California_, and henceforth the days and nights of spring, summer,
fall and winter will never seem quite the same to you.

Merely as a sample, the balance of this chapter is devoted to the trip
made in the fall of 1913 with Watson from Tahoe Tavern.

*       *       *       *       *

TO HELLHOLE AND THE RUBICON RIVER

I certainly think I can conjecture with accuracy the way it received
its name. The trails in and out were first made and used by the wild
animals--bear, deer, antelope, mountain lions, etc., then by the first
Americans--the Indians, and at last, by the white man. Undoubtedly the
first whites to come over the trails were miners from the Georgetown
and Placerville districts, lured by the marvelous discoveries of the
Comstock lode in Virginia City. Then in 1862-3 came the Squaw Valley
stampede and this "strike" being so much nearer than the Comstock
naturally attracted much attention, especially as the California mines
of the Sierra Nevada were becoming less profitable. One of these old
miners, whose language was more luridly picturesque than refined, on
coming into the region or going out of it,--when he struck the rough,
rugged, uncertain, rocky, and exceedingly steep grade, must have
called it a "hell of a hole" to get into or out of, and in future
references the name stuck until, at last, it was passed down to future
ages on the maps of the U.S. Geological Survey as the true and correct
name.

[Illustration: Angora Lake, near Lake Tahoe, Calif.]

[Illustration: GLENBROOK ON THE NEVADA SIDE OF LAKE TAHOE]

[Illustration: THE STEAMER _TAHOE_, AT THE WHARF, JUST BEFORE
STARTING AROUND THE LAKE]

But if the reader thinks the name in the slightest degree
characteristic of the place itself he never made a greater blunder.
Instead, it is a paradise of delightful surprises. A large, fairly
level area--hundreds of acres at least--through which runs the clear
and pellucid waters of the Rubicon River on their way to join those of
the American, and dotted all over with giant cedars, pines, firs and
live oaks, with tiny secluded meadows, lush with richest grasses,
it is a place to lure the city-dweller for a long and profitable
vacation. Whether he hunts, fishes, botanizes, geologizes or merely
loafs and invites his soul, it is equally fascinating, and he is
a wise man who breaks loose from "Society"--spelled with either a
capital or small letter--the bank, the office, the counting-house,
the store, the warehouse, the mill, or the factory, and, with a genial
companion or two, buries himself away from the outer world in this
restful, peaceful, and God-blessed solitude.

When I first saw it I exclaimed: "Hell Hole? Then give me more of it,"
and instead of hastening on to other places of well-known charm,
I insisted upon one day at least of complete rest to allow its
perfection to "seep in" and become a part of my intimate inner life of
remembrance.

It was under Bob Watson's efficient guidance I left Tahoe Tavern, for
a five day trip. We took a pack-horse well laden with grub, utensils
for cooking and our sleeping bags. Riding down the Truckee, up Bear
Creek, past Deer Park Springs, I was struck more forcibly than ever
before by the marvelous glacial phenomena in the amphitheater at the
head of the canyon through a portion of which the trail passes, and
also with the volcanic masses that rest upon the granite, mainly on
the right hand side of the pass. Its first appearance shows a cap
of from two hundred to three hundred feet in thickness; later on two
other patches of it appear, the upper one presenting the granite and
superposed granite on the same level, clearly indicating a channel of
early erosion filled up by the later flow of volcanic matter.

Passing by Five Lakes and down Five Lake Creek to its junction with
the canyon down which we had come from the Little American Valley, we
were soon headed down the creek for the Rubicon. To the right towered
Mt. Mildred (8400 feet), on the other side of which is Shank's Cove.
Shank was a sheep-man who for years ran his sheep here during the
summer, taking them down to the Sacramento Valley in winter. After
passing several grassy meadows, cottonwood groves, and alder thickets
we reached Bear Pen Creek, a rocky, bone-dry crossing, nine miles from
the divide. To the left, Powder Horn Creek comes in, which heads on
the northwestern slope of the ridge, on which, on the southern side,
Barker Creek has its rise. It received this peculiar name from the
fact that General Phipps, from whom Phipps Peak is named, was once
chasing a bear, when suddenly the infuriated animal turned upon him,
made a savage strike at him with his paw and succeeded in knocking the
bottom out of his old-fashioned powder-horn.

