May 1954

YOSEMITE NATURE NOTES VOLUME XXXIII • NUMBER 5 MAY 1954

Half Dome from top of Snow (Arch Trail zigzags —Ansel Adams

Hutchings House (formerly the Upper Hotel) as it appeared at the time of Olive Logan's 1870 visit to "Yosemite."

THE MONTHLY PUBLICATION OF

THE Yosemite NATURALIST division AND

THE YOSEMITE NATURAL HISTORY ASSOCIATION, INC.

John C. Preston, Superintendent D. E. McHenry, Park Naturalist D. H. Hubbard, Assoc. Park Naturalist N. B. Herkenham, Asst. Park Naturalist W. W. Bryant, Junior Park Naturalist

VOL. XXXIII MAY 1954 NO. 5 DOES IT PAY TO VISIT YOSEMITE?

By Olive Logan EDITOR'S NOTE : This is the third of three parts of the article that was begun in our March issue. It is a reprint of a remarkable narrative published 84 years ago in the magazine Galaxy for October 1870. The title's puzzling sentiment is readily understood by readers of Parts I and II, wherein the New York authoress tells of the perilous rigors that a trip to Yosemite involved In that early day before any roads extended into the valley. Having made her long, punishing journey from San Francisco over primitive roads and trails, first in stagecoaches and then on horseback, she hails her arrival at the valley 's brink near Gentry with : "At length we reach the precipice which is to conduct us into the Valley." Conclusion were not able. At any rate, here we are. Our sufferings are at an end (I have requested the printer to no. And to-morrow shall burst upon leave a blank space here. I think it our enchanted eyes the glorious will be more eloquent than words.) sight whose beauty is to atone for all. Meantime we are too paralyzed to stir; Hutchings lifts us off our horses—inert masses of what were Also here, to represent the dreary once tolerably strong-minded and period of suffering which elapsed particularly strong-bodied women. after we began the steep descent of Hutchings pours wine down our the precipice, and until we reached throats. He tells us we are doing the goal of our hopes—Hutchings ' s well, as most ladies faint. Mrs. Hotel. Hutchings rubs us with whiskey; We do get there at last all this feels good except in places things have an end. But the night has where the skin is gone; then it makes failed again; we should have reached Hutchings's at noon, but enough left to squirm. * Or not to be supposed that the women alone suffered. The men were almost as bad. Mr. Gregory visited Yosemite eleven years ago, when he was at the zenith of his physical strength; read what a condition he was, as told by Hutchings himself in his palavering "Guide" : "The animal he rode was considered the hardest trotting brute in America; and Mr. G. (not the most corpulent, though was but little unabrasive cuticle left him. Arriving at the hotel after midnight, being so filled from his saddle, and at his own request put supportless in a litter after noon the same day, having speaking engagements to fill, he started back the next morning, not seeing the lake, or the great view on the main river."

