By-Ways of Yosemite Travel. Bloody Canon.
I u 1874.] BY-WAYS OF YOSEMITE TRAVEL. 267 grass!' I — in whose veins runs the blood of a hundred knights that chased his ancestors, when the Wallace, the Douglas, and the Bruce, swept Scotland clean of them—I! " The silver butt of the pistol was lifted, the muzzle pressed the frieze over...
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1874
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| Summary: | I u 1874.] BY-WAYS OF YOSEMITE TRAVEL. 267 grass!' I — in whose veins runs the blood of a hundred knights that chased his ancestors, when the Wallace, the Douglas, and the Bruce, swept Scotland clean of them—I! " The silver butt of the pistol was lifted, the muzzle pressed the frieze over his breast. There was a fizzle of dull priming, and then a flash and report. It was too late, though I threw myself upon the laird. He smiled calmly and contentedly. I tore away the blackened, burning cloak, the white coat, the white shirt. Not a drop of blood was flowing, but in the white skin there was a little hole, with a dull, inflamed border. His eyes were closed. He was suffocating with blood. I wailed aloud. He raised himself for an instant fiercely, upon one hand, holding the pistol high above his head with the other. "I go to meet her" he said—"I go to meet her. Shall I not be his equal now, dying by a gentleman's weapon?" I cried upon God in my agony, fearing—so strong was the religious training I had received — less that the laird was dying than that he was dying in mortal sin. Laird Gawain looked at me. He dropped the pistol, his eyes filled with the old tenderness; they passed from me to the white walls of his Zion. He sank on the ground, still keeping his eyes earnestly fixed: " O, my wife ! ' How shall I give thee up, Ephraim ? how shall I deliver thee, Israel ? how shall I make thee as Ad- mah ? how shall I set thee as Zeboim ? Mine heart is turned within me, my re- pentings are kindled together.' Walter" he went on, " Walter! " I listened, breathlessly. "Break in the other ten doors. 'Israel hath stricken her tents; herinheritanceis with the son of Jesse.'" He was dead, but I was content; the city of God had received him, the city of forgiveness, the city of the twelve gates. BY-WAYS OF YOSEMITE TRAVEL. BLOODY CANON. TWENTY years ago, Yosemite Valley was a garden wilderness, as tenderly lovely as it is rocky and sublime, and much of its primeval beauty remains unimpaired. Its stupendous rocks poise themselves in the deep sky, scarcely more susceptible of human impress than the sun that bathes them. Its water-falls sing on unchanged, wild flo.wers'*~'bloom, and ferns unroll their fronds in many a sacred nook; but all its more accessible features have suffered "improvement." The plow is busy among its gardens, the axe among its groves, and the whole valley wears a weary, dusty aspect, asif it were a traveler new-arrived from a wasting journey. Lovers of clean mountain wildness must therefore go up higher, into more inaccessible retreats among the summits of the range. The whole sublime uplift of the Sierra is covered with a net-work of canons, which, comprehended in broad general views, with their fringing forests, and delicate adjustments of light and shade, appear far more like fairy embroidery than profound gorges eroded in solid rock. In the middle region of the west flank, cafions oftentimes reach a depth of 3,000 feet. Near the summit they seldom much exceed 2,000 feet, while those of the slate formation in the lower region BY-WAYS OF YOSEMITE TRAVEL. [Sept. are perhaps about as deep as the latter, though less determinately measurable, their sides being in many places beveled gradually back into the adjacent hills and plateaus. The short, steeply inclined canons of the eastern flank swoop at once from snowy fountains to hot volcanic plains. They are mostly about 1,500 or 2,000 feet deep, and take their rise in the summit peaks just where the glaciers formed and began the work of erosion, and disappear in the plain just where the glaciers were melted. Bloody Cafion, lying to the east of Yosemite Valley, belongs to this direct down-swooping species, and runs in a general east-north-easterly direction to the edge of the Mono plain, forming the Mono Pass, through whose sombre rocks so many miners eagerly groped their way in pursuit of gold fortunes, during the exciting discoveries of the year 1858. The canon was known and traveled as a pass by the Indians, and by mountain animals such as bears, deer, and wild sheep, long before its discovery by White men, as is shown by their trails, which branch ofi-ifir'every direction. The sanguinary appellation bestowed upon it accords well with the character of the times, and may have been suggested by the predominant color of the metamofphic slates out of which it is in great part eroded, or more probably by blood-stains made by the unfortunate animals compelled to slip and shuffle awkwardly over its sharp, cutting rocks. I have never known an animal — either mule or mustang — to make the descent without losing more or less blood from wounds on the legs. Occasionally one is killed outright, falling headlong and bounding freely like