March 1955

YOSEMITE NATURE NOTES VOLUME XXXIV — NUMBER 3 MARCH 1955

Yosemite Falls, Blowing in the wind —Ansel Adams

"Mountain Hemlock"

THE MONTHLY PUBLICATION OF THE YOSEMITE NATURALIST DIVISION AND THE YOSEMITE NATURAL HISTORY ASSOCIATION, INC.

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

VOL. XXXIV MARCH 1955 NO. 3 TEN DAYS IN THE HEART OF THE SIERRAS

By William S. Rice

EDITOR'S NOTE: The following article by Mr. Rice, whose beautiful block prints grace the walls of the Yosemite Museum, appeared in Young People, published in Philadelphia in 1901. It forms a pleasant contrast to Olive Logan's "Does It Pay To Visit Yosemite?" which we carried as a feature last year. We are grateful to Mr. Rice and to his daughter, Mrs. Dorothy Rice Armato, for sending the article and the original illustrations for use in Yosemite Nature Notes.

I promised myself a trip to the Yosemite Valley but nearly a year elapsed after my arrival in California, before this was realized. Finally, on a hot day in July, I boarded the train at Stockton, where the starting point for the valley is generally made. The ride by rail was chiefly across that vast wheat-covered plain, the San Joaquin Valley, sweeping as far as the eye could reach, and bounded on the east by the delicate blue line of the mountains toward which we are steadily traveling.

Our train finally reached Chinese Station, among the rolling foot-hills, about five o'clock in the afternoon. A three-seated stage was waiting to convey our party ten miles to Priest's Hotel, where we were to stop over for the night. From here we were whirled rapidly over the hills and through primitive mining towns, climbing steep mountains and gazing breathlessly down into deep canyons, where swift-flowing rivers, the Tuolumne and its branches, reflected the grim hills and rays of the setting sun, forming color combinations of indescribable beauty.

The hills became higher, and as twilight deepened around us we were climbing the steepest grade (Priest's Grade) on the road to the top of Priest's Hill. I shall never forget the beautiful moonrise scene that here spread out before us. First, the moon was observed creeping over the ridge, and its rays just illumined the crests of the hills to the north of us, leaving the intervening gaps or canyons in deepest black.

On alighting at the cheerful-looking hostelry on the summit, we were met by a brigade of servants armed with feather dusters, who attacked us and gave us a sound beating, much to our comfort and relief, for the dust is one of the features of the trip.

At six a.m. the start for the valley was made. We had now a distance of forty-five miles to cover by stage in one day. About a mile above Priest's is the mining village of Big Oak Flat, known throughout the world for the large amount of gold secured by the miners in the years 1849 and 1850. Prospecting has been going on everywhere, and not a stone seems to have been unturned in the search for the precious metal. The scenes of "the days of old and days of gold and days of '49'" became familiar to the traveler.

Winding along the summits of the mountains, the road passes many curious trees, pines, oaks with great bunches of mistletoe, forming in many places a festooned archway over the traveler as he drinks in the aromatic pine and fir-laden air. Onward we proceeded among pines, firs, and cedars and at noon reached the little inn known as Crocker's, where we were met again by the feather-duster brigade. After dinner we resumed our journey, and a few hours found ourselves passing through the Tuolumne Grove of Big Trees.

These trees are evergreens, known as Sequoia gigantea, and are found in groves and forest principally in the Sierra Nevadas. They are sheltered by a cinnamon-colored bark, nearly forty inches thick, and which is spongy in texture. These giants are estimated as being the oldest living things on earth, their age having been reckoned from four thousand to six thousand years, from the concentric circles of trees that have been felled. Some of them tower to the enormous height of two hundred and three hundred feet and are from thirty to forty feet in diameter.

One of them, the "Dead Giant," has been hollowed out so that our stage drove right through it! What a peculiar sensation it was as we halted in the heart of the tree and gazed upward at the patch of blue through the opening at the top.

This grove is one of the oldest in California, discovered when miners were in search of precious metals. Here too are numerous other trees — sugar and yellow pines, oaks and cedars, and as we reached the higher altitude, silver firs and Douglas spruce.

