The first time that I crossed the Sierras was in early autumn, before the crisp air had begun to clip the leaves, and when Nevada appeared to be swept with a stifling atmosphere; hot, dusty and dreary was the pale sands, and the gray sage-brush was withered as by a simoom’s breath; I wondered why tourists, on pleasure bent, should make such a journey. Then out of the plain of dearth, and up the mountains we sped; suddenly, as it were, the atmosphere grew chill, flakes of snow began to descend; the way led out of hot summer into severe winter, and the landscape became a picture of tumult, mighty, wonderful and picturesque. Then we rolled down the Sierras into a land of indescribable beauty, into a garden as lovely as that of Hesperides—and the answer was plain.
CHAPTER VII.
OUR JOURNEY THROUGH PICTURESQUE REGIONS OF THE NORTHWEST.
HIGH SIERRAS AND SUSIE LAKE, AN ARM OF LAKE TAHOE.
Winter had been spent in the vernal climate of New Mexico, Arizona and California, and we had so nicely calculated our work that when April arrived we were ready for explorations in northern fields. Accordingly, early in that month, we took our departure from San Francisco, over the California and Oregon Railroad (property of the Southern Pacific), to photograph the natural wonders of the extreme northwest. The road which we had thus selected is one of the most charmingly picturesque in America, abounding as it does with an infinite variety of beautiful valleys, leaping cascades, roaring waterfalls, snow-capped mountains, and abysmal cañons that are wrapped in eternal darkness.
After leaving Sacramento, the route follows the Sacramento Valley, through a marvelously fertile district, cleft by an exquisite stream that bellows, gushes, gurgles and rambles in a devious way from summerless peaks, through blossoming vales, and down mellow meadows, until it drops into the arms of the sea.
