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.



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 furnished each thrice a week—one from Carson City to Glenbrook, the other from Truckee to Tahoe City. (The narrow gauge railway has also established a semi-weekly winter schedule.) The mail boat connects with the incoming sledges and train on Tuesday and Saturday. The route from Carson City, which crosses the heights of the Carson Range, affords a superb view of the Lake at sunset. The route from Truckee traverses the wooded canyon of the Truckee River, when scenically at its best.

The traveler who approaches the Lake by way of Glenbrook and leaves by way of the canyon of the Truckee will have an experience in winter travel both unique and replete with beautiful landscapes.

The journey from Truckee to the Lake can also be made on ski in one short day. It is an exhilarating trip, if one travels light. If one desires to tarry en route, he may carry his blankets and food on his back or haul them on a toboggan, and spend the night at the half-way station, known as Uncle Billy's.

The best time to visit the Lake is after the heaviest of the winter snows have fallen. The period of steady and heavy precipitation occurs in January. After this month is past, there are long periods of settled weather broken only occasionally by storms, which add to rather than detract from one's pleasure.

The special equipment requisite for winter trips to Tahoe is slight. The list includes goggles (preferably amber), German socks and rubbers, woolen shirt, sweater, short heavy coat, and mittens. For mountain climbing a pair of Canadian snowshoes should be added to the equipment; for traveling on the level, a pair of ski can be rented at Truckee or the Lake. If one desires to camp instead of stopping at the resorts around the Lake, a tent and waterproof sleeping bag should be procured.

The cost of transportation in winter is scarcely more than in summer. The sledge trip from either Truckee or Carson City to the Lake is $2.50, an amount only $1.00 in excess of the regular fare by rail. Board will cost no more than in summer.

TRUCKEE

Closely associated with Lake Tahoe as a center for winter sports is Truckee, the natural point of departure for the Lake. Here a winter carnival is held annually for the entertainment of outsiders. Among the chief sports are ski-racing and jumping and tobogganing. The toboggan course is two thousand feet long and has a fall of one-hundred fifty feet. A device is employed for drawing the toboggans back to the starting point. The hotel facilities are ample. Toboggans and ski can be rented for use here or at the Lake. Clothing and other winter outfits can be procured. Canadian snow-shoes, however, must be obtained in San Francisco.



CHAPTER XXXVIII

LAKE TAHOE AS A SUMMER RESIDENCE

One of the most marked differences that the traveler observes between the noted lakes of Europe and Lake Tahoe is the comparative dearth of homes, summer villas, bungalows, residences, on the latter. This is natural. California and Nevada are new countries. They have scarcely had time to "find themselves" fully as yet. It took a thousand years to people the shores of the European lakes as we find them to-day, and in due time Tahoe will assuredly come to its own in this regard. Indeed as John LeConte well wrote a number of years ago:

The shores of Lake Tahoe afford the most beautiful sites for summer residences. When the states of California and Nevada become more populous, the delicious summer climate of this elevated region, the exquisite beauty of the surrounding scenery, and the admirable facilities afforded for fishing and other aquatic sports, will dot the shores of this mountain Lake with the cottages of those who are able to combine health with pleasure. But it must be remembered that the prolonged severity of the winter climate, and especially the great depth of snowfall, render these elevated situations unfit for permanent residences. According to the observations of Dr. G.M. Bourne, during the winter of 1873-74, the aggregate snowfall near the shores of the Lake amounted to more than thirty-four feet. In fact, frequently there are not more than four months in the year in which the ground of the margin of the Lake is entirely free from snow. And the vast gorges which furrow the sides of the surrounding amphitheater of lofty mountain peaks are perpetually snow-clad. Hence, it is unreasonable to assume that many persons besides the wealthy will be able to enjoy the luxury of private residences here, which can be occupied only during the summer months of the year. Nevertheless, when the refinement and taste incident to the development of an older civilization shall have permeated the minds of the wealthy classes of citizens, this charming lake region will not only continue to be the favorite resort of tourists and artists, but will become, during the summer season, the abode of families whose abundant means enable them to enjoy the healthful climate, the gorgeous scenery, and the invigorating sports which lend an inexpressive charm to the sojourn on its shores.