Further down we came suddenly upon a hawk who had just captured a
grouse, and taken off his head. As the bird dropped his prey on our
approach we took it as a gift of the gods, and next morning, with two
or three quail, it made an excellent breakfast for us.

Nearing the descent into Hell Hole we gained striking glimpses of a
great glacially-formed valley in the mountains on the farther side,
while a ridge to our left revealed a cap of volcanic rock apparently
of columnar structure and extending from the eastern end half way the
length of the ridge.

Watson assured me that here he has found herds of sixteen and nineteen
deer, on separate occasions. They seem to follow, in the early spring,
the line of the melting snow. At this time they are tame and fearless,
and will stand and look at you with surprise and impatience. They
seldom run away. On one occasion he came upon a doe and two fawns
not far from the brink or ridge of Hell Hole. He was close upon
them before he was aware, but stopped suddenly. The doe saw him, but
instead of turning to flee she stood and impatiently stamped her
foot several times. Then as he seemed to pay no attention and to
be harmless, she and her young began to graze again, and shortly
disappeared.

Before long we arrived at what may be called the "jumping-off place."
In reality it is a steep descent into the depths of a wide canyon,
but earth has so lodged in the rocky slopes that they are covered with
dense growths of trees and chaparral, so that it is impossible to
see very far ahead. Down, down, down we went, winding and twisting,
curving around and dodging, but getting deeper with every zig-zag
until almost as suddenly as we began the steep descent we found
ourselves on a fairly level platform. Hell Hole was reached.

The day spent here was a delightful one. While Watson fished I wrote,
loafed, rambled about, studied the rock formations, and wished for a
week or more instead of a day.

Next morning we struck into the canyon of the Rubicon River, for Soda
Spring, half a mile away, where salt and soda exude in such
quantities as to whiten the rocks. Here the deer, bear, grouse, quail,
ground-hogs, and other creatures come for salt. Indeed, this is a
natural "salt lick," and there are eight or ten piles of rock, behind
which Indian and white hunters used to watch for the coming of the
game they desired to kill. Twenty years ago one could get game here
practically every day. The Washoes used to descend the western slope
as far as this; the men for deer, the women for acorns, though they
had to be on the alert as the Sierra Indians resented their intrusion.

Right and left as we rode on there were great "islands" of granite,
fifty to one hundred feet high, masses that either had been hurled
from the heights above in some cataclysm, or planed to their present
shape by long-forgotten glaciers. These granite masses alternate with
flower and shrub-bestrewed meadows that once were glacial lakes.
At times we found ourselves in a dense forest where the trees were
ancient monarchs, whose solitudes had never been disturbed by stroke
of ax, or grate of saw. Clumps of dogwood and chaparral of a dozen
kinds confuse the tyro, and he loses all sense of direction. Only the
instinct that makes a real mountain and forest guide could enable
one successfully to navigate these overgrown wilds, for we were now
wandering up a region where trails had been abandoned for years. Here
and there, when we came to the rocky slopes "ducks"[2] in confusing
variety were found but scarce a sign of a trail, and the "blazes"
on the trees were more confusing than if we had been left to our own
devices.

Yellow jackets' nests hung from many branches, and we were now and
then pestered by the flying creatures themselves. Then we had a good
laugh. Our pack-horse, Shoshone, got between two trees. His head could
pass but his pack couldn't, and there he stood struggling to pull
through. He couldn't do it, but stupidly he would not back up.
Talk about horse-sense! A burro would have backed up in a minute,
but most horses would struggle in such a place until they died.

[Footnote 2: _Ducks_ are small piles of stone so placed as to
denote the course of the trail.]

Near here there came into sight a granite ridge between the Rubicon
and Five Lake Creek. This grows higher until it becomes quite a
mountain, between Five Lake Creek and Barker Creek. On the right
McKinstry Peak (7918 feet) towered up, with its double top, leading
the eye along a ridge of red granite rock to Red Peak.

About three miles up the canyon we found a number of rocky basins in
the course of the Rubicon with water, eight, ten and more feet deep in
them, temptingly suggesting a plunge. I didn't need much tempting,
and as quickly as I could disrobe I had plunged in. What a cold,
invigorating shock it was. There's nothing like such a plunge for
thoroughly arousing one and sending the blood quickly coursing through
his veins.

