day is not sufficient for a shipment it is placed in the box. When a sufficient number is on hand, they are taken out by the boatman, carefully cleaned and hung up to dry in fly-proof, open-air cages. When perfectly dry inside and out they are packed in sweet-smelling Tallac Meadow hay, and shipped by express.
Many visitors cannot understand why there are no fish in some of the lakes that, to their eyes, seem just as well adapted for fish as others that possess an abundance. Even old timers do not all know the reason. If a lake is shallow, when the deep snow falls it soon sinks below the surface in a heavy mushy mass that presses down upon the fish and prevents their breathing. Then, if a severe frost follows and the mass freezes the ice squeezes the fish to the bottom. Over three years ago Watson took fish to Bessie Lake, putting in as many as 6000 fry of Lake Tahoe and other species. The next year, and the following years they were all right, having grown to eight or nine inches in length. Then came a severe winter and in the spring there was not a living fish left. The bottom was strewn with them, many of them with broken backs.
[Illustration: A gnarled monarch of the High Sierras, an aged Juniper, near Lake Tahoe]
[Illustration: Mountain Heather, in Desolation Valley, Near Lake Tahoe]
[Illustration: The Successful Deer Hunter at Lake Tahoe]
[Illustration: Chris Nelson, With His Catch, a 23 Lb. Tahoe Trout]
CHAPTER XXIX
HUNTING AT LAKE TAHOE
In the chapter on the Birds and Animals of the Tahoe Region I have written of the game to be found. There are few places left in the Sierras where such good deer- and bear-hunting can be found as near Tahoe. During the dense snow-falls the deer descend the western slopes, approaching nearer and nearer to the settlements of the upper foothills, and there they do fairly well until the snow begins to recede in the spring. They keep as near to the snow line as possible, and are then as tame and gentle almost as sheep. When the season opens, however, they soon flee to certain secret recesses and hidden lairs known to none but the old and experienced guides of the region. There are so many of these wooded retreats, however, and the Tahoe area is so vast, that it is seldom an expert goes out for deer (or bear) that he fails. Hence the sportsman is always assured of “something worth while.”
As for bear I have told elsewhere of recent hunts on Mt. Freel from Tallac, and the two bears killed there in 1913, and of Carl Flugge’s experiences. With Tallac hunters, Flugge, Bob Watson or any other experienced man, one can scarcely fail to have exciting and successful times.
CHAPTER XXX
THE FLOWERS OF THE TAHOE REGION
It would be impossible in the space of a brief chapter to present even a list of all the flowers found and recorded in the Tahoe Region. Suffice it to say that 1300 different species already have been listed. This chapter will merely call attention to the most prominent, or, on the other hand, the rarer and special flowering plants that the visitor should eagerly search for.
As fast as the snow retires from the sun-kissed slopes the flowers begin to come out. Indeed in April, were one at Tahoe, he could make a daily pilgrimage to the receding snow-line and there enjoy new revelations of dainty beauty each morning. For the flowers, as the snow-coating becomes thinner, respond to the “call of the sun”, and thrust up their spears out of the softened and moistened earth, so that when the last touch of snow is gone they are often already in bud ready to burst forth into flower at the first kiss of sunshine.
In May they come trooping along in all their pristine glory, God’s thoughts cast upon the mold of earth, so that even the men and women of downcast eyes and souls may know the ever-fresh, ever-present love of God.
Most interesting of all is the snow-plant (_sarcodes san-guinea Torrey_). The name is unfortunate. The plant doesn’t look like snow, nor does it grow on or in the snow. It simply follows the snow line, as so many of the Sierran plants do, and as the snow melts and leaves the valley, one must climb to find it. It is of a rich red color, which glows in the sunlight like a living thing. It has no leaves but is supplied with over-lapping scale-like bracts of a warm flesh-tint. At the lower part of the flower these are rigid and closely adherent to the stem, but higher up they become looser and curl gracefully about among the vivid red bells. In the spring of 1914 they were wonderfully plentiful at the Tavern and all around the Lake. I literally saw hundreds of them.
Next in interest comes the heather, both red and white. In Desolation Valley, as well as around most of the Sierran lakes of the Tahoe Region, beds of heather are found that have won enthusiastic Scotchmen to declare that Tahoe heather beats that of Scotland. The red heather is the more abundant, and its rich deep green leaves and crown of glowing red makes it to be desired, but the white heather is a flower fit for the delicate corsage bouquet of a queen, or the lapel of the noblest of men. Dainty and exquisite, perfect in shape and color its tiny white bell is _par-excellence_ the emblem of passionate purity.
Blue gentians (_Gentina calycosa, Griseb_) abound, their deep blue blossoms rivaling the pure blue of our Sierran skies. These often come late in the season and cheer the hearts of those who come upon them with “a glad sweet surprise”. There are also white gentians found aplenty.
The water lilies of the Tahoe Region are strikingly beautiful. In many of the Sierran lakes conditions seem to exist which make them flourish and they are found in plentiful quantities.
Wild marigolds abound in large patches, even on the mountain heights, where there is plenty of moisture and sunshine, and a species of marguerite, or mountain daisy, is not uncommon. The Indian paint-brush is found everywhere and is in full bloom in deepest red in September. Wild sunflowers also abound except where the sheep have been. Then not a sign of once vast patches can be found. They are eaten clear to the ground.
The mullein attains especial dignity in this mountain region. Stately and proud it rises above the lesser though more beautiful flowers of the wild. It generally dies down in September, though an occasional flowering stalk may be seen as late as October.
Another very common but ever-welcome plant, for its pungent and pleasing odor, is the pennyroyal. It abounds throughout the whole region and its hardiness keeps it flowering until late in the fall.
Beautiful and delicate at all times wherever seen, the wild snowdrop is especially welcome in the Tahoe Region, where, amid soaring pines and firs, it timidly though faithfully blooms and cheers the eye with its rare purity.
Now and again one will find the beautiful California fuchsia (_zauschneria Californica_, Presl.) its delicate beauty delighting the eye and suggesting some of the rare orchids of a pale yellow tint.
The Sierra primrose (_Primula Suffrutescens_) is often found near to the snow-line. Its tufts of evergreen leaves seem to revel in the cold water of the melting snow and the exquisite rose-tints of the flowers are enhanced by the pure white of what snow is left to help bring them into being.
It is natural that, in a region so abounding in water, ferns of many kinds should also abound. The common brake flourishes on the eastern slopes, but I have never found the maiden hair. On the western slopes it is abundant, but rarely if ever found on the easterly exposures.
Most striking and attractive among the shrubs are the mountain ash, the mountain mahogany (_cereocarpus parvifolius_, Nutt.) the California laurel (_umbellularia Californica_, Nutt.) and the California holly, or _toyon_. The rich berries, the green leaves, the exquisite and dainty flowers, the delicious and stimulating odors all combine to make these most welcome in every Sierran landscape, no matter at what season they appear.
While in the foregoing notes on the flowers of the Tahoe region I have hastily gone over the ground, one particular mountain to the north of Tahoe has been so thoroughly and scientifically studied that it seems appropriate to call more particular attention to it in order that botanists may realize how rich the region is in rare treasures. For what follows I am indebted to the various writings of Professor P. Beveridge Kennedy, long time professor at the University of Nevada, but recently elected to the faculty of the University of California.
One could almost write a “Botany” of Mt. Rose alone, so interesting are the floral specimens found there. This mountain stands unique in the Lake Tahoe region in that it is an intermediate between the high mountains of the Sierra Nevada and those of the interior of the Great Basin. Its flora are undoubtedly influenced by the dry atmospheric conditions that exist on the eastern side. A mere suggestion only can be given here of the full enjoyment afforded by a careful study of what it offers.
At from 10,000 feet up the following new species have been found. _Eriogonum rhodanthum_, a perennial which forms dense mats on hard rocky ground. The caudex is made up of many strands twisted together like rope, its numerous branches terminated by clusters of very small, new and old leaves, with flower clusters. Another similar species is the _E. rosensis_.
An interesting rock-cress is found in the _Arabis Depauperata_, which here shows the results of its fierce struggles for existence. It bears minute purple flowers.
Flowering in the middle of August, but past flowering at the end of September the _Gilia montana_ is found, with its numerous white and pink leaves.
Nearby is the _Phlox dejecta_ in large quantities, resembling a desert moss, and covering the rocks with its tinted carpet.
An Indian paint-brush with a flower in an oblong cream-colored spike, with purple blotches, was named _Castilleia inconspicua_, possibly because it is so much less conspicuous and alluring to the eye than its well-known and striking brother of the California fields, _C. parviflora_. This species has been of great interest to botanists, as when first observed it was placed in the genus _Orthocarpus_. Professor Kennedy thinks it is undoubtedly a connecting link between the two genera. It has been found only on Mount Rose, where it is common at between 9000 and 10,000 feet elevation. It reaches, however, to the summit, though it is more sparingly found there.
Professor Kennedy also describes _Hulsea Caespitosa_, or Alpine dandelion, a densely pubescent plant, emitting a disagreeable odor, whose large yellow flowers surprise one when seen glowing apparently out of the masses of loose volcanic rock. It is soon found, however, that they have roots deep down in good soil beneath. Another new species, _Chrysothamnus Monocephala_, or Alpine rabbit-brush, is a very low, shrubby plant, with insignificant pale yellow flowers.
A beautiful little plant, well adapted to rockeries and suited for cultivation, is _Polemonium Montrosense_. Under good conditions it grows excellently. It was found on the summit of Mt. Rose, and at lower elevations.
Clusters of the Alpine Monkey-flower (_Mimulus Implexus_, Greene), are also found on Mt. Rose, as well as on other Tahoe mountain summits. The rich yellow flowers bloom profusely, though their bed is often a moraine of wet rocks over which a turbulent cold stream has recently subsided.
Slightly below the summit the little elephant’s-head have been found (_Elephantella attolens_(Gray) Heller). Rydberg in his _Flora of Montana_ showed that these were not properly the true _pendicularis_, as they had hitherto been regarded, hence the new name. The corolla strikingly resembles the head of an elephant, the beak of the galea forming the trunk, the lateral lobes of the lips the ears, and the stigma the finger-like appendage of the trunk.
In August, growing below the perpetual snow banks at about 10,000 feet elevation that supply an abundance of moisture, one will often find clumps of _Rhodiola Integrifolia_, which attract the eye with their deep reddish-purple flowers and fruits. The leaves also have a purple tinge.
Nearby clambering over the granite bowlders the Alpine heath, _Cassiope Mertensianae_, with its multitude of rose-tinted flower bells, sometimes is found, though not in the profusion it displays in Desolation Valley.