Amidst the magnificent nature that surrounds this region, there should be an inspiration corresponding more or less with the grandeur of the aspect of the material world. The modifications impressed upon the moral and intellectual character of man by the physical aspects of nature, is a theme more properly belonging to those who have cultivated the aesthetic side of humanity. The poet and the artist can alone appreciate, in the fullness of their humanizing influence, the potent effects of these aesthetic inspirations. The lake districts in all Alpine countries seem to impress peculiar characteristics upon their inhabitants.

When quietly floating upon the placid surface of Lake Tahoe, the largest of the "Gems of the Sierra"—nestled, as it is, amidst a huge amphitheater of mountain peaks—it is difficult to say whether we are more powerfully impressed with the genuine childlike awe and wonder inspired by the contemplation of the noble grandeur of nature, or with the calmer and more gentle sense of the beautiful produced by the less imposing aspects of the surrounding scenery. On the one hand crag and beetling cliff sweeping in rugged and colossal massiveness above dark waves of pine and fir, far into the keen and clear blue air; the huge mantle of snow, so cumulus-like in its brightness, thrown in many a solid fold over ice-sculptured crest and shoulders; the dark cathedral-like spires and splintered pinnacles, half snow, half stone, rising into the sky like the very pillars of heaven. On the other hand the waving verdure of the valleys below, the dash of waterfalls, the plenteous gush of springs, the laugh and dance of brook and rivulet as they hurry down the plains. Add to this picture the deep repose of the azure water, in which are mirrored snow-clad peaks, as well as marginal fringes of waving forests and green meadows, and it is difficult to decide whether the sense of grandeur or of beauty has obtained the mastery of the soul.



CHAPTER XXXIX

THE TAHOE NATIONAL FOREST

The Tahoe National Forest was first set apart by proclamation, September 17, 1906. Previous to this there had been the Tahoe and Yuba Forest Reserves which were established by proclamation under the acts of March 3, 1891, and June 4, 1897. The original Tahoe Forest Reserve consisted of six townships along the west side of Lake Tahoe. Part of this territory is now in the Tahoe and part in the El Dorado National Forest. Changes and additions were later made by proclamations of March 2, 1909, and July 28, 1910.

Although Lake Tahoe does not lie within any National Forest it is almost surrounded by the Tahoe and El Dorado Forests. There are a few miles of shore-line on the Nevada side in the vicinity of Glenbrook which are not within the National Forest Boundary.

The gross area of the Tahoe National Forest is 1,272,470 acres. Of this amount, however, 692,677 acres are privately owned. The El Dorado National Forest has a gross area of 836,200 acres with 284,798 of them in private hands. These privately owned lands are technically spoken of as "alienated lands."

The towns of Truckee, Emigrant Gap, Cisco, Donner, Fulda, Downieville, Sierra City, Alleghany, Forest, Graniteville, Goodyear's Bar, and Last Chance, as well as Tahoe City, are all within the Tahoe National Forest.

It is estimated that there are probably 350 people living on the Forest outside of the towns. These are principally miners or small ranch-owners living along the rivers in the lower altitudes.

Slowly but surely the people are awakening to the great value of the natural resources that are being conserved in the National Forests. In the Tahoe Reserve the preservation of the forest cover is essential to the holding of snow and rain-fall, preventing rapid run-off, thereby conserving much of what would be waste and destructive flood-water, until it can be used for irrigation and other beneficial purposes.

Many streams of great power possibilities rise and flow through the Tahoe Forest Reserve, such as the Truckee, Little Truckee, Yuba and American rivers. Working in conjunction with the U.S. Reclamation Service the Truckee General Electric Company uses the water that flows out of Lake Tahoe down the Truckee River for the development of power. The Pacific Gas and Electric Company, of San Francisco, controls the waters of the South Yuba river, and its Colgate plant is on the main Yuba, though it obtains some of its water supply from the North Yuba. Lake Spaulding, one of the largest artificial lakes in the world, is a creation of this same company. It is situated near Emigrant Gap and is used for the development of power.

The Northern Water and Power Company controls the Bowman reservoir and a string of lakes on the headwaters of Canyon Creek, a branch of the South Yuba river. As yet its power possibilities are not developed.

Through the activities of these companies electricity and water for irrigation are supplied to towns and country regions contiguous to their lines, and they have materially aided in the development of the Sacramento Valley.