Nearby were great beds of brake-ferns, four and five feet high, groves
of immense alders, sugar pines, some of which were fully eight feet
through and the trunks of which were honeycombed with woodpecker
holes. I saw and heard several woodpeckers at work. They had red
top-knots, and the noise they made echoed through the woods more as if
a sledge hammer had struck the tree than the bill of a bird. How they
climb up the trunk of the trees, holding on in a mysterious fashion
and moving head up or down, as they desire, with jerky little pulls,
bobbing their heads as if emphasizing some remarks they were making to
themselves.

And what ideal spots for camping-out we passed, shady trees, nearby
meadows, to give abundant feed for the horses, the pure waters of the
Rubicon close by, with scenery, trees, flowers, animals, birds--all
the glory of nature--surrounding one with objects of delight, interest
and study.

One large area was strewn with hundreds of thousands of the big
long cones of the sugar pine. When one wishes to pack and ship home
specimens of these and other cones, it is well to soak them in water.
They then close up and carry safely, opening up as before, as they dry
out.

Then we passed some giant "wind falls," mainly spruces. The roots of
these monarchs of the forest had twined themselves around rocks of
every size and shape, some of them massive bowlders, but when the
storm came, the purchase, or leverage of the tall trees was so great
that these heavy rock-masses were pulled out of place and lifted up as
the trees crashed over to their fall.

Now we came to a stretch of perfect virgin forest. No ax, no saw, no
log chutes, no wagons, no dragging of logs, no sign of the hand of
man. Nature was the only woodsman, with her storms and winds, her
snows and rains, to soften the soil and uproot her growing sons and
daughters. There was confusion in places, even rude chaos, but in
and through and above it all a cleanness, a sweetness, a purity, a
grandeur, harmony, glory, beauty and majesty--all of which disappear
when destroying man comes upon the scene.

About five miles up, we left the Rubicon and struck up toward Barker
Creek. Here was another of the great, tempting granite basins, full of
clear cool water. We also passed patches of belated scarlet larkspur,
shooting stars, and glaring golden-rod.

Half a mile up we reached Barker Creek, now a bowlder-strewn arroyo
which aroused my covetousness to high degree. How I would love to
build, with my own hands, a cottage, bungalow or house of some kind
with these great bowlders, of varied sizes and colors, shapes and
material.

Just above the junction of Barker Creek and the Rubicon is "Little
Hell Hole," a camping-place almost as famous as its larger namesake,
and noted for the fact that half a mile away is a small canyon full of
mineral springs--sulphur, iron, soda, magnesia, etc. Naturally it is a
"deer-lick," which makes it a Mecca during the open season to hunters.
The springs bubble up out of the bed of the stream, the water of which
is stained with the coloring matter. When the stream runs low so that
one can get to the springs he finds some of them as pleasant to the
taste as those of Rubicon and Glen Alpine.

As we got higher we left the spruces behind, and the junipers, covered
with berries, began to appear. Then we came to open spaces where the
wind began to sing in the tops of the pines.

About a mile up Barker Creek, Watson showed me the course of one of
his trails back to the Tavern. It ascends a formidable ridge and leads
quickly to Idlewyld, but we were bound for Rubicon Springs. The old
trail was inaccessible, but Mr. Colwell of the Springs had lately
marked out a new trail, so we took our chances on finding our way
somehow. Over windfalls, up and down and around rocky promontories,
we came to West Meadow Creek Wash, its rude bowlder-strewn course
striking directly across our path. Here we struck beds of brakes
nestling in the shade of giant trees. On the left side of the creek
where we were, we ran into dense clumps of wild-cherry which prevented
further progress. Scouting found us an outlet on the other side of
Barker Creek. The divide on the left towered up with rugged majesty,
reddish in color, and split into gigantic irregular terraces, the
taluses of which were all crowded with dense chaparral growths.

On this side the slopes were all more open, nothing but rugged
bowlders clinging on the bare surfaces.

How enjoyable was this forcing our way along through these solitary
wilderness places, so that I was really sorry when we finally dropped
over a forested slope into the Rubicon Springs and McKinney's Road. A
mile away we found the hotel, with Mr. and Mrs. Colwell. The buildings
are old but all nature is gloriously grand and beautiful.

Though cordially invited to stay overnight, we pushed on over the
Rubicon River, up the hill on part of the Georgetown road for a
mile and a half,--from which we had a fine view of Buck Island
Lake,--struck the trail for another mile and in the early afternoon
made camp at Rock Bound Lake. Here we rowed and swam, studied the
country from the nearby hills, and then slept the sleep of the
healthfully weary under the blue vault of heaven.