The dawn breaks in the morning with Ferguson tagging at our heels of the next day, and, shining red as fire through the pine knots of the at an exorbitant price daily, make trips as dangerous and as perilous, log-cabin where Hutchings dwells, as rocky and as unpleasant in every strikes our leaden eyelids and bids way as that which with so much us arise. Reluctantly we do so. This difficulty we have just now accomis the end of our wanderings. Here plished! In the house there is neither is the great prize to obtain a view of amusement nor comfort. We are which we have come so many weary dirty, sick, sore, and miserable, and miles. Now we are to be repaid for at night, as we creep heartsick to all. We make a hurried toilet, and bed, we can think of nothing but— as quickly as our stiffened limbs the Yosemite Fall, the Bridal Veil, will permit, we drag out to see the El Capitan, the Cathedral Rocks? view which "shall awe us, shall No! Of the weary distance which make us lose our identity, shall lies between us and civilization. cause us to feel as though we were But we try to make the best of it, in the spirit land. " * once there. "Let ' s say it does pay," And what do we see? Tall rocks, says the jolly Tapley of our party. a few tall trees, a high and narrow "Yes, let's sit on the banks of this waterfall, a pretty little river! No more. A lovely natural scene, I grant you; but oh! where in this broad and beautiful land of ours are not lovely natural scenes the rule? Words cannot tell the feeling of cold despair which came over me and all our party as we looked about us. Was it for this we had so suffered! O Englishman, Englishman, how painfully correct was your report! "Yes, let's sit on the banks of this lovely river." We do so. A companionable but not welcome water-snake does so also, and we leave him in possession. Try again. There is an Indian camp beside Hutchings's. It looks romantic from this point. Let us get nearer. A vile stench greets us. These filthy wretches found a dead horse yesterday, and are now eating some of correct was your report! In truth and its carcass. There is one of the poor very truth, it does not pay. brute's legs with mud-begrimed hoof We never rallied from that first still hanging to it. Its entrails and impression. other parts are strung out in the sun "But that stone wall is nearly a to dry for future eating; the black mile high. " blood drips to the ground as a dog It may be so, but it does not look gnaws them greedily, until driven it; and if it did, the stars are higher, off by an Indian woman who is unand, thank God, the stars shine at willing to share such a luxury. It will home! not do to approach these people too "That waterfall is eleven times higher than Niagara." Indeed! it looks like a fireman's hose playing over the top of Stewart's store. And then we learn to our dismay, that to see anything more than this in the Valley we have got to mount those unhappy brutes again, and closely; they are covered with vermin. Their copper skins are black as soot in spots; this is caked dirt, pure and simple. They are clad in the discarded tatters of civilization; and how tattered the discarded garment of the Sierra Nevada mountaineer is, no one can know who has those unhappy brutes again, and, not seen. The consequence is that *These phrases are quoted from divers authorities; any one who has read about the Yosemite will recognize these old acquaintances.

An early-day saddle party in Yosemite Valley. the sight of these people so near a of a man who was kicked to death pleasure resort is an offense to deby his horse. The trips are very cency. Indian men loll under the wearying, the scenery very grand, trees playing cards for silver coin. very beautiful, but we are in no They glare at us as we approach. It condition to enjoy it. We never get is easy to see that these people (although Ferguson assured us they were "tame") would have no humanitarian scruples about waging a war of extermination against the whites if they had but the power. In such condition, and the universal verdict with us is that if every one of the waterfalls in Yosemite were magnified, every one of its granite domes were an Olympus, if its rivers were the Rhine, and its valley the While the men play cards and fairy gardens of Versailles, the sight loaf under the shade of trees, the of it would not repay one for the sufwomen sit in the broiling sun and fering involved in getting to it. And grind acorns, beating them between the plain truth is that nine out of ten heavy stones into the finest powder. who visit Yosemite think this, but These acorns ground to meal furnish the only food these poor creatures can rely on during the winter; and to gather them and dispute their possession with the hogs is the work of the Indian women. That is, it is one part of their work, for that all work is done by Indian women is an of the Indian women. That is, it is Yosemite. "I felt awed!—the spirit one part of their work, for that all land—losing your own identity." work is done by Indian women is an 0 travelled monkey! Dare to tell old story. Manhood oblige! the truth, why do you not? Because By another day some of us are you are afraid some other travelled well enough to mount again and monkey will say you "can't apprebegin our search after Beauty. We ciate" the scenery which it makes find an occasional rattlesnake, unyour head ache to look at, and your limited fatigue, and the tombstone bones ache to get at. Because you