Only about five per cent. of the Reserve is barren land, and this is mostly situated at a high elevation above timber line. The tree growth is excellent, and under proper direction reproduction could be made all that any one could desire. Fully twenty per cent., however, of the present Reserve is covered with chaparral. Practically all of this originally was timbered. The chaparral has grown up because nothing was done at the proper time to foster reproduction over acres that had been cut. Systematic and scientific efforts are now being made to remedy this condition, the rangers being encouraged to study the trees, gather seeds from the best of their type, plant and cultivate them. Tree cutting is now so regular as to obtain by natural reproduction a second crop on the logged-over areas. Where natural reproduction fails planting is resorted to. Thus it is hoped, in time, to replant all the logged-over areas now owned by the government, serving the double purpose of conserving the water-supply and providing timber for the needs of the future. Much of the timber-land, however, of the Tahoe region, is patented to private owners. Little, if anything, is being done towards reforestation on these private tracts. Legal enactments, ultimately, may produce effective action along this needed line.

As has elsewhere been shown the world owes a debt of gratitude to the Tahoe region. Had it not been for the timber secured so readily from the Tahoe slopes the mining operations of Virginia City, Gold Hill and Dayton would have been seriously retarded and crippled. As it was the Tahoe trees were transferred as mining-timbers for propping up the immense and continuous excavations of that vast series of honey-combings underground, the products of which revivified the gold supply of the world.

Tahoe timber also has contributed much to the upbuilding of the towns and country farms on the whole upper Pacific Coast and interior regions of Northern California, and today much of its timber finds its way to San Francisco and other Pacific Coast markets.

At Floriston, on the Truckee River, a mill is in successful operation, using Tahoe fir for the making of paper. Red and white fir, which are practically useless for lumber, are found to make excellent wrapping and tissue papers, and thus, from being unremunerative products of our forests, become sources of income. After planing off the bark, the wood is made into small chips, about a half inch square, and an eighth of an inch thick. These chips are then "digested" by a process of mixing with acids and cooking, through which it becomes "wood pulp." Different processes produce different pulps, two of which are mixed together, allowed to flow out on a very fine wire screen nine feet wide, revolving at a rate of 300 feet a minute, with a "jigging" movement from side to side. This makes all the fibers lie flat. They are then sent through steel rollers, the water squeezed out, and finally carried over and around twenty-five revolving steam-heated cylinders which completely dry the paper and put the needed gloss or finish on it.

The rainfall on the Tahoe Reserve averages about fifty inches annually, the most frequent rains occurring between October and May. Necessarily there is much snow-fall on the higher regions. Further down the snow disappears in the early spring, say March, but in the upper altitudes it remains until late June, with perpetual snow in the sheltered portions of the topmost peaks.

Agriculture, owing to the average high altitude, is a negligible industry in the Reserve, little more being done than to raise a little fruit, grain and vegetables, mainly for home consumption. Naturally there is a fair amount of grazing, almost the whole area of the Reserve being used for this purpose during the summer months. Many portions of meadow-land are used for dairy-herds, most of the hotels and resorts on and near Lake Tahoe having their own herds and meadows. Bands of beef-cattle are also pastured, together with large bands of sheep, the two kinds of stock often grazing in common, the cattle using the meadows and the sheep the ridges and timber-lands. In taking the trail-rides described in other chapters I invariably came across both cattle and sheep, and all the near-by meadows are occupied by the dairy-herds belonging to the hotels. Patented lands of private ownership within the bounds of the Forest are often also leased to cattle- and sheep-men. Last year it was estimated that there were 47,000 head of sheep, and about 6000 head of cattle on the Reserve. Under the protection of the rangers grazing conditions are rapidly improving, the cattle- and sheep-men being held strictly to certain rules laid down by the Supervisor. Systematic efforts are made to rid the Forest, as far as possible, of predatory animals that kill the sheep, also of poisonous plants which render grazing dangerous.

There are far less cattle on the Sierra ranges in the Tahoe region than there are sheep. During the summer most of the mountain valleys have their great sheep-bands. Many are brought over from Nevada, and far more from the Sacramento Valley and other regions near the Pacific. The feed, as a rule, is good and abundant from the time the snow leaves until the end of September or even later. Though the year 1913 was the third dry season (comparatively speaking) the region had suffered, I found a score or more of meadows in my rambles around Tahoe, where thousands of sheep might have had rich and abundant pasture.