Another very interesting plant is the Alpine currant (_Ribes Inebrians_, Lindl.) which between the years 1832 and 1907 has received no less than eight different names accorded by European and American botanists. It is a remarkable shrub, in that it occurs higher on the mountain than any other form of vegetation except lichens. The roots penetrate deeply into the crevices of the lava rocks, enabling it to withstand the fierce winds. The flowers, which appear in August, are white, shading to pink, and the red berries, which are not especially palatable on account of their insipid taste and numerous seeds, are abundant in September. Another new Mt. Rose _ribes_ has been named _Churchii_ in honor of Professor J.E. Church, Jr., whose original work at the Mt. Rose Observatory is described in the chapter devoted to that purpose.
Growing at elevations of from 6000 to 10,000 feet, displaying a profusion of white flowers sometimes delicately tinged with light purple is the _Phlox Douglasii_, Hook. It is low but with loose, much-branched prostrate stems and remarkably stout, almost woody roots.
A new Alpine willow (_Salix Caespitosa_) has also been discovered. Professor Kennedy thus writes of it:
The melting snow, as it comes through and over the rocks in the nature of a spring, brings with it particles of sand and vegetation, which form a very shallow layer of soil on a flat area to one side of the main branch of the stream. On this the willow branches adhere like ivy, rooting at every joint and interlaced so as to form a dense mat. From these, erect leafy shoots, one or two inches high, appear, with the many flowered catkins extending above the foliage. The pistillate plants occupy separate but adjacent areas to the staminate ones.
[Illustration: Professor Fergusson at the Fergusson Meteorograph at Mt. Rose Observatory. 10,090 Feet]
[Illustration: An Alpine White Pine, Defying the Storms, on the North Slope of Mt. Rose, 9,500 Ft.]
[Illustration: Tallac, Lake Tahoe]
[Illustration: Looking North from Cave Rock, Lake Tahoe]
CHAPTER XXXI
THE CHAPARRAL OF THE TAHOE REGION
The word _chaparral_ is a Spanish word, transferred bodily into our language, without, however, retaining its strict and original significance. In Spanish it means a plantation of evergreen oaks, or, thick bramble-bushes entangled with thorny shrubs in clumps. Hence, in the west, it has come to mean any low or scrub brush that thickly covers a hill or mountain-side. As there is a varied chaparral in the Tahoe region, it is well for the visitor to know of what it is mainly composed.
Experience has demonstrated that where the larger lumber is cut off close on the Sierran slopes of the Tahoe region the low bushy chaparral at once takes full possession. It seems to prevent the tree seeds from growing and thus is an effectual preventive to reforestation. This, however, is generally not so apparent east of the main range as it is on the western slopes. One of its chief elements is the manzanita (_Arctostaphylos patula_) easily distinguishable by the red wood of its stem and larger branches, glossy leaves, waxen blossoms (when in flower) and green or red berries in the early autumn.
The snow-bush abounds. It is a low sage-green bush, very thorny, hence is locally called “bide-a-wee” from the name given by the English soldiers to a very thorny bush they had to encounter during the Boer War. In the late days of spring and even as late as July it is covered with a white blossom that makes it glorious and attractive.
Then there is the thimble-berry with its big, light yellow, sprawling leaves, and its attractively red, thimble-shaped, but rather tasteless berries. The Indians, however, are very fond of them, and so are some of the birds and animals, likewise of the service berries, which look much like the blueberry, though their flavor is not so choice.
Here and there patches of the wild gooseberry add to the tangle of the chaparral. The gooseberries when ripe are very red, as are the currants, but they are armored with a tough skin completely covered with sharp, hairy thorns. In Southern California all the fruit of the wild _ribes_ have the thorns, but they do not compare in penetrating power and strength with those of the Tahoe gooseberries.
One of the most charming features of the chaparral is the mountain ash, especially when the berries are ripe and red. The Scotch name _rowan_ seems peculiarly appropriate. Even while the berries are yellow they are attractive to the eye, and alluring to the birds, but when they become red they give a splendid dash of rich color that sets off the whole mountain side.
The mountain mahogany is not uncommon (_Cereocarpus parvifolius_, Nutt.) and though its green flowers are inconspicuous, its long, solitary plumes at fruiting time attract the eye.
While the California laurel (_Umbellularia Californica_, Nutt.) often grows to great height, it is found in chaparral clumps on the mountain sides. It is commonly known as the bay tree, on account of the bay-like shape and odor of its leaves when crushed. It gives a spicy fragrance to the air and is always welcome to those who know it.
In many places throughout the mountains of the Tahoe region there are clumps or groves of wild cherry (_Prunus Demissa_, Walpers), the cherries generally ripening in September. But if one expects the ripe red _wild_ cherries to have any of the delicious richness and sweetness of the ripe Queen Anne or other good variety he is doomed to sad disappointment. For they are sour and bitter–bitter as quinine,–and that is perhaps the reason their juice has been extracted and made into medicine supposed to have extraordinary tonic and healing virtue.
The elder is often found (_Sambucus Glauca_, Nutt.), sometimes quite tall and at other times broken down by the snow, but bravely covering its bent and gnarled trunks and branches with dense foliage and cream-white blossom-clusters. The berries are always attractive to the eye in their purple tint, with the creamy blush on them, and happy is that traveler who has an expert make for him an elderberry pie, or distill the rich cordial the berries make.
Another feature of the chaparral often occupies the field entirely to itself, viz., the chamisal or greasewood (_Adenostoma fasciculatum_, Hook, and Arn.). Its small clustered and needle-like leaves, richly covered with large, feathery panicles of tiny blossoms, give it an appearance not unlike Scotch heather, and make a mountainside dainty and beautiful.
The California buckeye (_Aesculus Californica_, Nutt.) is also found, especially upon stream banks or on the moist slopes of the canyons. Its light gray limbs, broad leaves, and long, white flower-spikes make it an attractive shrub or tree (for it often reaches forty feet in height), and when the leaves drop, as they do early, the skeleton presents a beautiful and delicate network against the deep azure of the sky.
Another feature of the chaparral is the scrub oak. In 1913 the bushes were almost free from acorns. They generally appear only every other year, and when they do bear the crop is a wonderfully numerous one.
A vast amount of wild lilac (_Ceanothus Velutinus_) is found on all the slopes. It generally blooms in June and then the hillsides are one fragrant and glowing mass of vivid white tinged with the creamy hue that adds so much charm to the flowers.
The year 1913, however, was a peculiar year, throughout, for plant life. In the middle of September in Page’s Meadows a large patch of ceanothus was in full bloom, either revealing a remarkably late flowering, or a second effort at beautification.
Another ceanothus, commonly called mountain birch, is often found. When in abundance and in full flower it makes a mountain side appear as if covered with drifted snow.
Willows abound in the canyons and on the mountains of the Tahoe region, and they are an invariable sign of the near presence of water.
There is scarcely a canyon where alders, cottonwoods and quaking aspens may not be found. In 1913 either the lack of water, some adverse climatic condition, or some fungus blight caused the aspen leaves to blotch and fall from the trees as early as the beginning of September. As a rule they remain until late in October, changing to autumnal tints of every richness and hue and reminding one of the glorious hues of the eastern maples when touched by the first frosts of winter.
No one used to exploring dry and desert regions, such as the Colorado and Mohave Deserts of Southern California, the Grand Canyon region, the Navajo Reservation, etc., in Arizona and New Mexico, the constant presence of water in the Tahoe region is a perpetual delight. Daily in my trips here I have wondered at the absence of my canteen and sometimes in moments of forgetfulness I would reach for it, and be almost paralyzed with horror not to find it in its accustomed place. But the never-ending joy of feeling that one could start out for a day’s trip, or a camping-out expedition of a week or a month and never give the subject of water a moment’s thought, can only be appreciated by those who are direfully familiar with the dependence placed upon the canteen in less favored regions.
CHAPTER XXXII
HOW TO DISTINGUISH THE TREES OF THE TAHOE REGION
By “trees” in this chapter I mean only the evergreen trees–the pines, firs, spruces, hemlocks, cedars, junipers and tamaracks. Many visitors like to know at least enough when they are looking at a tree, to tell which of the above species it belongs to. All I aim to do here is to seek to make clear the distinguishing features of the various trees, and to give some of the more readily discernible signs of the different varieties of the same species found in the region.
It must not be forgotten that tree growth is largely dependent upon soil conditions. The soil of the Tahoe region is chiefly glacial detritus.
On the slopes and summits of the ridges it is sandy, gravelly, and liberally strewn with masses of drift bowlders. The flats largely formed of silting while they still constituted beds of lakes, have a deep soil of fine sand and mold resting on coarse gravel and bowlder drift. Ridges composed of brecciated lavas, which crumble easily under the influence of atmospheric agencies, are covered with soil two or three feet, or even more, in depth, where gentle slopes or broad saddles have favored deposition and prevented washing. The granite areas of the main range and elsewhere have a very thin soil. The flats at the entrance of small streams into Lake Tahoe are covered with deep soil, owing to deposition of vegetable matter brought from the slopes adjacent to their channels. As a whole, the soil of the region is of sufficient fertility to support a heavy forest growth, its depth depends wholly on local circumstances
favoring washing and removal of the soil elements as fast as formed, or holding them in place and compelling accumulations.[1]
Coniferous species of trees constitute fully ninety-five per cent. of the arborescent growth in the region. The remaining five per cent. consists mostly of different species of oak, ash, maple, mountain-mahogany, aspen, cottonwood, California buckeye, western red-bud, arborescent willows, alders, etc.
Of the conifers the species are as follows: yellow pine, _pinus ponderosa_; Jeffrey pine, _pinus jeffreyi_; sugar pine, _pinus lambertiana_; lodge-pole pine, _pinus murrayana_; white pine, _pinus monticola_; digger pine, _pinus sabiniana_; white-bark pine, _pinus albicaulis_; red fir, _pseudotsuga taxifolia_; white fir, _abies concolor_; Shasta fir, _abies magnifica_; patton hemlock or alpine spruce, _tsuga pattoniana_; incense cedar, _libocedrus decurrens_; western juniper, _juniperus occidentalis_; yew, _taxus brevifolia_.
[Footnote 1: John B. Leiberg, in _Forest Conditions in the Northern Sierra Nevada_.]
The range and chief characteristic of these trees, generally speaking, are as follows:
_Digger Pine_. This is seldom found in the Tahoe region, except in the lower reaches of the canyons on the west side of the range. It is sometimes known as the Nut Pine, for it bears a nut of which the natives are very fond. It has two cone forms, one in which the spurs point straight down, the other in which they are more or less curved at the tip. They grow to a height of forty to fifty and occasionally ninety feet high; with open crown and thin gray foliage.
_Western Juniper_. This is a typical tree of the arid regions east of the Sierra, yet it is to be found scattered throughout the Tahoe country, generally at an elevation between five thousand and eight thousand feet. It ranges in height from ten to twenty-five or even sixty-five feet. Its dull red bark, which shreds or flakes easily, its berries, which begin a green color, shade through to gray, and when ripe are a rich purple, make it readily discernible. It is a characteristic feature of the scenery at timber line in many Tahoe landscapes.