are a coward, or because you know selves were the clergymen, who you have made an idiot of yourself gather there in force every summer. and flung away your money by These blessed men lead such sedhandfuls, and endured the tortures entary lives, such hard treadmill of purgatory; and you are ashamed lives for the most part, that they do to confess yourself so easily taken revel in the open air, the grand in and done for—man of the world views, the freedom of the Yosemite that you are. But I am only a woman, trip. Then, too, they love nature more and I confess all. than we of the work-day world, I At the end of three days, homesick, and above all physically sick, we conclude to go home. Then, too, they love nature more than we of the work-day world, I think; and therefore all the more eloquent was the confession of a Methodist minister who was one in our Hutchings is deeply chagrined at this. As his returning party in the stage, and he helps us mount he says with an who told me that he had made the injured air, "Oh, that's the way! long trip across the Desert of Sahara, people come here and then they go right away again. riding six hundred miles on camel They never stay back. He was enthusiastic about the long enough!" And this truth, told by loveliness of the Valley; "but," said the person whose interest it is to say he, as we crawled in to breakfast at the reverse, is the very best testiKnight ' s Ferry, having been thunmony that people in general who go dered up and started off at two in there are unhappy, and dissatisfied, the morning to oblige the stageand disappointed. If it were not so, driver, who wanted to get ahead of they would stay. But nobody stays a rival, "I forgot all about Yosemite longer than he feels he must, in delwhile I was in that stage!" erence to the certain opinions that He was apparently a noble and have influenced him to come here. lovely man, and he greatly mitiArtists stay; but they work hard to gated the sorrows of our journey by hasten their day of deliverance. One his pleasant words and gentle ways. I met there made one complete There was one lady in the returnsketch in colors for every day he ing stage who scorned the insinuastayed. I hope he will get a good tion that the game at Yosemite was price for his work when he gets not worth the cost of the candle in back to Boston. bruised limbs, abraded skins, and I can truly say that I never in my perhaps more serious ailments. She life saw a more miserable set of was from New York, and was a tall people than the poor candle-moth and scrawny demoiselle of uncertain tourists who were gathered this sumage, who varied the monotony of the mer in the Yosemite Valley. The trip by spouting Shakespeare out bride from Chicago was stretched of one window and singing "I 'm in her rough bed alarmingly ill, and Bound to be a Butcher" out of the no physician nearer than civilizaother. She was the travelled monkey tion, which seemed so far that we of her admiring friends in the East. surely must all die before we got She was going to have her photoback to it. Her husband, who had graph taken in her Bloomer costume gone to see Mirror Lake, fell off his and her eye-glasses, and send it horse in a swoon, and lay there for home to be worshipped. She scoffed six hours till help came. He was got at scoffers. Why, such heretic senhome with difficulty. The only people timents as these would detract from who really seemed to enjoy themthe value of her glowing report!

How could she gloat over her meek conveyed in these ponderous words stay-at-home friends, saying, "I have from Hutchings's "Guide": been awed - thou hast not been " Few would go to California and towed; I have lost my identity—you have the courage on their return to ' 'have not lost your identity, " if re say they had not been to Yosemite.' ports derogatory to the value of such Unwilling to be placed under the experience were to be put into circulation along with reprehensible Few, Culotion in this ruthless manner? they persist in making the trip, and To California women who think go through the customary suffering nothing of jumping astride an unin consequence. broken horse and riding him bareThe journey across the Plains is back, the trip to Yosemite presents one that every traveller should take. few hardships. I refer to women who The scenery, as viewed from the oblive in the mountain towns, for Caliservation car, is grand, and costs fornia city women are, like most city nothing in the way of bruises, women, dainty and delicate. Very sprains, or torn flesh. The prairie few of these visit Yosemite, believe dogs, the antelope, the different tribes true. For desk-tied students, for pale of Indians who swoop upon every Cough-racked clergymen, for artists train, and invariably beg for "two who want to paint pretty pictures bits" (neither more nor less); the first which will be sure to find sale, the view of Chinese in tremendous num. trip to Yosemite will be a joy forber, the Mormon territory, the eelever; but for women—or even for diers ' camps, the sage deserts, the ordinary men—to run a race for towns built of canvas—all these are pleasure by mounting a hard-trotthe freshest of novelties. Then at the ling mule and trotting over cloudend there is San Francisco — most lopped mountains to this Valley, is curious and interesting of towns— to declare themselves, as Bret Harte with its cold summer breezes which expresses it, very low down indeed compelled me to buy and to wear a In the depths of imbecility. seal-skin, fur-lined jacket in July! The bride from Chicago, I have Also there is Sacramento, capital of since been informed, was removed the State, and the superior of San from the Valley with much difficulty, Francisco in beauty of its private and was obliged to be placed imresidences. There are numerous nmediately in the hands of a surgeon, other towns with names of mellifwho is able to relieve her ailings luous beauty Vallejo, San Jose, with the appliances of science; but Oakland, Los Angeles. Go to all she will never be cured so long as she these; spend your money freely in breathes the breath of this life. Her case is the same as that of many others. Some are not permanently injured, but I have heard of no one who got off quite scot-free. "You'll feel it for a month" cried a San Francisco gentleman to a party of Yosemite tourists who stood on the deck of the steamer bound for Stockton. But they were people from St. Louis, and felt the awful warning. Spend your money freely in California, for they need it, times being hard, and it is better, more fraternal, to give your money to California than to Europe; go to any of the mountain towns where the railroad stops (the railroad, from end to end, is in splendid condition); but don't go to the Geysers, don't go to Lake Tahoe, don't go to Yosemite—in short, never ride of your own free-will in a California stage.