The wild flowers along the way were resplendent in their hues of rose, purple, pink, yellow and blue. The Mariposa tulip, the beautiful and fragrant Shasta lily, syringas, and white lupines, wild azaleas and lilacs, all mingling with countless thousands of unfamiliar flowers, formed one immense flower border along our pathway.

The road now winds about the summit and we are aware, by catching a glimpse of a snowy peak, that the highest altitudes have been reached. Pine-laden breezes swept down from the high Sierras, and the ride on down grade has commenced.

Curious, fantastic rocks are pointed out as a turn in the road brings us to the face of a bold precipice, where the whole panorama of the valley is spread out before us. Immediately every tourist exclaims, "Oh my!" and that is all he is capable of. This is known as "Oh my, point," and is three thousand three hundred and fifty-seven feet above the floor of the valley. Trees two hundred feet high look like toy trees in miniature and horses like mere pins. To our left is the noble granite cliff of El Capitan, three thousand three hundred feet high; to our right a filmy thread of the Bridal Veil, three hundred and thirty-six feet in height, creamy in the golden light of the setting sun. At our feet we can trace the windings of the canal Merced, "river of mercy," peacefully flowing and reflecting boulders and trees and the on-looking cliffs.

Our stage now spins along merrily as we descend the slopes of the mountain, winding dangerous curves that fairly make one hold on with might and main. Yet with all we are content, for we are at a loss for words, caring only to let our eyes feast on the ravishing beauty of the scene and to gaze upward to where purple-stained, snow-capped peaks pierce intensely blue skies.

The floor of the valley is reached at last, and here, as we glide along at a gallop, fresh scenes await us. To our left comes a silvery fall, springing from the top of the brow of the cliff. Our guide informs us that "this is the Virgin's Tears." "Why?" someone asked. "Because they're so close to the Bridal Veil," he replied cleverly. As we rounded the bend in the roadway, a scene of unutterable loveliness greeted us — the Great Yosemite Falls, the larger one leaping in steaming spray from the face of the cliff to its first terrace, over a thousand feet below, where it wanders about in a series of cascades until it makes its final plunge to the floor of the valley and joins the waters of the onrushing Merced.

Other curious rocks noticed along the drive to our camp were Three Brothers, Sentinel Rock and Dome and Royal Arches, and the beautiful South or Half Dome with its brow curved with a cap of glittering snow. Our stage finally halted at the camp that was to be our temporary home for a week.

The trail to Sentinel Dome and Glacier Point was one that was much enjoyed by our party. The point is the shelf of rocks overhanging the perpendicular face of a cliff three thousand three hundred feet high. From this point to Sentinel Dome was about one and a half miles, and from the bare, rocky slopes of this promontory we beheld the grandest view of the entire valley. On the very crest of the dome grew a stunted old pine, springing out of the crevice of a rock. How it had managed to exist there was

a mystery to me. It must have attained a great age, for vegetation advances slowly at such altitudes. From this point the whole chain of snow-covered peaks of the high Sierras and their valleys are visible, and furnished to us the clue to the source of the wonderful streams which pour over the mountain walls from such amazing altitudes.

The valley from this point of view was seen to divide into three different canyons, each containing objects of great interest. There was the Tenaya Canyon with Mirror Lake, that gem of the valley, nestling amid the pines, the Little Yosemite with its two falls — the Nevada and the Vernal, and the Illilouette, or South Canyon.

The view from the top of (Yosemite) fall is one of the most impressive I have ever witnessed. The trail leading to the top is very exhausting to ascend, but the view from the brink of the falls amply repays the exertion. It was the last place I visited before leaving the valley. Once there, I crept along a narrow shelf, holding on to an iron railing, got my heels well set in the rocks and proceeded thus until I reached a shelf of overhanging rock at a point close to the over-plunging current. Here one gets a perfectly free view of the frothy white spray that descends in rocket-like streams. About two hundred feet below the brink of the fall is a ledge that breaks the force of the water into countless streams of spray, which, when the light is just right, produces wonderful rainbow effects.

Balanced rocks and overhanging ones are everywhere. One can gain hair-raising glimpses of rushing, thundering torrents and deep canyons if one has the nerve to try the experiment. One place afforded me as thrilling a sight as any I witnessed. We crept close to the edge and lay down, peering over thousands of feet into the yawning abyss straight below us. A draught of cold mountain air blew steadily in our faces from below, adding a thrill of terror to the place.