a bowlder, but such instances are quite rare; the more experienced finding their own way over the most dangerous places with a caution and sagacity that is truly astonishing. A good bridle-path conducts from Yo semite through manyagrove and meadow up to the head of the cafion, a distance of about thirty miles. Here the scenery undergoes a sudden and startling condensation. Mountains, red, gray, and black, rise close at hand on the right, whitened around their bases with deep banks of snow. On the left up- swells the huge red flank of Mount Gibbs, while in front the eye wanders down between the dark cafion walls and out on the warm Mono plain where Lake Mono lies gleaming like a silver disk, surrounded with' sage-brush and ashes, with volcanic cones rising in clusters toward the south, and blue mountains far beyond, swelling range over range, and fading on the glowing horizon. When at length we enter the mountain gate-way the sombre rocks seem conscious of our presence, and seem to come thronging close around us. Happily the ousel and old familiar robin are there to sing us -welcome, and azure daisies, beaming with trustfulness and sympathy, enable us to feel something of Nature's love under the gaze of her coldest rocks. The effect of this confiding outspokenness on the part of the canon is greatly enhanced by the quiet aspect of the Alpine meadows through which we saunter just before entering the narrow gateway. Wide zones of forest rise around them in graceful slopes, over which gray mountains look down, picturesque and vital, but too far off to speak. We catch their restful spirit, yield to the soothing influences of the rich sunshine, and go dreamily on through flowers and bees, scarce touched by a definite thought. Suddenly we find ourselves in the shadowy chambers of Bloody Cafion, literally closeted with Nature in one of her wildest and most secret strongholds. After the first bewildering impressions begin to wear off, we perceive it is not altogether terrible, for a shining chain of lakelets hang down from the 1874] BY-WAYS OF YOSEMITE TRAVEL. 269 i very summit, linked together by the silvery Canon Creek. The highest are set in bleak rock bowlders, scantily margined with yellow carex. Winter storms pour snow through the pass in blinding drifts, and noble avalanches descend from the shelving heights, rushing and booming like water-falls. Then are these sparkling lakelets not simply frozen, but buried and obliterated beyond a hint of their existence. In June, they begin to blink and thaw out like sleepy eyes, carices thrust up their short brown spikes, flowers bloom in turn, frogs pipe cheerily along their shores, and the most profoundly buried is at length warmed, and summered as if winter were only a dream. Red Lake is the lowest of the chain, and also the largest and-most extensive known. Its environment of red rocks is exceedingly beautiful, although at first sight it appears like crumbling ruins. The south wall rises sheer from the water's edge, but on the north there is space and sunshine for a rich sedgy garden broidered with daisy-starred sod, and brilliantly lighted up in the centre with lilies, castilleias, and columbines, forming a most joyful outburst of-crisp, mountain light, keenly contrasted and emphasized by the chill sombre baldness of the on-looking cliffs. After indulging in along, dozing, shimmering rest,, the joyful stream sets forth again, warbling and trilling like an ousel; ever delightfully confiding, no matter howshadowy and difficult the way; slipping, gliding, hither, thither, foamed or clear, ever increasing in beauty and power. One of its finest developments is Diamond Cascade, situated a short distance below the lake, in the formation of which, the tense crystalline water is first broken up into rough angular spray, dusted with foam, and then braided into a diamond pattern by following the diagonal cleavage planes which intersect the face of the precipice over which it pours. Viewed in front, this beautiful water-fabric resembles lace- work, varying throughout the season with the temperature, and volume of water. Scarce a flower is to be seen along its snowy border. A few bent pines look on from a distance, seemingly careless of its beauty, and small rugs and fringes of cassiope occur among its rocks at the head, but only the attentive observer will find them. A glittering side-stream makes its appearance a little farther down, seeming to leap directly down out of the deep sky. It first resembles a crinkled ribbon of silver, which widens rapidly as it descends and dashes the dull rocks with foam. A long rough talus curves against the wall, overgrown with snow-pressed willows, in which the white water disappears with many an earnest surge afid swirl and plashing leap, as it makes its way to the main cafion stream. Hence downward the climate is no longer Arctic. Butterflies become larger and more animated; grasses with imposing spread of panicle wave above our shoulders, and the warm summery drone of the bumble-bee thickens the air. Pinus flexilis, the tree mountaineer, that -always climbs highest and braves the coldest blasts, is found scattered in wind-bent groups from the summit