Though Rubicon Springs was not far away there was such an air of
quietude in this spot that we felt as if we were in one of Nature's
choicest retreats.

Returning to Rubicon we followed the road back to where we had struck
it the day before. The old trail from McKinney's used to come over the
divide from the east and strike the Rubicon near where we then stood,
pass by the Springs and then follow the river, but to avoid the steep
grades the road had to be constructed around by Buck Island Lake.

Those who ride into Rubicon Springs from McKinney's, just as they make
the last descent, have a wonderful view of Georgetown Mountain before
them. Its sloping side is glacially planed off at a steep angle, and
it reveals the vast extent the great ice field must have covered in
the days of glacial activity. Many bowlders near the Springs are very
strongly marked by glacial action.

About a mile from the Springs we came to a tree on which a "cut-off"
sign was placed. When the road was being constructed the builders
started a new grade at this point and after going for a mile or so
found it was so steep that it had to be abandoned and a lesser grade
found by going around.

From the summit we could clearly follow the course of the Little
Rubicon, and also secured an excellent view of the sharp point of
Rubicon Peak (9193 feet).

A stiff and cool breeze was blowing from the west so we were not sorry
to find shelter from the wind as we entered a wooded park, where the
song of the pines cheered us on our way. Soon we struck the road and
followed it until we came to the headwaters of Miller's Creek on the
right. Miller used to run sheep up in the meadows, which afford a
smooth grade for the road for some distance. There are many alders
here, which bear mute though powerful testimony, in the shape of their
gnarled and bent over ground-groveling trunks, of the heavy winters'
snows.

These meadows clearly were once glacial lakes, now filled up, and
Miller's Creek was the instrument of their destruction. Crossing the
last of the meadows we came to Burton's Pass, so called from H.D.
Burton, another Placerville pioneer who used to cut hay here, pack it
on mules to McKinney's, and then ship it across to Lakeside, where he
sold it for $80 to $100 a ton. We then passed McKinney's old cabin,
the place he built and occupied in 1863, before he went to live at the
Lake. Only a few fragments now remain, time and storms having nearly
completed the work of destruction.

Nearby was a beautiful lily pond, soon to be a meadow, and just beyond
this we stood on the actual divide between the Great Basin and the
Pacific. We were at the head of Phipps Creek, named on the map General
Creek, from General Phipps. At the mouth of the creek this pioneer
located on 160 acres, which, when he died about 1883, was sold to M.H.
de Young, of the _San Francisco Chronicle_. After holding it for
many years he sold it in turn to I. Hellman, the banker, who now uses
it as his summer estate, having built a fine residence upon it.

Near here we lunched at a sheep-herder's camp and heard an interesting
story of the relocation of an old mine that had helped create the
Squaw Valley excitement forty years before. Owing to new and improved
methods of extracting the precious metal it is now deemed that this
may soon develop into a paying property.

Returning to the road we passed Jock Ellis's cabin, in a similar state
of ruin to that of McKinney. Ellis Peak (8945 feet) is named after
him. He was a Squaw Valley stampeder. Nearby we saw the largest
tamarack I have yet found in the Sierras. It was fully five feet
through and fluted in an interesting and peculiar fashion.

From here we made a mile detour to visit Hank Richards Lake, a
beautiful crystal jewel in an incomparable wooded setting. Then
back to Phipps Creek, over a perfect jumble of granite bowlders and
tree-clad slopes until we finally struck the trail and followed it to
the Lake, and thence home to the Tavern.

The reader should observe that in this, as in the chapter on "Trail
Trips," only a sample is given of a score or more of similar trips.
His host at any of the hotels can suggest others equally interesting.




CHAPTER XVII

HISTORIC TAHOE TOWNS


There have been only three towns on the immediate banks of Lake Tahoe,
viz., Tahoe City, Glenbrook and Incline, though Knoxville was located
on the Truckee River only six miles away.

_Tahoe City_. Tahoe City was founded in 1864 at the collapse
of the Squaw Valley mining excitement, the story of which is fully
related in another chapter. Practically all its first inhabitants
were from the deserted town of Knoxville. They saw that the lumbering
industry was active and its permanence fully assured so long as
Virginia City, Gold Hill and other Nevada mining-camps remained
profitable. The forests around the Lake seemed inexhaustible, and
there was no need for them to go back to an uncertainty in the placer
mines of El Dorado County, when they were pretty sure to be able
to make a good living here. They, also, probably exercised a little
imagination and saw the possibilities of Lake Tahoe as a health and
pleasure resort. Its great beauty must have impressed them somewhat,
and the exploitation of these features may have occurred to them.