AN INDIAN MEDICINE MAN'S GRAVE LOCATED

By Louis R. Caywood, Regional Archeologist, Pacific Coast Region. National Park Service In late autumn about the year 1875 a small group of Indians from the area near Mono Lake had crossed the Sierra to gather acorns in the Yosemite region. When they had finished they started to return to the east side by coming through Yosemite Valley, but were forced to winter in the valley because of a heavy snowfall. Among this group of mixed Yosemite-Paiute people was an old man named Kosano, or the Torchbearer. He was a small Indian, probably not more than 5 feet tall, and was a medicine man of considerable reputation. More than 80 years old and not too well, he succumbed after the strenuous trip into the valley through the snow. His followers set up camp near the site of the present Yosemite Museum building, where they built their uma-cha with canvas and long slabs of incense-cedar bark. This was the year that the Wawona Road had been completed into the valley. The Indians were helped in their period of distress by some of the white men, who made a fine coffin for the deceased Kosane. With the coffin placed so that his head was directed toward Yosemite Falls, he was buried just south of the large rock that is seen near the southeast corner of the museum. The years passed and this incident was almost forgotten. Kosano had a daughter who had reached the age of about 20 at the time of his death. This was Ta-bu-ce (Maggie Howard), who in later years was to become so well known and beloved for her demonstrations of local Indian culture in the Yosemite Museum wildflower garden during the summers prior to her death in January 1947, in Bishop, California. One day Ta-bu-ce told her niece now Mrs. Alice Wilson, living in Yosemite Valley—that she wanted to show where her father was buried. They came to the rock and Ta-bu-ce pointed out to Alice the place which she remembered was Kosano 's grave. More years passed, and developments and changes were planned for this area. At the present time construction of a new information station and restrooms for park visitors is proposed for the site just east of the museum. Before any such installations are made over old Indian campgrounds, it is highly desirable to test the locations for possible salvage of archeological materials Harwell Ta-bu-ce and her acorn-storing chuck-ah.

and information on the former in habitants. In checking the various projected road and building developments in Yosemite Valley, it was thus decided that some testing should be done in this area adjacent to the museum. It was then that Mrs. Alice Wilson told Park Naturalist Donald McHenry, Mrs. Virginia Adams, and myself that her greatuncle was buried here. On April 19, with two laborers, trial excavations in the entire area were begun, and especially near the large rock. Sure enough, by April 21, beads and human bones were discovered and the grave was located. The wood of Kosano ' s coffin was found to have rotted away except for a few fragments. All that was left were the old cut coffin nails to which bits of wood were clinging because of the preserving effect of the iron oxide. The skeleton had been badly disturbed by burrowing rodents. Beads and bones were scattered all through the dirt. Digging deeper we found an old rusty lock with an eagle design impressed on the brass keyhole cover. A pair of scissors and two thimbles were recovered, and four large abalone pendants and a number of smaller ones along with two nearly complete seashells. The beads which were everywhere were the old glass trade beads so common in early fur-trading days. There were seven different kinds of them and a single bone head. The glass beads probably originated in Europe and China. It is known that beads from Venice and Canton were used by the traders. One of the brass thimbles was filled with a blue paint and the other stuffed with the skin and feathers of a bird. Several large pieces of red ocher—from mines in Nevada, according to Mrs. Wilson—were also Picture: Archeologist Louis Caywood examining grave of Kosano. found in the grave, as well as two charm stones and numerous obsidian chips. The most significant find was an 1870 half dollar minted at San Francisco. This was located just to the right of the head. Mrs. Wilson states that the custom in those days was to put a gold or silver coin over each eye of the deceased. Unfortunately the other coin had been moved by rodents. Since the burial was not completely excavated, the coin probably is still in or near the grave. Both Alice Wilson and her sister Lucy Telles decided it might be better to leave the remains of Kosano in place instead of moving them to the nearby Yosemite Cemetery, since these Indian ladies were assured by Superintendent John Preston that the construction work would not touch the grave. When the new information station is built it is proposed that a plaque be placed on the structure to let the visitor know that the area was formerly an Indian burial ground, and that the remains of Kosano, a Mono Indian medicine man, lie beneath this place.

