The buzzards in this upper country are just pairing. I have seen three or four couples of the California vulture but have not secured one yet.
The bar which was dug here last year is now under water, but I am told it was very profitable and many made five or six thousand from their summer's work. There are many here waiting for the plains to dry and snows to melt, when Hawkin's celebrated bar may again be worked. While I am here, I may as well try to give an idea of how the work is done. When a spot has been selected the digger opens a pit, ordinarily four to six feet deep, but sometimes only the top soil has to be removed before the digger can commence washing; this depends on whether he comes to soil tenacious enough to hold the gold, and keep it from sinking down through light, sandy, or porous soils, until it meets with a formation which prevents it from going deeper into the earth. Sometimes in such places are found large deposits called "pockets," and doubtless there are still many to be discovered. When suitable soil is found the digger takes a panful for washing, and with doubt and anxiety goes to the nearest water to see if his "hole" will pay. He stirs the earth and sand in his pan around, until all the soluble part floats off over the sides of the pan, which is kept under water; he then begins shaking backwards and forwards with a regular movement what is left in his pan, to settle what gold is in it; the gold sinks and all the lighter gravel is tipped to the sides, and the gold is quite below all except the black sand, so like emery that when the gold is very fine it is a great drawback, and difficult to separate. Should the digger find gold enough to warrant his washing the clay at the bottom of his pit, and thereby gaining half an ounce a day he goes on washing, but grumbles at his hard luck, hoping that as he gets deeper in his hole he will get richer also, and that when he comes to rock, he may find a "pocket." The cradle is set up, the water poured over, and the monotony of the digger's life begins, a sort of voluntary treadmill occupation, until homesick and tired, even if successful, he ties up his wallet which contains his wealth, secretes it about his body, and tramps off. A man who is usually successful, and there are not so many, may have acquired five or six thousand dollars, but he has usually aged ten years.
April 5th. Leaving Hawkin's Bar for Green Springs, we sauntered along the trail under the beautiful post-oaks, just now in their greatest beauty, with leaves half-grown and pendant catkins. Now we shot a partridge or a hare, or stopped to let "Riley," our pack mule, luxuriate in some little patch of rich grass, in which he stood knee deep. Overhead we saw the heavy, sweeping motion of the vulture's wing, or watched his silent circles. Around us are flowers innumerable, brilliant, soft, modest, fragrant, to suit all fancies, till, having finished our eight-mile journey, the sun began to cast its evening light over the landscape, for we had started late. Layton had rejoined me, and we set up our tent and I made a sketch.
April 6th. Four o'clock found us on our way back to Hawkin's, to meet a friend of Layton's, N. Howard, who was to be our companion. It was cloudy but beautiful, and at Wedgewood's tent we found our friend, and shelter, of which we were glad, as rain was beginning to fall and soon came down in torrents, swelling the little brook near the tents to a roaring stream.
April 8th. After being delayed by rain, our trio started for Don Pedro's Bar, eight miles down the Tuolomne. The country to look at is most beautiful, and our short walk was one of pleasure and admiration.
April 9th. This morning we crossed the river and after a trot of about five miles came to the cañon. I made my way to the lower end called Indian Bluff and my sketch was finished by probably five o'clock; but having no watch I cannot tell. Here I saw the nests of the California vulture, but on the opposite side of the river, now an impassable torrent.
The country on the south side of this river, where we are, is very hilly, the soil tolerable, and the trees still post-oak. We leave for Stockton tomorrow.
April 10th. The road was pleasant on our way back to Green Springs and for a mile further, and when evening came we pitched our "line" tent, and commenced cooking our supper. We had a California hare, a mallard and a plover, all killed out of season, but food we must have. Howard boasted of his coffee, Layton is the baker of the mess, whilst I parboiled my slices of pork to rid it of its coarse flavor, fried out the lard, and have turned and re-turned the loin and hindlegs of our hare. "Riley" safely tethered near us had an equally good supper of the grass and flowers that were to be his bed, and we spread our blankets and went to sleep, or rather the other two have done so, and I, writing by the firelight, shall soon follow their example.
April 11th. Our road today was almost the same that I had travelled with the company going from Stockton to Chinese Camp or diggings, but how changed the scene. The road then was soft mud and mire for miles; now it is as hard as brick, and the hills then scarcely tinged with green by the early sprouting vegetation are now fresh and beautiful with every shade of green and brilliant flowers of all colors. At every rise of ground we paused and turned to look back at the range of the Sierra Nevada softening and mellowing in the hazy light of the sun, the brilliancy enhanced by the deepening blue of the distant hills which form the last outline on the eastern horizon.
Here I tried my hand again at oil painting for landscape, but can only blot in what will answer hereafter to give me local color. After painting about three hours we packed up and started again, as there was no water near us, and took our direction westerly. We found the beds of the streams that in January were beautiful little rivulets, now bright sand bleaching in the sun, their waters dried up or only a tiny trickle. As we descended from one table land to another the rich vegetation became broken by spots of barrenness, and at times whole plains of weeds, not strong and rank showing fertile land, but coarse, noxious, ungainly with disgusting smell, extended for three or four miles and we followed the dusty road almost feeling that we were again on our terrible journey through Mexico last summer.