Anyhow, in 1864, the Bailey Hotel was erected, and, later, a man
named Hill erected the Grand Central. The Squaw Valley excitement had
attracted a number from the Nevada camps, and when these men returned
they took with them glowing accounts of the beauty of Lake Tahoe, and
of the fishing and hunting to be enjoyed there. Thus the Lake received
some of its earliest resort patronage. During lumbering days it was an
active, bustling place, being the nearest town to which the loggers,
drivers, tree-fellers, millmen and others could flee for their weekly
recreation and periodic carouses. Yet it must not be thought that the
town was wholly given over to roughness. Helen Hunt Jackson, a widely
traveled and observant woman of finest susceptibilities, says of the
Lake Tahoe House, which she visited in stage-coach days, that it was
"one of the very best in all California." It was the stopping-place of
the _elite_ who came to see and enjoy Tahoe, and until later
and more fashionable hotels were built around the Lake enjoyed great
popularity.

As soon as the logging industry declined Tahoe City began to go down,
and only the fishing and tourist interests kept it alive.

When the railway was moved over from Glenbrook and the shops and yard
of the Transportation Company were established here it regained some
of its former activity and life, and is now the chief business center
on the Lake. It is the headquarters of the campers who come for
pleasure each year, and its store does a very large and thriving
business. New cottages are being erected and it is destined ere long
to be a stirring pleasure resort town, for, as the delights of Tahoe
become more widely known, every available piece of land will increase
in value and where there is now one summer home there will be a
hundred.

_Glenbrook_. On the Nevada side of the Lake, Glenbrook used to be
one of the most active, busy, bustling towns in the west. It scarcely
seems credible to one who visits the quiet, placid resort of to-day
that when I first saw it, some thirty years ago, it had three or
four large sawmills in constant operation, day and night. It was then
regarded, and so designated in the _History of Nevada_, published
in 1881, as "the great lumber manufacturing town of the state."

The town was begun in 1860, the land being squatted upon by G.W.
Warren, N.E. Murdock, and R. Walton. In 1861 Captain A.W. Pray erected
a saw-mill, run by water-power, but as water sometimes failed, when
the demand for lumber increased, he changed to steam-power. He also
secured a thousand acres, much of it the finest timber land, from the
government, using in its purchase Sioux Scrip.

Up to 1862 the only way to travel from California to Carson and
Virginia City, south of Lake Tahoe, was by the Placerville road which
came by Bijou and Lakeside and then over the Kingsbury Grade, via
Friday's Station, afterward called Small's, by which latter name it
is still known on the maps of the U.S. Geological Survey. In 1862,
however, a new road was projected, branching off to the northwest
(the left) from Small's, and following the eastern shore of the Lake,
passed Zephyr Cove and Cave Rock to Glenbrook, thence by Spooner's
and down King's Canyon to Carson. This was called the Lake Bigler Toll
Road (notice the fact that "Tahoe" was then officially designated in
Nevada as "Bigler"), and was completed in 1863.

This demanded the opening of a better class of hotel for travelers
and others in Glenbrook, and in the same year the road was finished
Messrs. Winters and Colbath erected the "Glenbrook Hotel," which
finally came into the hands of Messrs. Yerington and Bliss, who,
later, were the builders of the railway, the owners of most of the
surrounding timberlands, and who had practical control of the major
portion of the lumber interests. But prior to this a lumber-mill was
built by J.H.F. Goff and George Morrill in the northern part of the
town. This did a good business, for even in those early days common
lumber was worth $25.00 per thousand feet, and clear lumber, $45.00.
The mill was soon destroyed by fire, but the site was bought by A.H.
Davis and Son, who erected a new mill, which they operated for a
while and then sold to Wells, Fargo & Co. It was not until 1873 that
Yerington & Bliss came to Glenbrook. They revolutionized the lumber
industry. While Captain Pray had long used a steam tug to raft logs
across Lake Tahoe, the lumber itself was hauled down to Carson and
Virginia City. Now, owning large areas of timberland, operating two
and then three saw-mills in Glenbrook, and several others in the
nearby mountains, Messrs. Yerington & Bliss sought easier means of
transportation for their merchandisable product. They constructed
dams and reservoirs, with V flumes in a number of places, making
them converge as near as possible at the Summit, some six miles from
Glenbrook. To this point they built a narrow gauge railway for the
purpose of transporting the millions of feet of lumber sawn at their
mills.