With the crowns beaten by storms into irregular shapes, often dead on one side but flourishing on the other, the tops usually dismantled and the trunks excessively thickened at base, such figures, whether erect, half overthrown or wholly crouching, are the most picturesque of mountain trees and are frequently of very great age.–_Jepson_.
_Yew_. This is not often found and then only in the west canyons above the main range. It is a small and insignificant tree, rarely exceeding forty feet in height. It has a thin red-brown smooth bark which becomes shreddy as it flakes off in thin and rather small pieces. The seeds are borne on the under side of the sprays and when mature set in a fleshy scarlet cup, the whole looking like a brilliantly colored berry five or six inches long. They ripen in July or August.
_Incense Cedar_. This is commonly found all over the region at elevations below 7500 feet, though its chief habitat is at elevations of 3500 to 6000 feet. It grows to a height of fifty to one hundred and fifty feet, with a strongly conical trunk, very thick at the base, and gradually diminishing in size upward. The bark is thick, red-brown, loose and fibrous, and when the tree is old, broken into prominent heavy longitudinal furrows. The cones are red-brown, oblong-ovate when closed, three-fourths to an inch long.
_Shasta Fir_. This is found on the summits, slopes and shores of Lake Tahoe, and to levels 6200 feet in elevation on the slopes and summits directly connected with the main range. It is found along the Mount Pluto ridge. It is essentially a tree of the mountains, where the annual precipitation ranges from fifty inches upward. In the Tahoe region it is locally known as the red fir. Sometimes it is called the red bark fir and golden fir. It grows from sixty to even one hundred and seventy-five feet high with trunk one to five feet in diameter and a narrowly cone-shaped crown composed of numerous horizontal strata of fan-shaped sprays. The bark on young trees is whitish or silvery, on old trunks dark red, very deeply and roughly fissured. The cones when young are of a beautiful dull purple, when mature becoming brown.
_White Pine_. This is found on northern slopes as low down as 6500 feet, though it generally ranges above 7000 feet, and is quite common. It sometimes is called the silver pine, and generally in the Tahoe region, the mountain pine. It grows to a height of from fifty to one hundred and seventy-five feet, the branches slender and spreading or somewhat drooping, and mostly confined to the upper portion of the shaft. The trunk is from one to six feet in diameter and clothed with a very smooth though slightly checked whitish or reddish bark. The needles are five (rarely four) in a place, very slender, one to three and three-fourths inches long, sheathed at the base by thinnish narrow deciduous scales, some of which are one inch long. The cones come in clusters of one to seven, from six to eight or rarely ten inches long, very slender when closed and usually curved towards the tip, black-purple or green when young, buff-brown when ripe. It is best recognized by its light-gray smooth bark, broken into squarish plates, its pale-blue-green foliage composed of short needles, and its pendulous cones so slender as to give rise to the name “Finger-Cone Pine.”
_Sugar Pine_. This is found on the lower terraces of Tahoe, fringing the region with a sparse and scattering growth, but it is not found on the higher slopes of the Sierra. On the western side its range is nearly identical with that of the red fir. It grows from eighty to one hundred and fifty feet high, the young and adult trees symmetrical, but the aged trees commonly with broken summits or characteristically flat-topped with one or two long arm-like branches exceeding shorter ones. The trunk is from two to eight feet in diameter, and the bark brown or reddish, closely fissured into rough ridges. The needles are slender, five in a bundle, two to three and a half inches long. The cones are pendulous, borne on stalks at the end of the branches, mostly in the very summit of the tree, very long-oblong, thirteen to eighteen inches long, four to six inches in diameter when opened.
This pine gains its name from its sugary exudation, sought by the native tribes, which forms hard white crystallized nodules on the upper side of fire or ax wounds in the wood. This flow contains resin, is manna-like, has cathartic properties, and is as sweet as cane-sugar. The seeds are edible. Although very small they are more valued by the native tribes than the large seeds of the Digger Pine on account of their better flavor. In former days, when it came October, the Indians went to the high mountains about their valleys to gather the cones. They camped on the ridges where the sugar pines grow and celebrated their sylvan journey by tree-climbing contests among the men. In these latter days, being possessed of the white man’s ax, they find it more convenient to cut the tree down. It is undoubtedly the most remarkable of all pines, viewed either from the standpoint of its economic value or sylvan interest. It is the largest of pine trees, considered whether as to weight or girth, and more than any other tree gives beauty and distinction to the Sierran forest.–_Jepson_.
The long cones found in abundance about Tahoe Tavern are those of the sugar pine.
_Yellow Pine and Jeffrey Pine_. These are practically one and the same, though the latter is generally regarded as a variety and the former the type. Mr. Leiberg says:
The two forms differ chiefly in the size of the cones, in the tint and odor of the foliage, and in the color and thickness of the bark, differences which are insufficient to constitute specific characters. The most conspicuous of the above differences is that in the size of the cones, which may seemingly hold good if only a few hundred trees are examined. But when one comes to deal with thousands of individuals the distinction vanishes. It is common to find trees of the Jeffrey type as to foliage and bark that bear the big cones, and the characteristic smaller cones of the typical yellow pine, both at the same time and on the same individual, while old cones strewn about on the ground indicate that in some seasons trees of the Jeffrey type produce only small-sized cones. The odor and the color of leaves and bark are more or less dependent on soil conditions and the inherent vitality of the individual tree, and the same characters are found in specimens belonging to the yellow and Jeffrey pine. It is noticeable that the big-cone variety preferably grows at considerable elevation and on rocky sterile ground, while the typical form of the yellow pine prevails throughout the lower regions and on tracts with a more generous soil.
The yellow pine has a wider range than any other of the Tahoe conifers, though on the high, rocky areas, south and west of Rubicon Springs it is lacking. It crosses from the western slopes to the eastern sides of the Sierras and down into the Tahoe basin over the heads of Miller and McKinney Creeks, in both places as a thin line, or rather as scattering trees mixed with Shasta fir and white pine.
It grows from sixty to two hundred and twenty-five feet high with trunk two to nine feet in diameter. The limbs in mature trees are horizontal or even drooping. The bark of typical trees is tawny yellow or yellow-brown, divided by fissures into large smoothish or scaly-surfaced plates which are often one to four feet long and one-half to one and a quarter feet wide. The needles are in threes, five to ten inches long; the cones reddish brown.
It must be noted, too, that “the bark is exceedingly variable, black-barked or brown-barked trees, roughly or narrowly fissured, are very common and in their extreme forms very different in trunk appearance from the typical or most-abundant ‘turtle-back’ form with broad, yellow or light brown plates.”–_Jepson_.
_Lodge Pole Pine_. The range of this tree is almost identical with that of the Shasta fir, though here and there it is found at as low an altitude as 4500 feet. It loves the margins of creeks, glades and lakes situated at altitudes of 6000 feet and upward, where it usually forms a fringe of nearly pure growth in the wet and swampy portions of the ground. In the Tahoe region it is invariably called a tamarack or tamarack pine. It is a symmetrical tree commonly reaching as high as fifty to eighty feet, but occasionally one hundred and twenty-five feet. When stunted, however, it is only a few feet. The bark is remarkably thin, rarely more than one quarter inch thick, light gray in color, very smooth but flaking into small thin scales. There are only two needles to a bunch, in a sheath, one and a half to two and three quarters inches long. The cones are chestnut brown, one to one and three quarters inches long.
It is when sleeping under the lodge pole pines that you begin to appreciate their perfect charm and beauty. You unroll your blankets at the foot of a stately tree at night, unconscious and careless as to what tree it is. During the night, when the moon is at the full, you awaken and look up into a glory of shimmering light. The fine tapering shape, the delicate fairy-like beauty, instantly appeal to the sensitive soul and he feels he is in a veritable temple of beauty.
They are very sensitive trees. In many places a mere grass fire, quick and very fierce for a short time, has destroyed quite a number.
_White Fir_. This follows closely the range of the incense cedar, though in some places it is found as high as 8700 feet. It is one of the most perfect trees in the Sierras. Ranging from sixty to one hundred and fifty and even two hundred feet high, with a narrow crown composed of flat sprays and a trunk naked for one-third to one-half its height and from one to six feet in diameter, with a smooth bark, silvery or whitish in young trees, becoming thick and heavily fissured into rounded ridges on old trunks, and gray or drab-brown in color, it is readily distinguishable, with its companion, the red fir, by the regularity of construction of trunk, branch and branchlet. As Smeaton Chase expresses it, “The fine smooth arms, set in regular formation, divide and redivide again and again _ad infinitum_, weaving at last into a maze of exquisitely symmetrical twigs and branchlets.”
_Red Fir_. The range of the red fir is irregular. It occurs on the Rubicon River and some of the headwaters of the west-flowing streams, reaching a general height of 6000 feet, though it is occasionally found as high as 7000 feet. In some parts of California this is known as Douglas Spruce, and Jepson, in his _Silva of California_ definitely states:
The name “fir” as applied to the species is so well established among woodsmen that for the sake of intelligibility the combination Douglas Fir, which prevents confusion with the true firs and has been adopted by the Pacific Coast Lumberman’s Association, is here accepted, notwithstanding that the name used by botanists, “Douglas Spruce” is actually more fitting on account of the greater number of spruce-like characteristics. It is neither true spruce, fir, nor hemlock, but a marked type of a distinct genus, namely, _pseudotsuga_.
It must not be confounded with the red silver fir (_Abies Magnifica_) so eloquently described as the chief delight of the Yosemite region by Smeaton Chase. It grows from seventy to two hundred and fifty or possibly three hundred and fifty feet high, and is the most important lumber tree of the country, considering the quality of its timber, the size and length of its logs, and the great amount of heavy wood and freedom from knots, shakes or defects. On young trees the bark is smooth, gray or mottled, sometimes alder-like; on old trunks one to six and a half inches thick, soft or putty-like, dark brown, fissured into broad heavy furrows. The young rapid growth in the open woods produces “red fir”, the older slower growth in denser woods is “yellow fir”. Every tree to a greater or lesser extent exhibits successively these two phases, which are dependent upon situation and exposure.
The chief difference between the white and red fir is in the _spiculae_ or leaves. Those of the red fir are shorter, stubbier and stiffer than those of the white. The bark, however, is pretty nearly alike in young trees and shows a marked difference when they get to be forty to fifty years old.
_The Alpine Spruce_ (_Hesperopeuce Pattoniana_ Lemmon) is found only in the highest elevations. Common in Alaska it is limited in the Tahoe region to the upper points of forests that creep up along glacier beds and volcanic ravines, close to perpetual ice. It disappears at 10,000 feet altitude on Mt. Whitney and is found nowhere south of this point. On Tallac, Mt. Rose and all the higher peaks of the Tahoe region it is common, giving constant delight with its slender shaft, eighty to a hundred feet high, and with a diameter at its base of from six to twelve feet. It is only in the lower portions of the belt where it occurs. Higher it is reduced to low conical masses of foliage or prostrate creeping shrubs.