Two of the features of the valley should never be missed. Those are a trip to Mirror Lake at sunrise and to the Happy Isles, where streams from the different falls meet in cascades, forming numerous wooded isles, a veritable bit of fairyland. Our week in the valley passed all too quickly, and when the time came to bid adieu to those wondrous scenes, we did so with the greatest reluctance.

YOSEMITE BEARS CHIP TEETH!

By Douglass H. Hubbard, Associate Park Naturalist

Campers in Yosemite National Park can tell you that bears will eat almost anything. They also like to chew on wooden signs. But when their destruction of routed wooden directional signs along the park's 700-odd miles of trails began to run into hundreds of dollars, National Park Service officials decided that it was high time that something drastic was done.

There is disagreement as to what makes bears destroy signs. It is not food-hunger old timers say, but rather a resentment of something man-made and carrying a man-smell in a place where, in the bear's opinion, it shouldn't be.

In an effort to learn more of this destructive resentment a series of experimental signs were made in the Yosemite sign shop, using different kinds of wood including redwood, bay, and even native pine gathered from the forest. These were finished in a variety of ways: some were oiled or painted different colors while others were left natural. Placed along a bear trail, all were intact one morning, and all were damaged or destroyed later the same day, apparently through the efforts of a single passing bruin. This let the air out of the theory that it was a specific thing such as a paint smell, a color, or a wood texture that aroused the bear's anger, if anger it be.

The answer seemed to lie in constructing a type of sign which would be harmonious with the surroundings, yet impervious to teeth which can pierce a can of beans as easily as though it were a tube of toothpaste. Signmaker Lee Buzzini and Welder Bill Kirk of the Yosemite National Park staff put their heads together and came up with an idea — why not cut the signs from sheet metal with an oxy-acetylene torch?

Experimental signs were made, but not without trial and error. This included the perfecting by Mr. Buzzini of a method of laying them out in quantity, using a diamond-point vibrating marking machine and a sliding template for outlining the letters on the 1/2-inch steel, which was too smooth for adherence of the soapstone generally used for marking metals. Mr. Kirk is able to cut the new metal signs at the same speed as the routed signs can be made, and the final costs of manufacturing the two types are practically the same.

The metal signs become more attractive as they rust and rust provides a natural maintenance by obliterating man-made initials and other marks. To date not one has been damaged by bears; but there is no way of knowing the inner frustrations the creatures may be suffering!

FORESTA'S YESTERDAYS

By Donald E. McHenry, Chief Park Naturalist

Immediately within the boundary of Yosemite National Park, adjacent to Big Meadows and somewhat above and north of the Arch Rock Entrance Station is a 200 acre tract of woodland which has been subdivided into summer homesites. This development is known as Foresta. Little except promotional material has been written about it, yet the series of events which have taken place here over the intervening years justifies an historical footnote of more than passing interest.

On November 20, 1884, a parcel of 160 acres of the public domain was granted to Thomas A. Rutherford. He died the following year and was buried at Big Meadows. This land was then conveyed to Philippe Proteau, as recorded on January 11, and was subsequently sold to James M. McCauley for $100. To this original 160 acres was added 40 acres from the adjoining McCauley homestead, thus completing the 200 acres that comprise the Foresta subdivision. C. P. Snell and V. W. Loth received title to these 200 acres from Barbara McCauley, who had succeeded to James McCauley's properties through the settlement of his estate.

In 1913 Snell sold this property to B. Davis who decided to make it a summer resort. Apparently he brought the Foresta Land Company into existence. Mr. Davis first built the seven mile road from El Portal to Foresta at a reported cost of $25,000. Because of the need for additional funds to continue the road on to Crane Flat to connect with the old Big Oak Flat Road, Mr. Davis sold his magnesite mines for $20,000. Fred McCauley was engaged as his surveyor.

With the completion of the extended road, Mr. Davis began building a small hotel, community houses, 37 tent houses, a swimming pool, and bath houses. He developed springs and built reservoirs, piping the water to these buildings. This is the Mr. Davis for whom the Davis Road between El Portal and Foresta and the Davis Cutoff between Crane Flat and Big Meadows was named.

