YOSEMITE VALLEY (from foot of Mariposa Trail).
[CHAPTER XXIX.]
STOCKTON TO THE YOSEMITE.
Here at Stockton, I had expected to find friends from San Francisco, to go through to the Yosemite with me, and return. (Yo-Sem-i-te, big-grizzly bear.) But, instead, I found letters, begging off, on the plea, that it was yet too early in the season to venture there. It was, indeed, rather later than usual; but the previous winter had been a severe one, and in San Francisco, they said, the snow was still too deep on the mountains, to reach the far-famed valley. This was all very well for them, being residents on the Coast. But my official duties there were now substantially over; there was only about a fortnight or so left, before the steamer sailed on which I had engaged passage; and the question with me was, whether now, or perhaps never, to see California's (if not the world's) chiefest wonder. I inquired at the Stockton hotels, but could find no one en route to the Yosemite; and finally concluded I must go alone, or not at all.[27] At last, however, I heard of two Englishmen who had just returned, declaring the route practicable via Coulterville; but alleging they were the only ones, who had been in and out that season. This decided me, especially as I preferred to be on the move, rather than idling in San Francisco until my steamer sailed.
Accordingly, I took the stage early next morning (May 25th) for Coulterville, and reached there the same evening. My design was to go in by the Coulterville route, and come out by the Mariposa, so as to visit the Mariposa Grove of Big Trees also, if possible; but, failing that, to return by Coulterville. The first twenty-five miles of the road from Stockton was through a sea of lordly wheat-fields, like the ride from Sacramento; but, after that we struck the more barren foot-hills, and settlements soon became fewer and poorer. Our general course was up the valley of the San Joaquin and its tributaries—the Stanislaus and the Tuolomne—with the country gradually rising, and the Coast Range looming always grandly against the west. The latter half of the way was dreary and desolate, the arid hills and plains stretching on all sides around; and we hailed with joy the lovely view of the Merced Valley, that betokened our approach to Coulterville. We had several passengers thus far, evidently men intent on mines or other local business, and Coulterville gave us a kindly evening welcome.
The next morning a guide was found, who guaranteed to take me into the valley and back, if I could stand a little rough riding and walking; and after an early dinner we set cheerily out. He could not promise to bring me out by the Mariposa trail, but he would do the best he could, and in this I had faith. The distance to the Yosemite was still some fifty-five miles, too much for one day's journey, and we decided to go no farther than Black's, some eighteen miles on, the first day. The wagon-road terminated practically at Coulterville, and from here we proceeded on horseback, over a wandering mountain trail, that seemed specially designed to bring out all the finest views in the country. My horse was a mustang pony, named Punty, small but sure of foot, and as brave and faithful a little creature as ever lived. The day was glorious. The sky was without a cloud. The atmosphere seemed, indeed, like "wine of airy gold." The pines of the foot-hills and mountains perfumed every breeze, and every sense seemed satisfied and full. As we had ample time, we allowed our horses to take their "own sweet will," and whiled the afternoon away in chat and song. My guide, Capt. Coulter, was a companionable young fellow, who had seen something of army life among the California Volunteers, and we got on together very well.
At Bower Cave, halfway or so along, we halted to give the horses a brief rest, and meanwhile explored the little bijou of a cave there, which is quite perfect in its way. It is a natural cave, several hundred feet in extent, in a limestone bluff there, with a pool of water in one corner, forty feet deep, and clear as crystal. At the bottom of the cave are several petrified trees, while from its mouth uprises a group of stately maples, that spread their umbrageous branches like a canopy over all. At a little distance, they quite conceal the entrance to the cave; but down in the cave, looking up, the light breaks through their multitudinous leaves, and illuminates the cave and pool to the very bottom. Thence, we proceeded on to Black's, in a sheltered nook, well among the mountains, where we found plain but excellent entertainment, and went early to bed, with the roses crowding about our windows, and the irrigating streams that gave life to them murmuring in our ears. Here, as elsewhere in California, irrigation was still essential; but Mr. Black had caught and tamed a mountain rivulet—led it indeed everywhere—and wherever it went, it worked wonders, in that virgin soil and matchless climate.
The next morning, we were up bright and early, though withal a little stiff and sore, and at 6 a. m. were off for the Yosemite again. Like the day before, only hourly more and more so, the trail still wound up, and along, and over the ridges and mountains—now through deep forests of primeval pines, that would be monsters anywhere else, where our horses sank to their fetlocks in mosses of emerald green, and now along some rocky bluff, naked and barren, whence we could gaze for miles on miles across ravine and ridge, wooded mountain and arid plain, to the purple Coast Range beyond. Often I reined Punty in, and gazed with delighted eyes over such glorious scenes and far-away landscapes, as we are never permitted to see East. There was a purity and clearness about the air, that lent long range to the vision; and besides, our elevation above the sea had now become so great, that the foot-hills seemed merged into the plains. At times, there came a feeling of loneliness—only two of us thus together, adrift among the Sierras; but the ever-changing landscape soon banished this again, and throughout the day every sense seemed filled to the utmost. This magnificent horseback ride, through the foot-hills and up the Sierras, over and along their flanks and summits, alone repaid me for all the toil and fatigue of the trip; and then, there was the Yosemite, and other experiences besides.