By many it is regarded as a hemlock, but it is not strictly so. It was first discovered in 1852 by John Jeffrey, who followed David Douglas in his explorations of the forests of the American Northwest.
In favorable situations, the lower limbs are retained and become long, out-reaching, and spreading over the mountain slope for many feet; the upper limbs are irregularly disposed, not whorled; they strike downward from the start (so that it is almost impossible to climb one of the trees for want of foothold), then curving outward to the outline of the tree, they are terminated by short, hairy branchlets that decline gracefully, and are decorated with pendant cones which are glaucous purple until maturity, then leather brown, with reflexed scales.
The main stem sends out strong ascending shoots, the leading one terminating so slenderly as to bend from side to side with its many purple pendants before the wind, and shimmering in the sunlight with rare beauty.–_Lemmon_.
On the slopes of Mt. Rose near timber line, which ranges from 9700 to 10,000 feet according to exposures, while still a tree of considerable size, it loses its symmetrical appearance. Professor Kennedy says:
Buffeted by the fierce winter winds and snows, the branches on the west side of the tree are either entirely wanting or very short and gnarled, and the bark is commonly denuded. Unlike its associate, _Pinus Albicaulis_, which is abundant as a prostrate shrub far above timber line, the spruce is rarely encountered above timber line at this place, but here and there a hardy individual may be found lurking among the pines. The greatest elevation at which it was noticed is 10,500 feet.
To me this is one of the most beautiful of Sierran trees. Its delicate silvery hue, and the rarely exquisite shading from the old growth to the new, its gracefulness, the quaint and fascinating tilt of its tip which waveringly bends over in obedience to whichever breeze is blowing makes it the most alluringly feminine of all the trees of the Sierra Nevada.
It is interesting to note the differences in the cones, and in the way they grow; singly, in clusters, at the end of branches, on the stems, large, medium-sized, small, short and stubby, long and slender, conical, etc. Then, too, while the pines generally have cones every year, the firs seem to miss a year, and to bear only alternate years.
The gray squirrels are often great reapers of the cones, before they are ripe. They cut them down and then eat off the tips of the scales so that they present a pathetically stripped appearance.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE BIRDS AND ANIMALS OF THE TAHOE REGION
_Birds_. The bird life of the Tahoe region does not seem particularly interesting or impressive to the casual observer. At first sight there are not many birds, and those that do appear have neither so vivid plumage nor sweet song as their feathered relatives of the east, south and west. Nevertheless there are several interesting species, and while this chapter makes no pretense to completeness it suggests what one untrained observer without birds particularly on his mind has witnessed in the course of his several trips to the Tahoe region.
It soon becomes evident that altitude has much to do with bird life, some, as the meadow-lark and blackbird never being found higher than the Lake shore, others at the intermediate elevations where the Alpine hemlock thrives, while still others, such as the rosy finch and the rock-wren, are found only on the highest and most craggy peaks.
While water birds are not numerous in the summer, observant visitors at Lake Tahoe for the first time are generally surprised to find numbers of sea gulls. They fly back and forth, however, to and from their native haunts by the sea. They never raise their young here, generally making their return flight to the shores of the Pacific in September, October and at latest November, to come back in March and April. While out on the mountain in these months, fifty or more miles west of Lake Tahoe I have seen them, high in the air, flying straight to the place they desired.
The blue heron in its solitary and stately watchfulness is occasionally seen, and again etches itself like a Japanese picture against the pure blue of the sky. The American bittern is also seen rarely.
Kingfishers are found, both on the lakes and streams. It is fascinating to watch them unobserved, perched on a twig, as motionless as if petrified, until, suddenly, their prey is within grasp, and with a sudden splash is seized.
On several of the lakes, occasionally on bays of Tahoe itself, and often in the marshy lands and sloughs of the Upper Truckee, near Tallac, ducks, mallard and teal are found. Mud chickens in abundance are also found pretty nearly everywhere all through the year.
The weird cry of the loon is not infrequently heard on some of the lakes, and one of these latter is named Loon Lake from the fact that several were found there for a number of years.
Flocks of white pelicans are sometimes seen. Blackbirds of two or three kinds are found in the marshes, also killdeer, jacksnipe and the ever active and interesting spotted sandpipers. A few meadow-larks now and again are heard singing their exquisite song, reminding one of Browning’s wise thrush which “sings each song twice over, lest you should think he cannot recapture that first fine careless rapture.”
Doves are not common, but now and again one may hear their sweet melancholy song, telling us in Joaquin Miller’s poetic and exquisite interpretation:
There are many to-morrows, my love, my love, But only one to-day.
In the summer robins are frequently seen. Especially do they revel on the lawns at Tahoe Tavern, their red-breasts and their peculiar “smithing” or “cokeing” just as alluring and interesting as the plumage and voices of the richer feathered and finer songsters of the bird family.
Mountain quails are quite common, and one sometimes sees a dozen flocks in a day. Grouse are fairly plentiful. One day just on the other side of Granite Chief Peak a fine specimen sailed up and out from the trail at our very feet, soared for quite a distance, as straight as a bullet to its billet for a cluster of pine trees, and there hid in the branches. My guide walked down, gun in hand, ready to shoot, and as he came nearer, two others dashed up in disconcerting suddenness and flew, one to the right, the other to the left. We never got a sight of any of them again.
At another time I was coming over by Split Crag from the Lake of the Woods, with Mr. Price, of Fallen Leaf Lodge, when two beautiful grouse arose from the trail and soared away in their characteristic style.
At one time sage-hens were not infrequent on the Nevada side of the Lake, and as far west as Brockways. Indeed it used to be a common thing for hunters, in the early days, to come from Truckee, through Martis Valley, to the Hot Springs (as Brockways was then named) and shoot sage-hens all along the way. A few miles north of Truckee, Sage Hen Creek still preserves, in the name, the fact that the sage-hen was well known there.
Bald-headed and golden eagles are often seen in easy and circular flight above the highest peaks. In the fall and winter they pass over into the wild country near the almost inaccessible peaks above the American River and there raise their young. One year Mr. Price observed a pair of golden eagles which nested on Mt. Tallac. He and I were seated at lunch one day in September, 1913, on the very summit of Pyramid Peak, when, suddenly, as a bolt out of a clear sky, startling us with its wild rush, an eagle shot obliquely at us from the upper air. The speed with which it fell made a noise as of a “rushing mighty wind.” Down! down, it fell, and then with the utmost grace imaginable, swept up, still going at terrific speed, circled about, and was soon lost to sight.
Almost as fond of the wind-tossed pines high up on the slopes of the mountain as is the eagle of the most rugged peaks, is Clark’s crow, a grayish white bird, with black wings, and a harsh, rasping call, somewhat between that of a crow and the jay.
Of an entirely different nature, seldom seen except on the topmost peaks, is the rosy-headed finch. While on the summit of Pyramid Peak, we saw two of them, and one of them favored us with his (or her) sweet, gentle song.
Hawks are quite common; among those generally seen are the long tailed grouse-hawk, the sparrow hawk, and the sharp-shinned hawk. Night-hawks are quite conspicuous, if one walks about after sunset. They are dusky with a white throat and band on the wing. They sail through the air without any effort, wings outspread and beak wide open, and thus glean their harvest of winged insects as they skim along. Oftentimes their sudden swoop will startle you as they rush by.
Woodpeckers are numerous, and two or three species may be seen almost anywhere in a day’s walk through one of the wooded sections. Many are the trees which bear evidence of their industry, skill and providence. The huge crow-like pileolated woodpecker with its scarlet crest, the red-shafted flicker, the Sierra creeper, the red-breasted sap-sucker, Williamson’s sap-sucker, the white-headed woodpecker, Cabanis’s woodpecker with spotted wings and gray breast, the most common of woodpeckers, and Lewis’s woodpecker, a large heavy bird, glossy black above, with a white collar and a rich red underpart, have all been seen for many years in succession.
The red-breasted sap-sucker and Williamson’s sap-sucker are found most frequently among the aspens and willows along the lake shore, while the red-shafted flicker, Cabanis’s woodpecker, and the white-head favor the woods. One observer says the slender-billed nut-hatch is much more common than the red-breasted, and that his nasal laugh resounded at all times through the pines.
High up in the hemlock forests is the interesting Alpine three-toed woodpecker. It looks very much like Cabanis’s, only it has three toes in place of four, and a yellow crown instead of a black and red one.
In importance after the woodpeckers come the members of the sparrow family that inhabit the Tahoe region. The little black-headed snowbird, Thurber’s junco, is the most common of all the Tahoe birds. The thick-billed sparrow, a grayish bird with spotted breast and enormous bill is found on all the brushy hillsides and is noted for its glorious bursts of rich song.
Now and again one will see a flock of English sparrows, and the sweet-voiced song-sparrow endeavors to make up for the vulgarity of its English cousin by the delicate softness of its peculiar song.
Others of the family are the two purple finches (reddish birds), the pine-finch, very plain and streaked, the green-tailed towhee, with its cat-like call, and the white-crowned sparrow,–its sweetly melancholy song, “Oh, dear me,” in falling cadence, is heard in every Sierran meadow.
The mountain song-sparrow, western lark, western chipping-fox, gold-finch, and house- and cassin-finches are seen. The fly-catchers are omnipresent in August, though their shy disposition makes them hard to identify. Hammond, olive-sided and western pewee are often seen, and at times the tall tree-tops are alive with kinglets.
Some visitors complain that they do not often see or hear the warblers, but in 1905, one bird-lover reported seven common representatives. She says:
The yellow bird was often heard and seen in the willows along the Lake. Late in August the shrubs on the shore were alive with the Audubon group, which is so abundant in the vicinity of Los Angeles all winter. Pileolated warblers, with rich yellow suits and black caps, hovered like hummers among the low shrubs in the woods. Now and then a Pacific yellow-throat sang his bewitching “wichity wichity, wichity, wee.” Hermit and black-throated gray warblers were also recorded. The third week in August there was an extensive immigration of Macgillivray warblers. Their delicate gray heads, yellow underparts, and the bobbing movement of the tail, distinguished them from the others.
The water ouzel finds congenial habitat in the canyons of the Tahoe region, and the careful observer may see scores of them as he walks along the streams and by the cascades and waterfalls during a summer’s season. At one place they are so numerous as to have led to the naming of a beautiful waterfall, Ouzel Falls, after them. Another bird is much sought after and can be seen and heard here, perhaps as often as any other place in the country. That is the hermit thrush, small, delicate, grayish, with spotted breast. The shyness of the bird is proverbial, and it frequents the deepest willow and aspen thickets. Once heard, its sweet song can never be forgotten, and happy is he who can get near enough to hear it undisturbed. Far off, it is flute-like, pure and penetrating, though not loud. Gradually it softens until it sounds but as the faintest of tinkling bell-like notes, which die away leaving one with the assurance that he has been hearing the song of the chief bird of the fairies, or of birds which accompany the heavenly lullabies of the mother angels putting their baby angels to sleep.
