This is also called the Too-loo-le-wack, or Too-lool-we-ack Fall. The meaning of either of these Indian names is not certainly given. Cunningham, one of the oldest and best guides of the valley, calls the cañon and the fall at the head of it, the El-lil-o-wit. The tourist who attempts this cañon must leave all hoofs behind, and, falling back to first principles, depend entirely upon his own understanding.
Among the enormous masses of rock which obstruct it, several extensive fissures and romantic caverns furnish additional stimulus to the wonder-loving pedestrian. As General Coulter says: "rough is no name for it." It is one of the wildest places imaginable. Few tourists accomplish it, but those who do are amply repaid.
From the foot of the Il-lil-ou-ette Cañon make your way directly east, clamber along half a mile, or let your horse do it for you, then bear away to the right, slightly south of east, and you find yourself entering the cañon of the main Merced itself. Now pick your way carefully along, and, as soon as you feel sufficiently sure of your foothold, look about you, and look ahead. Did you ever see finer boulder-scenery in your life? Stop under the sheltering lee of this huge, church-like boulder, and don the oiled or rubber suit which awaits your hire. You can get on without it, but the spray will quickly wet you into a
"Dem'd damp, moist and disagreeable body,"
if you try it.
Now take a stout stick, a deep breath, hold firmly on to both and plunge sturdily along the ascending trail. The deepest, richest and greenest of moss lines the narrow foot-path on either hand. Look quickly; enjoy it while you may, for presently you find breath and sight nearly taken away together by heavy spray-gusts, rushing, wind-driven, down the cañon. Catching the intervals between, and catching your breath at the same time, you lift your nearly blinded eyes to the
Vernal Fall,
four hundred and fifty feet high, one hundred feet wide, and from three to five feet deep where it breaks over the square-cut edge of the solid granite beneath. The name Vernal was given it on account of the greenness of its water as it plunges over the brink, as well as to distinguish it from the very white fall a mile above. The Indian name was Pi-wy-ack, which is differently translated to mean "a shower of crystals," or "the cataract of diamonds."
This fall pours in one solid unbroken sheet of emerald green, flecked and fringed with creamy foam, and filling the whole cañon below with a thick, and fine and ceaseless spray, which keeps its moss, and grass and foliage of a rich, deep green nowhere surpassed in nature. This spray also combines with the sunshine to develop another and a marvelous beauty. At almost any point along the trail for several rods below the fall, the visitor who is climbing in the morning has only to turn square about to find himself glorified by an exquisitely beautiful circular rainbow surrounding his head like a halo. This rainbow forms a complete circle of so small a diameter that the tourist who views it for the first time involuntarily stretches out his hands to grasp it.
The path is wet and slippery, and the ladder-stairs which carry one up the right-hand face of the cliff, just at the south edge of the fall, are steep and tiresome. But good oil or rubber suits keep out the wet, a good restful pause now and then keeps in the breath, while careful stepping and firm holding on rob the steepness and slipperiness of all their real danger. Scores of ladies go up and come down every season without accident or harmful fatigue.