about half-way down. Its hardiest companion and successor is P. contorta, speedily joined by the taller mountain and yellow pines (P. mouticola and P. ponderosa). These, with the burly juniper and shimmering aspen, rapidly grow larger as they descend, forming groves that block the view, or stand more apart in picturesque groups, making a beautiful and obvious harmony with their complementary rocks and with one another. A world of shaggy, blooming under-j brush works tangles for the streams and . heathery rugs and mantles for the rock- work. Through this delightful wilderness Canon Creek roves like a blessed o&) 27 270 BY-WAYS OF YOSEMITE TRAVEL. [Sept. Arab, without any constraining channel, throbbing and wavering, now in sunshine, now in thoughtful shade, overrock- slopes and precipices, in weariless exuberance of energy. A glorious milky- way of cascades is thus developed, whose individual beauties might well call forth volumes of description, but to the Diamond and the Silver we have space to add only one more, the Bower Cascade, which, though comparatively inconspicuous, ranking among the smallest in regard to size, is perhaps the most surpassingly beautiful of them all. It is situated in the lower region of the pass, just where the sunshine begins to mellow between the temperate and frigid zones of the canon. Here the glad creek, grown strong with tribute gathered from many a hidden fountain, sings richer strains, and becomes more human and loveable at every step; for now you may see the rose and yarrow by its side, and warm meadowlets of grasses and clover. At the head of a low-browed rock, luxuriant bushes arch over from bank to bank, and embower the cascade with their woven branches. Light falls freely upon it from above, and waving plumes, kept in motion by the water, fringe it gracefully in front. From this cool leafy retreat the water leaps vigorously out into the light, and descends in a fluted curve thick-sown with flashing crystals. At the bottom it is dashed among brown bowlders, out of which it creeps gray with foam-bells and disappears in a tangle of verdure. Thence to the foot of the canon the nobler sculpture of the granite calls forth water expressions of corresponding beauty-■ bright trills of rapids - booming notes of falls--solemn hushes of levels-caden- ced and blended into glorious harmony. When its impetuous Alpine life is done, it glides through a meadow with scarce an audible whisper and immediately falls asleep in Moraine Lake. This water-bed is one of the very finest I ever beheld. The azure sky makes its canopy evergreens wave soothingly at head and foot, the breath of flowers floats over it like incense, and a blaze of reflected light is its glorious drapery. Well may our blessed stream sleep soundly until the night-wind from clown the canon breaks its calm, and makes it croon and mutter in wavelets along its broidered shores. Gliding onward through the rushes, after leaving the lake, our stream is destined never more to touch the solid rock. Its path lies through moraines, and reaches of golden plain nowhere affording rocks suitable for the development of cascades or falls. Yet this beauty of maturity, though less striking, is of a higher order, enticing us lovingly on through gentian meadows and groves of rustling aspen, to Lake Mono, where the stream vanishes in vapor and floats free again in the sky. After sharing the lives and studying the habits and attributes of Sierra streams, we quickly perceive that they did not create the cafions in which they flow, because, in the first place, they are all new-born, and as yet have scarcely had sufficient time allowed them to make their mark, nor do they possess the power to form canons of this shape, no matter how much time be granted. Bloody Cafion, like all others of this portion of the range, was recently occupied by a glacier, which furrowed it out from the solid mountain flank. This glacier derived its fountain snows from the neighboring summits and descended to Mono Lake, crushing and grinding unceasingly through the long glacial years, scooping lake-bowls, sculpturing, polishing, and carrying away rocks, particle by particle, chip by chip, block by block, and depositing them in moraines far and near. The principalcharacters made use of by Nature in the preservation of the history of her ancient glaciers are displayed all through the cafion in marvel-272 BY-WAYS OF YOSEMITE TRAVEL. [Sept. to close around in all their mysterious impressiveness, when suddenly a drove of beings, hairy and gray, came in sight, progressing with a kind of boneless wallowing motion, like bears. I never turn back, though often so inclined, and, in this particular instance, I was in no fitting mood for the proper acceptance of so grim a vision. I was soon able to observe, that, although crooked as summit pines, they were sufficiently erect to be men. They proved to be nothing more formidable than Mono Indians, on their way to Yosemite for a load of acorns, dressed in the skins of sagebrush rabbits, nicely sewed together. Occasionally a good countenance may be noticed among the Monos; but these were mostly ugly, and some altogether hideous. I was confident that water