Cliff-swallows often nest on the high banks at Tahoe City, and a few have been seen nesting under the eaves of the store on the wharf. The nests of barn swallows also have been found under the eaves of the ice-house.
Nor must the exquisite hummers be overlooked. In Truckee Canyon, and near Tahoe Tavern they are quite numerous. They sit on the telephone wires and try to make you listen to their pathetic and scarcely discernible song, and as you sit on the seats at the Tavern, if you happen to have some bright colored object about you, especially red, they will flit to and fro eagerly seeking for the honey-laden flower that red ought to betoken.
Several times down Truckee Canyon I have seen wild canaries. They are rather rare, as are also the Louisiana tanager, most gorgeous of all the Tahoe birds, and the black-headed grosbeak.
Of the wrens, both the rock wren and the canyon wren are occasionally seen, the peculiar song of the latter bringing a thrill of cheer to those who are familiar with its falling chromatic scale.
Then there is the merry chick-a-dee-dee, the busy creepers, and the nut-hatches hunting for insects on the tree trunks.
The harsh note of the blue jay is heard from Tahoe Tavern, all around the Lake and in almost every wooded slope in the Sierras. He is a noisy, generally unlovable creature, and the terror of the small birds in the nesting season, because of his well-known habit of stealing eggs and young. At Tahoe Tavern, however, I found several of them that were shamed into friendliness of behavior, and astonishing tameness, by the chipmunks. They would come and eat nuts from my fingers, and one of them several times came and perched upon my shoulder. There is also the grayish solitaire which looks very much like the mockingbird of less variable climes.
The foregoing account of the birds, which I submitted for revision to Professor Peter Frandsen, of the University of Nevada, called forth from him the following:
I have very little to add to this admirable bird account. Besides the gulls, their black relatives, the swallow-like terns, are occasionally seen. The black-crowned night-heron is less common than the great blue heron. Clarke’s crow is more properly called Clarke’s nutcracker–a different genus. The road robin or chewink is fairly common in the thickets above the Lake. Nuttal’s poor will, with its call of two syllables, is not infrequently heard at night. The silent mountain blue-bird, _sialia arctica_, is sometimes seen. So is the western warbling vireo. The solitary white-rumped shrike is occasionally met with in late summer. Owls are common but what species other than the western horned owl I do not know. Other rather rare birds are the beautiful lazuli bunting and the western warbling vireo. Among the wood-peckers I have also noted the bristle-bellied wood-pecker, or Lewis’s wood-pecker, Harris’s wood-pecker, and the downy wood-pecker.
_ANIMALS_. These are even more numerous than the birds, though except to the experienced observer many of them are seldom noticed.
While raccoons are not found on the eastern slopes of the High Sierras, or in the near neighborhood of the Lake, they are not uncommon on the western slopes, near the Rubicon and the headwaters of the various forks of the American and other near-by rivers.
Watson assured me that every fall he sees tracks on the Rubicon and in the Hell Hole region of very large mountain lions. They hide, among other places, under and on the limbs of the wild grapevines, which here grow to unusual size. In the fall of 1912 he saw some strange markings, and following them was led to a cluster of wild raspberry vines, among which was a dead deer covered over with fir boughs. In telling me the story he said:
I can generally read most of the things I see in the woods, but this completely puzzled me. I determined to find out all there was to be found. Close by I discovered the fir from which the boughs had been stripped. It was as if some one of giant strength had reached up to a height of seven or eight feet and completely stripped the tree of all its lower limbs. Then I asked myself the question: “Who’s camping here?” I thought he had used these limbs to make a bed of. But there was no water nearby, and no signs of camping, so I saw that was a wrong lead. Then I noticed that the limbs were too big to be torn off by a man’s hands, and there were blood stains all about. Then I found the fragments of a deer. “Now,” I said to myself, “I’ve got it. A bear has killed this deer and has eaten part of it and will come back for the rest.” You know a bear does this sometimes. But when I hunted for bear tracks there wasn’t a sign of a bear. Then I assumed that some hunter had been along, killed a doe (contrary to law), had eaten what he could and hidden the rest, covering the hide with leaves and these branches. But then I knew a hunter would cut off those branches with a knife, and these were torn off. The blood spattered about, the torn-off boughs and the fact that there were no tracks puzzled me, and I felt there was a mystery and, probably, a tragedy.
But a day or two later I met a woodsman friend of mine, and I took him to the spot. He explained the whole thing clearly. As soon as he saw it he said, “That’s a mountain-lion.” “But,” said I, “Where’s his tracks?” “He didn’t make any,” he replied, “he surprised the doe by crawling along the vines. I’ve found calves and deer hidden like this before, and I’ve seen clear traces of the panthers, and once I watched one as he killed, ate and then hid his prey. But as you know he won’t touch it after it begins to decompose, but a bear will. And that’s the reason we generally think it is a bear that does the killing, when in reality it is a mountain lion who has had his fill and left the remains for other predatory animals, while he has gone off to hunt for a fresh kill.”
Occasionally sheep-herders report considerable devastations from mountain-lions and bear to the Forest Rangers. James Bryden, who grazes his sheep on the Tahoe reserve near Downieville, lost sixteen sheep in one night in July, 1911.
There are three kinds each of chipmunks and ground-squirrels. All of the former have striped backs and do more or less climbing of trees. Of their friendliness, greediness, and even sociability–where nuts are in evidence or anticipated–I have written fully in the chapter on Tahoe Tavern. Of the three ground-squirrels the largest is the common ground-squirrel of the valleys of California. It is gray, somewhat spotted on the back, and has a whitish collar and a bushy tail. The next in size is the “picket-pin”, so called from his habit of sitting bolt upright on his haunches and remaining steadfast there, without the slightest movement, until danger threatens, when he whisks away so rapidly that it is quite impossible to follow his movements. In color he is of a grayish brown, with thick-set body, and short, slim tail. He has an exceeding sharp call, and makes his home in grassy meadows from the level of the Lake nearly to the summits of the highest peaks. The “copper-head” is the other ground-squirrel, though by some he may be regarded as a chipmunk, for he has a striped back.
The flying squirrel is also found here. It comes out only at night and lives in holes in trees. On each side between the fore and hind legs it has a hairy flap, which when stretched out makes the body very broad, and together with its hairy tail it is enabled to sail from one tree to another, though always alighting at a lower level. A more correct name would be a “sailing” squirrel. The fur is very soft, of a mouse color and the animal makes a most beautiful pet. It has great lustrous eyes and is about a foot in length.
The tree squirrel about the Lake is the pine squirrel or “chickeree.” The large tree squirrel is abundant on the west slope of the Sierra from about six thousand feet downward, but it is not in the Lake basin, so far as I am aware. The pine squirrel is everywhere, from the Lake side to the summits of the highest wooded peaks. It is dark above, whitish to yellow below, usually with a black line along the side. The tail is full, bushy, the hairs tipped with white forming a broad fringe. It feeds on the seeds of the pine cones.
The woodchuck or marmot is a huge, lumbering, squirrel-like animal in the rocky regions, wholly terrestrial and feeding chiefly on roots and grass. The young are fairly good eating and to shoot them with a rifle is some sport.
Of the fur bearing and carnivorous animals the otter, fisher, etc., all are uncommon, though some are trapped every year by residents of the Lake. The otter and mink live along the larger streams and on the Lake shore where they feed chiefly on fish. They may sometimes catch a wild fowl asleep. The martin and fisher live in pine trees usually in the deepest forests, and they probably prey on squirrels, mice and birds. They are usually nocturnal in their habits. The martin is the size of a large tree squirrel; the fisher is about twice that size. The foxes are not often seen, but the coyote is everywhere, a scourge to the few bands of sheep. Often at night his long-drawn, doleful howl may be heard, a fitting sound in some of the wild granite canyons.
One day while passing Eagle Crag, opposite Idlewild, the summer residence of C.F. Kohl, of San Francisco, with Bob Watson, he informed me that, in 1877, he was following the tracks of a deer and they led him to a cave or grotto in the upper portion of the Crag. While he stood looking in at the entrance a snarling coyote dashed out, far more afraid of him than he was surprised at the sudden appearance of the creature.
A few bears are still found in the farther away recesses of the Sierras, and on one mountain range close to the Lake, viz., the one on which Freel’s, Job’s and Job’s Sister are the chief peaks. These are brown or cinnamon, and black. There are no grizzlies found on the eastern slopes of the Sierras, nowadays, and it is possible they never crossed the divide from the richer-clad western slopes. In September, 1913, a hunting party, led by Mr. Comstock, of Tallac, and Lloyd Tevis, killed two black bears, one of them weighing fully four hundred pounds, on Freel’s Mountain, and in the same season Mr. Carl Flugge, of Cathedral Park, brought home a good-sized cinnamon from the Rubicon country, the skin of which now adorns my office floor.
The grizzly has long since been driven from the mountains, though there may be a few in southern Alpine County, but the evidence is not conclusive. The panther is migratory, preying on young colts and calves. They are not at all common, though some are heard of every year. The “ermine” is pure white in winter, except the tip of the tail, which is black. It is yellowish brown in summer.
There are two rabbits, one a huge jackrabbit of the great plains region, the other the “snowshoe” rabbit, so called because of his broad furry feet which keep it from sinking into the soft snow in winter. Both rabbits are very rare, and probably both turn white in winter. I have seen specimens of the snowshoe rabbit taken in winter that are pure white.
On the wildest and most desolate peaks and rock piles is found the cony or pika or “rock rabbit” as it is variously called. It is small, only six inches or so in length, tailless but with large round ears and soft grayish fur like a rabbit’s.
The jumping mouse is interesting. It may be seen sometimes at evening in swampy areas and meadows. It is yellowish above, whitish below, with an extremely long tail. It travels by long leaps, takes readily to the water and is an expert swimmer. The meadow mice are bluish grey and are found in swampy places. The wood mice are pure white below, brown above and are found everywhere.
Quite a number of badgers are to be found in the Tahoe region, and they must find abundance of good food, for the specimens I have seen were rolling in fat, and as broad backed as a fourteen inch board.
Several times, also, have I seen porcupines, one of them, weighing fully twenty-five pounds, on the slopes of Mt. Watson, waddling along as if he were a small bear. They live on the tender bark of the mountain and tamarack pines, sometimes girdling the trees and causing them to die. They are slow-gaited creatures, easily caught by dogs, but with their needle spines, and the sharp, quick-slapping action of their tails, by means of which they can thrust, insert, inject–which is the better word?–a score or more of these spines into a dog’s face, they are antagonists whose prowess cannot be ignored.