A SELDOM-OBSERVED FEEDING HABIT OF THE PILEATED WOODPECKER

By Allen W. Waldo, Ranger Naturalist During my residence in Camp 19 doing so it had caused the brand last summer I observed, as usual, a to bend way over in a great arc, sc western pileated woodpecker that the head of berries was now up- (Ceophloeus pileatus). Whenside down. There, also, hung the ever these largest of our woodbird, completely overturned. It was peckers appear, the camp more or reaching its long neck out and less moves out in a body to see around the edge of the berry clumF them. This time I happened to be and was picking them off, one by alone. I watched while the bird deone, as rapidly as it could. It had liberately banged on a tree or pried nearly finished the whole large off great chunks of bark. This is norcluster when its feet suddenly mal procedure, since they are prislipped loose from the stem. This marily insect eaters and search for dropped the bird onto the ground, their food in such manner. back down, amid a great flapping Continuing to observe the bird, I of wings. Fortunately, since the tall was surprised to find that its diet branch was bent almost to the was much more varied than I had ground, it caused the woodpecker no suspected. A feeling that possibly damage, though it also accounted many other persons who admire the for the bird 's lighting on its back bepileated woodpecker may also know fore it could turn over and start to as little about this variability has fly. Apparently this incident made prompted me to record the observerthe woodpecker think better of the tion. whole idea, because it immediately As I watched, the woodpecker took off and flew away, forsaking suddenly flew out of the tree and up the many other large heads of ripe the talus slope behind Camp 19. berries on the bush. There I noted that it attempted to Upon examination of the literature alight upon a blue elderberry bush. I find that other writers have recorded It made several trials, since the long the fact that pileated woodpeckers slender branches bent so far under eat plant food. Most of this information the weight of the large bird. Finally, has come from analysis of stomach however, it succeeded in landing. contents and not from observation From my distant position I saw a of birds actually feeding. I find great thrashing around in the bush also that Charles Michael, a former and decided to get a closer view. resident of Yosemite and a great By keeping a series of large talus student of bird life, in 1928 recorded boulders between me and the bird seeing a pileated woodpecker in of I was able to approach, unseen, to somewhat similar bout with the red within about 15 feet of it. I found that berries of the Pacific dogwood. ' the woodpecker had grasped the These berries are also located at end of a branch just at the base of a the tips of small and supple large clump of ripe elderberries. In branches. *Charles W. Michael. "The Pileated Woodpecker Feeds on Berries," The Condor 30 (2):15 March-April 1928. Cooper Ornithological Club, Berkeley, Calif.

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AN IMPRESSION OF YOSEMITE

By Henryk Sienkiewicz (Great Polish writer and Nobel Prize winner, author of "Quo Vadis," 1846-1916) EDITOR'S NOTE : Recently the Yosemite Museum staff had the unusual pleasure of receiving a letter from Dr. Richard C. Lewanski, of the Polish Department of the U. S. Army Language School in Monterey, Calif. Enclosed was a brief excerpt from the work of a renowned Polish writer, appearing both in his native language and in English translation by Dr. Lewanski, to whom we are grateful for permission to print the translated statement below. Dr. Lewanski explains: Received recently from Poland Listy z Ameryki ("Letters from America") by the famous Polish novelist and author of "Quo Vadis," Henryk Sienkiewicz. I reread it with special interest, As the second volume deals almost entirely with California, Sienkiewicz spent several months in California, and in Mariposa he wrote his short story Wspomnienia z Mariposa ("Remembrances (tonm Mariposa"). Between 1870 and 1880 he used to live in Billings' Hotel there. The purpose of this letter is to share with you a few lines pertaining to Yosemite. I attach them to this titles in Polish original and in English translation. " Yosemite is an artistic dream of blue of the sky, where the trees rise God, where the radiant tresses of the to 400 feet and the earth is subwaterfalls are interwoven with the merged by a flood of blooms; and ribbons of the rainbow, where the divided by a wall of rock start the Mirrors of the lakes capture all the sterile and waterless plains. "