, 295; Kaweah and Tule river basins, 300, 314, -316; distribution of, 322, 325; permanence of the species, 323; -influence on streams, 324, 329. - - -Shake-makers, 298, 353. - - -Sheep, wild, 194; hoofed locusts, 317, 318, 352. - - -Shepherds, 33, 185, 293, 317. - - -Sierra climate, change of, 324. - - -Silex pavements, 46. - - -Silver fir, alpine, 31, 68, 170; magnificent, 83, 118, 170; white, -noble, grand, and lovely, 119, 170. - - -Snow, 26, 247. - - -Snow avalanches, 251. - - -Snow plant (Sarcodes), 156, 281. - - -Snowstorms, 249, 283. - - -Soil, 65, 67; moraine, 100, 138; crystal, 140, 161; earthquake boulder, -140, 259. - - -Sparrow, the glacier, 231. - - -Spiræa, 142. - - -Spiritual world, the, 74. - - -Springs, 244, 245; soda, 247. - - -Spruce, Engelmann, 14, 68; Douglas, 19, 22, 68, 100, 116; Sitka, 170. - - -Squirrels, 19, 52, 192, 194, 274, 284. - - -Storms, 267. - - -Streams of the Sierra, 241, 246, 248; in spring, 256; in summer and -autumn, 257. - - -Sunflowers, crystal, 162. - - -Swamps, 7. - -Talus, earthquake, 140, 259. - - -Tamarack, 18. - - -Thoreau, his description of the pistillate flowers of the white pine, -169; on the destruction of trees and shrubs, 356. - - -Torreys, 131. - - -Tourists, 21, 27, 53. - - -Trapper, 57. - - -Travel, modern, 1, 50, 56. - - -Tree flowers, 168; how best to see them, 165. - - -Tree gardens, 167. - - -Trout, 18, 48, 67, 211. - - -Tumion, 131. - - -Tundra, Alaska, 7. - -Vaccinium, 18, 94, 148. - - -Valley, Central, of California, 5, 137. - - -Violets, 142, 281. - - -Volcanic cones, 30, 94. - - -Volcanic rocks, 60. - - -Volcanic storms, 61. - - -Volcanoes, 30; mud, 51. - -Water, action of, on soilbeds, 138. - - -Water, Owens River, 246. - - -Waterfalls, Yellowstone, 49; Kaweah, 300. - - -Wildness, 2; unchangeable, 4. - - -Willow, dwarf, 94. - - -Wind, action of, on soilbeds, 139. - - -Woodchuck, 199. - - -Woodpeckers, 233, 282. - - -Wood-rat, 201. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR NATIONAL PARKS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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