Very few people would think of the porcupine as an animal destructive to forest trees, yet one of the Tahoe Forest rangers reports that in the spring of 1913 fifty young trees, averaging thirty feet high, were killed or ruined by porcupines stripping them of their bark. Sometimes as many as ninety per cent. of the young trees growing on a burned-over area are thus destroyed. They travel and feed at night, hence the ordinary observer would never know their habits.
The bushy-tailed woodrat proves itself a nuisance about the houses where it is as omnivorous an eater as is its far-removed cousin, the house rat. The gopher is one of the mammals whose mark is more often seen than the creature itself. It lives like the mole in underground burrows, coming to the surface only to push up the dirt that it has been digging.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE SQUAW VALLEY MINING EXCITEMENT
The Tahoe region was once thrilled through and through by a real mining excitement that belonged to itself alone. It had felt the wonderful activity that resulted from the discovery of the Comstock lode in Virginia City. It had seen its southern border crowded with miners and prospectors hurrying to the new field, and later had heard the blasting and picking, the shoveling and dumping of rocks while the road from Placerville was being constructed.
It had seen another road built up from Carson over the King’s Canyon grade, and lumber mills established at Glenbrook in order to supply the mines with timbers for their tunnels and excavations, as the valuable ore and its attendant waste-rocks were hauled to the surface.
But now it was to have an excitement and a stampede all its own. An energetic prospector from Georgetown, El Dorado County, named Knox, discovered a big ledge of quartz in Squaw Valley. It was similar rock to that in which the Comstock silver was found in large quantities. Though the assays of the floating-rock did not yield a large amount of the precious metals, they showed a little–as high as $3.50 per ton. This was enough. There were bound to be higher grade ores deeper down. The finder filed his necessary “locations,” and doubtless aided by copious draughts of “red-eye” saw, in swift imagination, his claim develop into a mine as rich as those that had made the millionaires of Virginia City. Anyhow the rumor spread like a prairie fire, and men came rushing in from Georgetown, Placerville, Last Chance, Kentucky Flat, Michigan Bluff, Hayden Hill, Dutch Flat, Baker Divide, Yankee Jim, Mayflower, Paradise, Yuba, Deadwood, Jackass Gulch and all the other camps whose locators and residents had not been as fortunate financially as they were linguistically.
Knox started a “city” which he named Knoxville, the remains of which are still to be seen in the shape of ruined log-cabins, stone chimneys, foundations of hewed logs, a graveyard, etc., on the left hand side of the railway coming from Truckee, and about six miles from Tahoe.
One has but to let his imagination run riot for a few moments to see this now deserted camp a scene of the greatest activity. The many shafts and tunnels, dump-piles and prospect-holes show how busy a spot it must have been. The hills about teemed with men. At night the log store–still standing–and the saloons–tents, shacks and log houses–were crowded with those who sought in the flowing bowl some surcease from the burden of their arduous labors.
Now and again a shooting took place, a man actually “died with his boots on,” as in the case of one King, a bad man from Texas who had a record, and whose sudden end was little, if any, lamented. He had had a falling out with the store-keeper, Tracey, and had threatened to kill him on sight. The former bade him keep away from his store, but King laughed at the prohibition, and with the blind daring that often counts as courage with such men–for he assumed that the store-keeper would not dare to shoot–he came down the following day, intending himself to do all the shooting there was to be done. But he reckoned mistakenly. Tracey saw him coming, came to the door, bade him Halt! and on his sneering refusal, shot the bad man dead.
In September, 1913, I paid a visit to Knoxville. Just above the town, on the eastern slope of the mountain, were several tunnels and great dump-piles, clearly showing the vast amount of work that had been done. The quartz ledge that caused the excitement was distinctly in evidence, indeed, when the Tahoe Railway roadbed was being graded, this quartz ledge was blasted into, and the director of operations sent a number of specimens for assay, the rock looked so favorable.
Here and there were the remains of old log-cabins, with their outside stone chimneys. In some cases young tamaracks, fifteen and twenty feet high, had grown up within the areas once confined by the walls. These ruins extended all the way down to Deer Creek, showing the large number of inhabitants the town once possessed.
I saw the graveyard by the side of the river, where King’s body was the first to be buried, and I stood in the doorway of the store from which the shot that killed him was fired.
In imagination, I saw the whole life of the camp, as I have seen mining-camps after a stampede in Nevada. The shacks, rows of tents, and the rudely scattered and varied dwellings that the ingenuity and skill of men hastily extemporized. Most of the log-houses are now gone, their charred remnants telling of the indifferent carelessness of campers, prospectors or Indians.
The main street was in a pretty little meadowed vale, lined on either side with trees, and close to the Truckee, which here rushes and dashes and roars and sparkles among the bowlders and rocks that bestrew its bed.
When it was found the ore did not “pan out,” the excitement died down even more rapidly than it arose, and in 1863-4 the camp was practically dead.
It has been charged that the Squaw Valley claims were “salted” with ore brought from Virginia City. I am inclined to doubt this, and many of the old timers deny it. They assert that Knox was “on the square” and that he firmly believed he had paying ore. It is possible there may have been the salting of an individual claim or so after the camp started, but the originators of the camp started it in good faith, as they themselves were the greatest losers when the “bottom” of the excitement dropped out.
About a mile further up the river is still to be seen the site of the rival town of Claraville, founded at the same time as Knoxville. There is little left here, though the assay office, built up against a massive square rock still stands. It is of hewed timbers rudely dovetailed together at the corners.
It would scarcely be worth while to recount even this short history of the long dead,–almost stillborn–Squaw Valley camp were it not for the many men it brought to Lake Tahoe who have left their impress and their names upon its most salient canyons, streams, peaks and other landmarks. Many of these have been referred to elsewhere.
One of the first to arrive was William Pomin, the brother of the present captain of the steamer _Tahoe_. His wife gave birth to the first white child born on Lake Tahoe, and she was named after the Lake. She now lives in San Francisco. When she was no more than two or three months old, her mother took her on mule-back, sixty miles over the trail to Forest Hill, _in one day_. Pomin removed to the north shore of the Lake when Squaw Valley “busted,” and was one of the founders of Tahoe City, building and conducting one of the first hotels there.
Another of these old timers was J.W. McKinney, from whom McKinney’s was named. He came from the mining-camp of Georgetown over the trail, and engaged himself in selling town lots at Knoxville. He and Knox had worked together in the El Dorado excitement.
He originally came over the plains in the gold-alluring days of ’49. When his party reached the land of the Indians, these aborigines were too wise to make open attacks. They hit upon the dastardly method of shooting arrows into the bellies of the oxen, so that the pioneers would be compelled to abandon them. One night McKinney was on guard duty. He was required to patrol back and forth and meet another sentinel at a certain tree. There they would stop and chat for a few moments before resuming their solitary march. Just before day-break, after a few words, they separated. On answering the breakfast call McKinney found he was alone, and on going back to investigate, found his companion lying dead with an arrow through his heart. The moccasin tracks of an Indian clearly revealed who was the murderer, and a little study showed that the Indian had swam the river, waited until the sentinel passed close by him, and had then sent the arrow true to its fatal mark.
The next night the Indians shot an arrow into an ox. In the morning it was unable to travel, but McKinney and his friends had determined to do something to put a stop to these attacks. Taking the ox in the shadow of a knoll, they shot it, and eight men then hid in the shelter of some brush where the carcass was clearly in view.
When the train pulled out it seemed as if they had abandoned the ox. It was scarcely out of sight when the watchers saw eight Indians come sneaking up. Each man took the Indian allotted to him, but by some error two men shot at the same Indian, so that when the guns were fired and seven men fell dead the other escaped. On one of them was found seven twenty-dollar gold pieces wrapped up in a dirty rag, which had doubtless cost some poor emigrant or miner his life. Some of the party wished to leave this gold with the dead Indian, but McKinney said his scruples would not allow him to do any such thing, and the gold found its way into his pocket.
Though a man of practically no education–it is even said by those who claim to have known him well that he could neither read nor write, but this seems improbable–he was a man of such keen powers of observation, retentive memory, ability in conversation and strong personality, that he was able to associate on an equality with men of most superior attainments. John Muir was a frequent visitor to his home, especially in the winter time when all tourists and resort guests had gone away. John McGee, another well-known lover of the winter mountains, was also a welcome guest, who fully appreciated the manly vigor and sterling character of the transplanted Missourian.
John Ward, from whom Ward Creek and Ward Peak (8,665 feet) are named, was another Squaw Valley mining excitement stampeder. He came in the early days of the rush, and as soon as the camp died down, located on the mouth of the creek that now bears his name.
The next creek to the south–Blackwood’s,–is named after still another Squaw Valley stampeder. For years he lived at the mouth of this creek and gained his livelihood as a fisherman.
The same explanation accounts for Dick Madden Creek.
Barker who has peak, pass and valley named after him, came from Georgetown to Knoxville, and like so many other of his unfortunate mining brethren from over the divide, started a dairy on the west side of the pass which bears his name. The valley, however, was so high and cold that more than half the year the cream would not rise, so he gave up dairying and went elsewhere.
These are but a few of many who might be mentioned, whose names are linked with the Tahoe region, and who came to it in the hope of “making their everlasting fortunes” when Squaw Valley “started up.”
CHAPTER XXXV
THE FREMONT HOWITZER AND LAKE TAHOE
Hundreds of thousands of Americans doubtless have read “How a Woman’s Wit Saved California to the Union,” yet few indeed know how intimately that fascinating piece of history is linked with Lake Tahoe.
Here is the story of the link:
When Fremont started out on his Second Exploration (fairly well dealt with in another chapter), he stopped at the Kansas frontier to equip. When he finally started, the party (108) was armed generally with Hall’s carbines, which, says Fremont:
with a brass twelve-pound howitzer, had been furnished to me from the United States arsenal at St. Louis, agreeably to the command of Colonel S.W. Kearny, commanding the third military division. Three men were especially detailed for the management of this, under the charge of Louis Zindel, a native of Germany, who had been nineteen years a non-commissioned officer of the artillery in the Prussian army, and regularly instructed in the duties of his profession.
As soon as the news that he had added a cannon to his equipment reached Washington, the Secretary of War, James M. Porter, sent a message after him, post haste, countermanding the expedition on the ground that he had prepared himself with a military equipment, which the pacific nature of his journey did not require. It was specially charged as a heinous offense that he had procured a small mountain howitzer from the arsenal at St. Louis, in addition to his other firearms.