would change both their size and shape by ordinary denudation of stratified dirt. The older faces were strangely blurred and abraded, and sectioned off by a kind of cleavage points, as if they had laid castaway on' the mountains for ages. Viewed at a little distance, they formed mere dirt-specks in the landscape, and I was glad to see them fade out of sight. Evening came, and the sombre rocks were inspired with the ineffable loveliness of the alpen-glow. A solemn stillness pervaded every feature of the landscape. I crept into a hollow near one of the lakelets, smoothed away the burs from a sheltered spot, and cut a few pine tassels for a bed. When the short twilight faded, I kindled a sunny fire, made a cupful of tea, and laid down with my face to the deep, clean sky. The night wind began to flow and pour in torrents among the jagged peaks, and it spoke with a strange accent. The cascades sounding down the canon appeared very strange, also, and as I drifted toward sleep, I experienced a feeling of uncomfortable nearness to the furred Monos. Suddenly the living moon looked down over the canon wall, her countenance filled with intense concern. She seemed to have come out of the sky to look at me, and produced a startling effect, as if she had entered one's bedroom. The whole night was full of strange voices, and I gladly welcomed the purple morning. The very sunlight seemed wild and young, far too spiritual to be poured forth in the form of beams. My breakfast was quickly prepared, and I set forth full of eager delight, gazing on the stupendous rock-walls that seemed ever ready to choke the canon with avalanches, or wondering at the ice-polished bosses, or listening to the morning song of the ousel. Here, for the first time, I met the Arctic daisies, in all their perfection of purity and spirituality; gentle mountaineers, face to face with the sky, kept safe and warm by a thousand miracles. I leaped lightly from rock to rock, glorying in the freshness and sufficiency of Nature, and in the ineffable tenderness with which she nurtures her mountain darlings in the very fountains of storms. The world seemed wholly new; young beauty appeared at every step. There was no end of feathery rock-ferns and gardenetfs of fairest flowers. I exulted in the wild cascades and shimmering crystalline lakelets. Never fell light in brighter spangles; never fell water in brighter foam. I floated through the rocky paradise enchanted, and was out in the lower sunshine ere I was aware. Looking back from the shores of Moraine Lake, my morning ramble seemed all a dream. There curved Bloody Cafion, a mere glacial furrow, with bare rock-ribs proceeding from either side, braided together in the middle, like rounded, swelling muscles. Here the lilies were higher than my head, and the sunshine was warm enough for palm- trees. Yet the snow around the Arctic willows was plainly visible only four miles away, and between lay narrow 1874-3 DIVING FOR GOLD IN '49. 273 specimen zones of all the principal climates of the globe. On the bank of a gurgling brook the Indians' fire still burned, and I listened and walked cautiously, half expecting to see some of their grim faces in the brush. But my fears were soon forgotten; I gave heed to the confiding stream, mingled freely with the flowers and light, and shared in the confidence of their exceeding peace. Passing on to the plain, I noticed three well-marked terminal moraines that curved beautifully across the cafion stream, and joined themselves by long, elegant splices to the two noble laterals. These mark the resting-places of the ancient cafion glacier when it was retreating into its summit shadows, on the breaking up of the glacial winter. Five miles below the lake, just where the lateral moraines lose themselves in the plain, there was a field of wild Indian rye, growing in magnificent waving bunches six to eight feet high, bearing heads six to twelve inches long. The grains are about five-eighths of an inch in length, dark-colored, and deliciously sweet. In dian women were gathering it in baskets, bending down large handfuls, beating it out, and fanning it in the wind. They appeared quite picturesque, "coming through the rye" as one caught glimpses of them, here and there, in winding lanes and openings, with splendid tufts waving above their heads, while their incessant laugh and chatter expressed their heedless joy. Like the rye-field, I found the so - called Mono Desert blooming in a high state of natural cultivation. There were the rose, cherry,, aster, and delicate abronia, with poppies, gentians, gilias, and bushy composite innumerable. I watched their gestures.' and the various expressions of their corollas. They certainly seemed to enjoy swallowing their sun-gold, and the hot sand and scorching wind seemed grateful to them. I never believed the doctrine of deserts, whether as applied to mountains or men. Nature's love is universal, and nowhere have I heard it proclaimed in more understandable terms than in the hot plains of Mono, and in the rocky and storm-beaten mansions of Bloody Canon. https://scholarlycommons.pacific.edu/jmb/1083/thumbnail.jpg |
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