A post office known as O-Pim was already available to the subdivision, having been established previously at the adjacent Meyer's homestead in the 1870s or 1880s. It is not known if this post office was still active when Foresta came into existence.

In the early stages of development, Foresta had a strong appeal primarily to people of culture such as university professors, high school teachers and educators in general, because it seemed to promise "seminar discussions under the peacefully thought-provoking surroundings of the primeval forests of Yosemite National Park." This led to the organization of a sort of local summer Chautauqua known as Foresta Summer Assembly, to which as many as five to six hundred people are said to have come. Among the leaders of these meetings were such persons as David Starr Jordan, Jack and Charmion London, George Wharton James, Ellen Beach Yaw, Joaquin Miller, John Muir, Benjamin

Ide Wheeler, then President of the University of California, and many other prominent people. In time the assembly idea failed miserably.

Transportation between El Portal and Foresta was furnished in sightseeing buses which met the visitors at the train at El Portal. The passengers were driven over the "Foresta Triangle" from El Portal to Foresta. From there they traveled through the Merced and Tuolumne Groves of "Big Trees" on to Crane Flat, Gin Flat, down the old Gentry Grade to Yosemite Valley and then back to El Portal.

Since the Foresta project failed to pay off, Mr. Davis abandoned it in 1915 and returned to his home in New York. Three years later an unknown and mysterious character appeared on the scene. This man arrived in El Portal by train and walked to the McCauley ranch where he inquired from Fred the way to Foresta. That evening Fred noticed smoke in the direction of Foresta but did not investigate.

As it was customary for Fred to go down into Yosemite Valley to deliver meat and vegetables which he raised on his ranch, he had agreed to take this man along with him in the morning. For this he used the old Coulterville Road which ran past Big Meadows and the adjacent Foresta. As they rode towards the valley the man informed Fred that the hotel at Foresta had burned the evening before. He said that he had built a fire in the kitchen range and took a walk up to the large reservoir. He reported that when he had returned the hotel was just smouldering ashes. He thought that the stove door had fallen open and had let the fire fall on the floor or something. Well, no one could fool a wise bird like Fred with such a tale as that, so when they reached Yosemite Village Fred reported to Superintendent Lewis what this man had said. The man was arrested and questioned but he insisted that he was telling the truth. Since nothing could be proved against him, after three days he was allowed to go free. There are some who have asserted that this was a premeditated act involving ulterior motives.

In the meantime the Meyer boys at Big Meadows, having noticed the smoke of the burning hotel, went over to investigate. When they reached it they found the hotel completely burned and the fire almost out, but the surrounding trees were on fire and the fire, creeping along the needles, had reached the porch of the cabin then owned by a Mr. Swift. Horace and George succeeded in extinguishing all fires. That there was not a serious forest fire was due to a total lack of any breeze.

One of the lots of the Foresta subdivision which, by generous donation of Professor W. A. Setchell of the University of California, is now in the title of the United States, stands an historical structure of the Yosemite scene. This cabin was constructed in 1874 by George Anderson on land now part of Big Meadows, property of Horace Meyer. George Anderson is noted for the first successful ascent of Half Dome in 1875. Professor Setchell purchased the Anderson cabin from George Meyer and had it removed to the site it now occupies in the Foresta subdivision. The cabin is one of the oldest man-made structures in Yosemite.(1)

Not long after the hotel burned, J. J. Michaelson of San Francisco acquired ownership of Foresta, taking in W. S. Wright, also of San Francisco, as partner. Mr. Wright became the manager of the Foresta Land Company and sole owner in

time. As the project prospered less and less, the Foresta Land Company went out of existence to be followed by a series of operators of one sort or another. None realized enough success to establish the Foresta undertaking as a profitable venture. Today Foresta stands as a monument to past dreams largely unrealized, a forested area with a scattering of summer cottages, a subdivision decidedly less pretentious than originally conceived.

Editor's Note: Part of the above information was furnished by Mrs. N. M. Goodrich of Santa Barbara, and a long-time summer resident of Foresta.

(1) See also "The Historic Anderson Cabin" by Emil Ernst, Yosemite Nature Notes, vol. 33, no. 10, October 1954.

—Anderson Indian mortar holes near Big Meadow in the Foresta region.