But Fremont had already started. He was not far on his way, and the message could have reached him easily. It was not destined to do so, however, until after his return. The message came to the hands of his girl-wife, Jessie Benton Fremont, the daughter of Missouri’s great senator, Thomas H. Benton, and she knew, as Charles A. Moody has well written, that
this order, obeyed, would indefinitely postpone the expedition–probably wreck it entirely. She did not forward it. Consulting no one, since there was no one at hand to consult, she sent a swift messenger to her husband with word to break camp and move forward at once–“he could not have the reason for haste, but there was reason enough.” And he, knowing well and well trusting the sanity and breadth of that girl-brain, hastened forward, unquestioning, while she promptly informed the officer whose order she had vetoed, what she had done, and why. So far as human wit may penetrate, obedience to that backward summons would have meant, three years later, the winning of California by another nation–and what _that_ loss would have signified to the United States none can know fully, but any may partly guess who realizes a part of what California has meant for us.
In commenting later upon this countermand of the Expedition Fremont remarks:
It is not probable that I would have been recalled from the Missouri frontier to Washington to explain why I had taken an arm that simply served to increase the means of defense for a small party very certain to encounter Indian hostility, and which involved very trifling expense. The administration in Washington was apparently afraid of the English situation in Oregon.
Unconscious, therefore, of his wife’s action,–which might easily have ruined his career–Fremont pushed on. The howitzer accompanied him into Oregon, back through into Nevada, and is clearly seen in the picture of Pyramid Lake drawn by Mr. Preuss (which appears in the original report), showing it after it had traveled in the neighborhood of four thousand miles.
The last time it was fired as far as the Fremont Expedition is concerned was on Christmas Eve, in 1843. The party was camped on Christmas Lake, now known as Warner Lake, Oregon, and the following morning the gun crew wakened Fremont with a salute, fired in honor of the day. A month later, two hundred and fifty miles south, it was to be abandoned in the mountains near West Walker River, on account of the deep snow which made it impossible for the weary horses to drag it further.
On the 28th of January Fremont thus writes:
To-night we did not succeed in getting the howitzer into camp. This was the most laborious day we had yet passed through, the steep ascents and deep snows exhausting both men and animals.
Possibly now the thought began to take possession of him that the weapon must be left behind. For long weary days it had been a constant companion. It had been dragged over the plains, mountains and canyons. It was made to ford rivers, plunge through quicksands and wallow through bog, mire, mud, marsh and snow. Again and again it delayed them when coming over sandy roads, but tenaciously Fremont held on to it. Now deep snow forbade its being dragged further. Haste over the high mountains of the Sierra Nevada was imperative, for such peaks and passes are no lady’s playground when the forces of winter begin to linger there, yet one can well imagine the regret and distress felt by the Pathfinder at being compelled to abandon this cannon, to which he had so desperately clung on all the wearisome miles his company had hitherto marched.
On the 29th he writes:
The principal stream still running through an impracticable canyon, we ascended a very steep hill, which proved afterwards the last and fatal obstacle to our little howitzer, which was finally abandoned at this place. [This place appears to be about eight or ten miles up the river from Coleville, and on the right or east side of the river.] We passed through a small meadow a few miles below, crossing the river, which depth, swift current, and rock, made it difficult to ford [this brings him to the west bank for the first time, but the cannon did not get this far, and therefore was left on the east side of the river. This is to be noted on account of the fact that it was found on the other side of the river in another canyon], and after a few more miles of very difficult trail, issued into a larger prairie bottom, at the farther end of which we camped, in a position rendered strong by rocks and trees.
The reader must not forget that the notes in brackets [ ] are interjections in Fremont’s narrative by Mr. Smith, (see the chapter on Fremont’s discovery of Lake Tahoe).
Fremont continues:
The other division of the party did not come in to-night, but camped in the upper meadow, and arrived the next morning. They had not succeeded in getting the howitzer beyond the place mentioned, and where it had been left by Mr. Preuss, in obedience to my orders; and, in anticipation of the snow-banks and snow-fields ahead, foreseeing the inevitable detention to which it would subject us, I reluctantly determined to leave it there for a time. It was of the kind invented by the French for the mountain part of their war in Algiers; and the distance it had come with us proved how well it was adapted to its purpose. We left it, to the great sorrow of the whole party, who were grieved to part with a companion which had made the whole
distance from St. Louis, and commanded respect for us on some critical occasions, and which might be needed for the same purpose again.
[It is the impression of those of the old settlers on Walker River, of whom we have inquired regarding the subject, that the cannon was found early in the 60’s near the head of Lost Canyon. This canyon comes into Little Antelope Valley–a branch of Antelope Valley–from the south. This impression evidently was accepted by the government geological surveyors, for they twisted the name of the creek coming down this canyon to “Lost Cannon Creek”, and called a peak, which looks down into this canyon, Lost Cannon Peak. The origin of the name of this canyon lies in the fact that an emigrant party, on its way to the Sonora Pass, and in an endeavor probably to avoid the rough river canyon down which Fremont came, essayed this pass instead of the meadows above. It is a canyon which, at first, promises an easy pass but finally becomes almost impassable. The party in question found it necessary to abandon several of their wagons before they could get over. They, or another party, buried one of their men there, also some blacksmith tools. My endeavors to ascertain what party this was have thus far not been successful. Mr. Timothy B. Smith, who went to Walker River in 1859, says that the wagons were there at that time. The cannon is supposed to have been found with or near these wagons. Mr. Richard Watkins, of Coleville, who went into that section in 1861, or soon after, informs me that wagons were also found in one of the canyons leading to the Sonora Pass from Pickle Meadow. The cannon, according to Mr. Watkins, was found with these wagons. At any rate, it seems likely that the cannon was not found at the place where Fremont left it, but had been picked up by some emigrant party, who, in turn, were compelled to abandon it with several of their wagons.]
For several years the cannon remained where its emigrant finders removed it, then at the breaking out of the Civil War, “Dan de Quille,” William Wright, the author of _The Big Bonanza_, the fellow reporter of Mark Twain on one of the Virginia City newspapers, called the attention of certain belligerent adherents of the south to it, and they determined to secure it. But the loyal sons of the Union were also alert and Captain A.W. Pray, who was then in the Nevada mining metropolis, succeeded in getting and maintaining possession of it. As he moved to Glenbrook, on Lake Tahoe, that year, he took the cannon with him. Being mounted on a carriage with fairly high wheels, these latter were taken and converted into a hay-wagon, with which, for several years, he hauled hay from the Glenbrook meadows to his barn in town. The cannon itself was mounted on a heavy wooden block to which it was affixed with iron bands, securely held in place by bolts and nuts. For years it was used at Glenbrook on all patriotic and special occasions. Fremont never came back to claim it. The government made no claim upon it. So while Captain Pray regarded it as his own it was commonly understood and generally accepted that it was town property, to be used by all alike on occasions of public rejoicing.
After Captain Fray’s death, however, the cannon was sold by his widow to the Native Sons of Nevada, and the news of the sale soon spread abroad and caused no little commotion. To say that the people were astonished is to put it mildly. They were in a state of consternation. Fremont’s cannon sold and going to be removed? Impossible! No! it was so! The purchasers were coming to remove it the next day.
Were they? That remained to be seen!
That night in the darkness, three or four determined men quietly and stealthily removed the nuts from the bolts, and, leaving the block of wood, quietly carried the cannon and hid it in a car of scrap-iron that was to be transported the next day from Glenbrook to Tahoe City.
When the day dawned and the purchasers arrived, the cannon was not to be found, and no one, apparently, knew what had become of it. Solicitations, arguments, threats had no effect. The cannon was gone. That was all there was to it, and Mrs. Pray and the Nevada purchasers had to accept that–to them–disagreeable fact.
But the cannon was not lost. It was only gone on before. For several years it remained hidden under the blacksmith shop at Tahoe City, its presence known only to the few conspirators–one of whom was my informant. About five years ago it was resurrected and ever since then its brazen throat has bellowed the salutation of the Fourth of July to the loyal inhabitants of Tahoe. It now stands on the slight hill overlooking the Lake at Tahoe City, a short distance east of the hotel.
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE MOUNT ROSE OBSERVATORY
While Californians rightly and justly claim Tahoe as their own, it must not be forgotten that Nevadans have an equal claim. In the Nevada State University, situated at Reno, there is a magnificent band of young men, working and teaching as professors, who regard all opportunities as sacred trusts, and who are making for their university a wonderful record of scientific achievement for universal benefit.
Located on the Nevada side of the Tahoe region line, at the northeast end of the Lake, is Mount Rose. It is one of the most salient and important of the peaks that surround Tahoe, its elevation being 10,800 feet. The professor of Latin in the Nevada University, James E. Church, Jr., a strenuous nature-lover, a mountain-climber, gifted with robust physical and mental health, making the ascent of Mt. Whitney in March, 1905, was suddenly seized with the idea that a meteorological observatory could be established on Mt. Rose, and records of temperature, wind, snow or rain-fall taken throughout the winter months. The summit of Mt. Rose by road is approximately twenty miles in a southwesterly direction from Reno, and Professor Church and his associates deemed it near enough for week-end visits. The courage, energy and robust manliness required to carry the work along can be appreciated only by those who have gone over the ground in winter, and forms another chapter of quiet and unknown heroism in the interest of science written by so many of our younger western professors who are not content with mere academic attainment and distinction.
The idea of obtaining winter temperatures on the mountains of the Pacific Coast was first suggested by Professor McAdie, head of the Weather Bureau in San Francisco.[1] He responded to the request for instruments, and through his recommendation, thermometers, rain-gauge, etc., were speedily forthcoming from the Weather Bureau. On June 24, 1905, with “Billy” and “Randy,” family ponies, loaded with a newly designed thermometer-shelter, constructed so as to withstand winter gales and yet allow the easy exit of snow, the first advance on Mt. Rose was made.
From that day the work has been carried on with a vigor and enthusiasm that are thrilling in their inspiration. An improved instrument was added that recorded temperatures on a self-registering roll, all fluctuations, and the highest and lowest temperatures, wind-pressures, all variations in humidity, temperature, and air pressure as well as the directions and the velocity of the wind for periods of seventy days and more. This instrument was the achievement of Professor S.P. Fergusson, for many years a pioneer worker in mountain meteorology at Blue Hill Observatory and an associate of Professor Church at the Mount Rose Observatory, which has now become a part of the University of Nevada.
After two winters’ work it was discovered, on making comparisons with the records at the Central Weather Station at Reno, 6268 feet below, that frost forecast could probably be made on Mt. Rose from twenty-four to forty-eight hours in advance of the appearance of the frost in the lower levels, provided the weather current was traveling in its normal course eastward from the coast.
[Footnote 1: Since this was written Professor McAdie has been appointed to the chair of Meteorology at Harvard University.]
Second only in importance was the discovery and photographic recording of evidence of the value of timber high up on mountains, and especially on the lips of canyons, for holding the snow until late in the season.
