CAVE ROCK, LAKE TAHOE
From photo by Putnam & Valentine, Los Angeles, Cal.
The descent to the lake is somewhat steeper than the western slope, but the road is wide with broad turns and we had no trouble in passing a big yellow car that was rushing the grade with wide-open “cut-out” in a crazy endeavor to get as far as possible on “high.” Coming down to Myers, a little supply station at the foot of the grade, we learned that the Tavern and many other resorts were already closed and decided to pass the night at Glenbrook, about midway on the eastern shore of the lake. For a dozen miles after leaving Myers, our road ran alternately through forests and green meadows—the meadows about Tahoe remain green the summer through—finally coming to the lake shore, which we followed closely for the twenty miles to Glenbrook. Most of the way the road runs only a few feet above the water level and we had many glorious vistas differing from anything we had yet seen. In the low afternoon sun the color had largely vanished and we saw only a sheet of gleaming silver edged with clearest crystal, which made the pebbly bottom plainly visible for some distance from the shore. Here an emerald meadow with sleek-looking cattle—there are many cattle in the Tahoe region—lay between us and the shining water; again it gleamed through the trunks of stately pines. For a little while it was lost to view as we turned into the forest which crowded closely to the roadside, only to come back in a moment to a new view—each one different and seemingly more entrancing than the last, culminating in the wonderful spectacle from Cave Rock. This is a bold promontory, pierced beneath by the caves that give its name, rising perhaps one hundred feet above the water and affording a view of almost the entire lake and the encircling mountains. On the western side the mountains throw their serrated peaks against the sky, while to the far north they showed dimly through a thin blue haze. The lake seemed like a great sapphire shot with gold from the declining sun—altogether a different aspect in color, light and shadow from anything we had witnessed before. We paused awhile to admire the scene along with several other wayfarers—pedestrians, cyclists, and motorists who were alike attracted by the glorious spectacle.
Two or three miles farther brought us to Glenbrook, a quiet nook at the foot of mighty hills, pine-clad to the very summits. The hotel is a large but unpretentious structure directly by the roadside and fronting on the lake. In connection with the inn is a group of rustic cottages, one of which was assigned to us. It had a new bathroom adjoining and there was a little sheet-iron stove with fuel all laid for a fire—which almost proved a “life-saver” in the sharp, frosty air of the following morning. The cottage stood directly on the lake shore and afforded a magnificent view of the sunset, which I wish I were able to adequately describe. A sea of fire glowed before us as the sun went down behind the mountains, which were dimmed by the twilight shadows. Soon the shadows gave place to a thin amethyst haze which brought out sharply against the western sky the contour of every peak and pinnacle. The amethyst deepened to purple, followed by a crimson afterglow which, with momentary color variations, continued for nearly an hour; then the light gradually faded from the sky and the lake took on an almost ebony hue—a dark, splendid mirror for the starlit heavens.
The excellent dinner menu of the inn was a surprise; we hardly expected it in such a remote place. They told us that the inn maintains its own gardens and dairy, and the steamer brings supplies daily. The inn keeps open only during the season, which usually extends from May to October, but there is some one in charge the year round and no one who comes seeking accommodations is ever turned away. Though completely isolated by deep snows from all land communication, the steamer never fails, since the lake does not freeze, even in the periods of below-zero weather. We found the big lounging room, with its huge chimney and crackling log fire, a very comfortable and cheery place to pass the evening and could easily see how anyone seeking rest and quiet might elect to sojourn many days at Glenbrook. But Glenbrook was not always so delightfully quiet and rural. Years ago, back in the early eighties, it was a good-sized town with a huge saw mill that converted much of the forest about the lake into lumber. There are still hundreds of old piles that once supported the wharves, projecting out of the water of the little bay in front of the hotel—detracting much from the beauty of the scene.
We were astir in the morning, wondering what the aspect of our changeful lake might be in the dawning light; and sure enough, the change was there—a cold, steel blue sheet of water, rippling into silver in places. Near the shore all was quiet, not a wave lapping the beach as on the previous night. The mountains beyond the lake were silhouetted with startling distinctness against a silvery sky, and on many of the summits were flecks of snow that had outlasted the summer.
We had thought to go on to Reno by the way of Carson City, but we could not bring ourselves to leave the lake and so we decided to go by way of Truckee, even though we had previously covered the road. It proved a fortunate decision, for we saw another shifting of the wonderful Tahoe scenery—the morning coloring was different from that of the afternoon and evening. We had the good fortune to pick up an old inhabitant of Tahoe City whose car had broken down on one of the heavy grades and who told us much about the lake and the country around it. He had lived near Tahoe for more than thirty-five years and could remember the days of the prospectors and saw mills. Nearly all the timber about the lake is of new growth since the lumbering days. This accounts for the absence of large trees except in a few spots which escaped the lumberman’s ax. Yellow pines, firs, and cedars prevail, with occasional sugar pines and some deciduous varieties. It is, indeed, a pity that Tahoe and the surrounding hills were not set aside as a national park before so much of the country had passed into private hands.
A fairly good road has been constructed for nearly three quarters of the distance around the lake and a very indifferent wagon road from Tahoe City to Glenbrook completes the circuit. The latter we did not cover, being assured that it was very difficult if not impassable for motors. Plans are under way for a new road around the northern end of the lake, which will enable the motorist to encircle this wonderful body of water—a trip of about eighty miles—and will afford endless viewpoints covering scenes of unparalleled beauty. The whole of the road about the lake ought to be improved—widened and surfaced and some of the steeper grades and more dangerous turns eliminated. It might then be the “boulevard” that one enthusiastic writer characterizes it, even in its present condition, but in our own humble opinion it has a long way to go before it deserves such a title.
At the Tavern we reluctantly turned away from the lake—it seemed to us as if we could never weary of its changeful beauty—and for the next dozen miles we followed the course of the Truckee River, at no time being more than a few rods distant from it. It is a clear, swift stream with greenish color tones and was still of fair size, though at its lowest ebb. Our road at times ran directly alongside within a few feet of its banks; again a sharp pitch carried us some distance above it and afforded fine views of valley and river. None of the grades were long, but one or two are steep, exceeding twenty per cent. The railroad, a flimsy, narrow-gauge affair, closely parallels the river and wagon road, but it is kept running the year round and keeps the scanty winter population about Tahoe in touch with the world.
Truckee is a typical wild western village with rather more than its share of saloons. These are well patronized, for there is a large working population in and about the town. It is a railroad division; a saw mill near by employs eight hundred men and a large paper pulp factory nearly as many. All of which contribute to make it a lively place and its Chamber of Commerce has organized a winter Ice Carnival for the purpose of giving those Californians who live on the coast and in the great central valleys an opportunity of seeing what real winter is like and enjoying its sports. The carnival opens on Christmas Day and continues until the middle of March. A huge ice palace is devoted to skating and dancing, while tobogganing, skiing and sleighing are the outdoor amusements. They told us that so far the festival has proven a great success, attracting people from every part of the state.