This latter phase of the Observatory’s work has developed into a most novel and valuable contribution to practical forestry and conservation of water, under Dr. Church’s clear and logical direction. At Contact Pass, 9000 feet elevation, and at the base of the mountain, supplementary stations have been established, where measurements of snow depth and density, the evaporation of snow, and temperatures within the snow have been taken. Lake Tahoe, with its seventy miles of coast line also affords ready access throughout the winter, by means of motor boat, snow-shoes and explorer’s camp, to forests of various types and densities where snow measurements of the highest importance have been made.
Delicate instruments of measurement and weight, etc., have been invented by Dr. Church and his associates to meet the needs as they have arisen, and continuous observations for several years seem to justify the following general conclusions. These are quoted from a bulletin by Dr. Church, issued by the International Irrigation Congress.
The conservation of snow is dependent on mountains and forests and is most complete where these two factors are combined. The mountain range is not only the recipient of more snow than the plain or the valley at its base, but in consequence of the lower temperature prevailing on its slopes the snow there melts more slowly.
However, mountains, because of their elevation, are exposed to the sweep of violent winds which not only blow the snow in considerable quantities to lower levels, where the temperature is higher, but also dissipate and evaporate the snow to a wasteful degree. The southern slopes, also, are so tilted as to be more completely exposed to the direct rays of the sun, and in the Sierra Nevada and probably elsewhere are subjected to the persistent action of the prevailing southwest wind.
On the other hand, the mountain mass, by breaking the force of the wind, causes much of the drifting snow to pile up on its lee slope and at the base of its cliffs, where it finds comparative shelter from the wind and sun.
Forests, also, conserve the snow. In wind-swept regions, they break the force of the wind, catching the snow and holding it in position even on the windward slopes of the mountains. On the lower slopes, where the wind is less violent, the forests catch the falling snow directly in proportion to their openness, but conserve it after it has fallen directly in proportion to their density. This phenomenon is due to the crowns of the trees, which catch the falling snow and expose it to rapid evaporation in the open air but likewise shut out the sun and wind from the snow that has succeeded in passing through the forest crowns to the ground. Both mountains and forests, therefore, are to a certain extent wasters of snow–the mountains because they are partially exposed to sun and wind; the trees, because they catch a portion of the falling snow on their branches and expose it to rapid disintegration. However, the mountains by their mass and elevation conserve immeasurably more snow than they waste, and forested areas conserve far more snow than unforested. If the unforested mountain slopes can be covered with timber, much of the waste now occurring on them can be prevented, and by thinning the denser forests the source of waste in them also can be checked.
The experiences met with by the voluntary band of observers to secure the data needed in their work are romantic in the extreme. An average winter trip requires from a day and a half to two days and a half from Reno. From the base of the mountain the ascent must be made on snow-shoes. When work first began there was no building on the summit, and no shelter station on the way. Imagine these brave fellows, daring the storms and blizzards and fierce temperatures of winter calmly ascending these rugged and steep slopes, in the face of every kind of winter threat, merely to make scientific observations. In March, 1906, Professor Johnson and Dr. Rudolph spent the night at timber-line in a pit dug in the snow to obtain protection from a gale, at the temperature of 5 deg. Fahr. _below_ zero, and fought their way to the summit. But so withering was the gale at that altitude even at mid-day, that a precipitate retreat was made to avoid freezing. The faces of the climbers showed plainly the punishment received. Three days later Dr. Church attempted to rescue the record just as the storm was passing. He made his way in an impenetrable fog to 10,000 feet, when the snow and ice-crystals deposited by the storm in a state of unstable equilibrium on crust and trees were hurled by a sudden gale high into the air in a blinding blizzard. During his retreat he wandered into the wildest part of the mountain before he escaped from the skirts of the storm.
Other experiences read like chapters from Peary’s or Nansen’s records in the Frozen North, and they are just as heroic and thrilling. Yet in face of all these physical difficulties, which only the most superb courage and enthusiasm could overcome, Dr. Church writes that, to the spirit, the mountain reveals itself, at midnight and at noon, at twilight and at dawn, in storm and in calm, in frost-plume and in verdure, as a wonderland so remote from the ordinary experiences of life that the traveler unconsciously deems that he is entering another world.
In the last days of October, 1913, I was privileged to make the trip from Reno in the company of Dr. Church, and two others. We were just ahead of winter’s storms, however, though Old Boreas raved somewhat wildly on the summit and covered it with snow a few hours after our descent. The experience was one long to be remembered, and the personal touch of the heroic spirit afforded by the trip will be a permanent inspiration.
CHAPTER XXXVII
LAKE TAHOE IN WINTER[1]
BY DR. J.E. CHURCH, JR., OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NEVADA
[Footnote 1: By courtesy of _Sunset_ magazine.]
Lake Tahoe is an ideal winter resort for the red-blooded. For the Viking and the near Viking; for the man and the woman who, for the very exhilaration of it, seek the bracing air and the snow-clad forests, Lake Tahoe is as charming in winter as in summer, and far grander. There is the same water–in morning placid, in afternoon foam-flecked, on days of storm tempestuous. The Lake never freezes; not even a film of ice fringes its edge. Sunny skies and warm noons and the Lake’s own restlessness prevent. Emerald Bay alone is sometimes closed with ice, but more often it is as open as the outer Lake. Even the pebbles glisten on the beach as far back as the wash of the waves extends.
But beyond the reach of the waves a deep mantle of white clads the forests and caps the distant peaks. The refuse of the forests, the dusty roads, and the inequalities of the ground are all buried deep. A smooth, gently undulating surface of dazzling white has taken their place.
The forest trees are laden with snow–each frond bears its pyramid and each needle its plume of white. The fresh green of the foliage and the ruddy brown of the bark are accentuated rather than subdued by their white setting. But as the eye travels the long vista of ascending and retreating forest, the green and the brown of the near-by trees fade gradually away until the forest becomes a fluffy mantle of white upon the distant mountain side. Above and beyond the forest’s utmost reaches rise the mountain crags and peaks, every angle rounded into gentle contours beneath its burden of snow.
[Illustration: The Fergusson Metrograph on the summit of Mt. Rose, wrecked by snow “feathers,” some of which were six feet long.]
[Illustration: Refuge Hut and Headquarters for Snow Studies on Mt. Rose, 9000 Feet]
[Illustration: Skiing from Tallac to Fallen Leaf Lodge]
[Illustration: Snow Surveyor on the Mountains Above Glen Alpine in Winter]
Along the margin of the Lake appear the habitations and works of men deeply buried and snow-hooded until they recall the scenes in Whittier’s _Snow Bound_.
The lover of the Lake and its bird life will miss the gulls but will find compensation in the presence of the wild fowl–the ducks and the geese–that have returned to their winter haunts.
Lake Tahoe is remarkably adapted as a winter resort for three prime reasons: first, it is easily accessible; second, no place in the Sierra Nevada, excepting not even Yosemite, offers so many attractions; third, it is the natural and easy gateway in winter to the remote fastnesses of the northern Sierra.
Among the attractions preeminently associated with Lake Tahoe in winter are boating and cruising, snow-shoeing and exploring, camping for those whose souls are of sterner stuff, hunting, mountain climbing, photography, and the enjoyment of winter landscape. Fishing during the winter months is prohibited by law.
If one asks where to go, a bewildering group of trips and pleasures appears. But there come forth speedily from out the number a few of unsurpassed allurement. These are a _ski_ trip from Tallac to Fallen Leaf Lake to see the breakers and the spray driven by a rising gale against the rock-bound shore, and, when the lake has grown quieter, a boat ride to Fallen Leaf Lodge beneath the frowning parapets of Mount Tallac. Next a _ski_ trip up the Glen to the buried hostelry at Glen Alpine, where one enters by way of a dormer window but is received to a cheerful fire and with royal hospitality.
Then under the skillful guidance of the keeper, a day’s climb up the southern face of Mount Tallac for an unrivalled panoramic view from its summit and a speedy but safe glissade back to the hostelry far, far below.
And if the legs be not too stiff from the glissade, a climb over the southern wall of the Glen to Desolation Valley and Pyramid Peak, whence can be seen the long gorge of the Rubicon. The thousand lakes that dot this region present no barrier to one’s progress, for they are frozen over and lie buried deep beneath the snow that falls here in an abundance hardly exceeded elsewhere in the Tahoe region.
A close rival of these is the climb from Rubicon Park up the stately range in its rear to visit the mountain hemlock, the graceful queen of the high mountain, and to gaze across the chasm at the twin crags beyond.
And peer of them all, though requiring but little exertion, is a trip to Brockway to enjoy the unrivalled view of the “Land’s End” of the Lake and catch the colors of the pansies that are still in bloom in a niche of the old sea wall. If one possess the artist’s mood, he will add thereto a boat ride round State Line Point in the lazy swell of the evening sea beneath the silent pine-clad cliffs, while the moon, as beautiful as any summer moon, rides overhead. Only the carpet of snow and the film of ice that gathers from the spray upon the boat keeps one alive to the reality that the season is winter.
Finally a rowing trip along the western shore of the Lake with stops at pleasure _en route_. One can have weather to suit his taste, for the waters on this shore are safe in storm, and the barometer and the sky will give full warning long before the weather attains the danger point. The man who loves the breath of the storm and the glow of excitement will loose his boat from Tallac when the clouds swing down the canyon and speed forth borne, as it were, on the wings of the waves toward the distant foot of the Lake–past the black water wall where the waves of Emerald Bay sweep into Tahoe, through the frothy waters where the wind shifts and whips around Rubicon Point, over the white caps of Meek’s Bay until by skillful maneuvering the jutting cape is weathered and quieter water is found in McKinney Bay. Full time there is, with the wind astern, to reach the river’s mouth at Tahoe City, but the voyager who loves the woodland will tarry for a night in the dense fir forest of Blackwood, while his boat rides safely moored to the limb of a prostrate tree.
Regarding the eastern side of the Lake, the bald shore and jutting headlands, the fewness of the landing places, and the sweep of the waves make cruising in these waters a matter of supreme skill and farsightedness. Let the Viking learn with broad-beamed boat the mastery of the western shore before he turns his boat’s prow to the east.
For the man of milder tastes the motorboat will suffice or the mail steamer, which plies the waters of Lake Tahoe twice a week.
In tobogganing, the hills and open meadows at Tahoe City and at Glenbrook will furnish royal sport for the devotee. Skating and ice-yachting must be sought in regions where the snow is less deep and the cold more intense.
_Skiing_ is the chief method of locomotion in winter at the Lake and the novice soon becomes expert in the milder forms of the sport. _Ski_ trails thread the forests at Tahoe City and radiate from every resort.
The open inns at Tahoe City and Glenbrook, and The Grove near Tallac and the resorts on Fallen Leaf Lake insure the traveler’s comfort, while the hospitality of the caretakers at all of the resorts is proverbial. The question of when and how to go is naturally a leading one. During the months of November to April, two sledging services are