From Summit a large V flume was constructed down Clear Creek Canyon
into Carson City, and into this flume a constant stream of water was
poured from the reservoirs which carried upon its bosom another stream
of boards, timber, studding, joists and sheathing, the two streams
emptying simultaneously just outside of Carson City at a point on the
Virginia & Truckee railway, where the lumber was loaded and thence
shipped to its place of consumption.

That tremendous amounts of lumber were being manufactured is shown
by the fact that the official records of Douglas County, Nevada, for
1875, give 21,700,000 feet as the product for that year.

One department of the lumber business should not be overlooked in this
connection. As the timber disappeared from the mountain slopes nearest
Glenbrook, the operators were compelled to go further afield for their
logs. These were cut on the mountain slopes north, south, east and
west, and sent down the "chutes" into the Lake. Where the ground was
level great wagons, drawn by ten, sixteen, twenty oxen, hauled the
logs to the shore, where they were dumped into the water. Here they
were confined in "booms," consisting of a number of long, thin poles
fastened together at the ends with chains, which completely encircled
a "raft" of logs arranged in the form of a V. The raft was then
attached, by strong cables, to a steamer and towed to Glenbrook, where
the mills were so located that the logs were drawn up from the Lake
directly upon the saw-carriages. The size of some of the rafts may be
imagined when it is known that they yielded from 250,000 to 300,000
feet of lumber.

The principal vessel for this purpose at the time I first visited Lake
Tahoe in 1881 was an iron tug, called the _Meteor_. It was built
in 1876 at Wilmington, Delaware, by Harlan, Hollingsworth & Co., then
taken apart, shipped by rail to Carson City and hauled by teams to
Lake Tahoe. It was a propeller, eighty feet long and ten feet beam,
and cost $18,000.

The first store erected in Glenbrook was placed on piles over the
water. This was built in 1874, by J.A. Rigby and A. Childers. One
morning the latter partner disappeared, and it was surmised that he
had fallen into the water and was drowned. New partners were taken
into the firm, but in January, 1877, the store was burned, and it was
not re-erected on its original site.

When the lumber interests and the railway were removed Glenbrook
declined, until it was the most deserted looking place possible. Then
the sons of Mr. Bliss, one of whom was born there, cleared away all
the evidences of its former lumbering activities, built a handsome and
commodious modern hotel on the most scenic point, and re-established
the place as a choice resort on the Nevada shore, as described
elsewhere.

_Incline_. It will be a source of interest, even to many who know
Lake Tahoe well, that there used to be a town named Incline on its
shores. In the curve of Crystal Bay, a few miles from where the scars
show where the water escaped from Marlette Lake flume, this town
was located in 1882. It was the source of supplies for the lumbering
interests of the Sierra Nevada Wood and Lumber Company, and received
its name from a sixteen-hundred feet incline up which lumber was
hauled. The incline was operated by an endless cable, somewhat after
the style of Mount Lowe, in Southern California, the car on one side
going up, and on the other coming down one trip, and _vice versa_
the next. The lumber thus raised was thrown into the flume, carried
therein around to Lake View, on the line of the Virginia and Truckee
railway, there loaded on cars and shipped to Carson and Virginia,
largely for use in the mines.

When the logging interests were active the place had quite a
population, had its own post-office and was an election precinct. When
the logging interests waned the town declined, and in 1898 the post
office was discontinued. Now nothing remains but the old incline,
grown up with weeds and chaparral. New towns are springing up at Al
Tahoe, Lakeside and Carnelian Bay which will soon demand a revision of
this chapter.

[Illustration: Lake Tahoe from Tahoe Tavern]

[Illustration: Steamer Tahoe Rounding Rubicon Point, Lake Tahoe]

[Illustration: McKinney's and Moana Villa, With Rubicon Peaks
in the Distance, Lake Tahoe]

[Illustration: Steamer Landing, McKinney's, Lake Tahoe]




CHAPTER XVIII

BY STEAMER AROUND LAKE TAHOE


The ride around Lake Tahoe is one of varied delights, as the visitor
sees not only the Lake itself from every possible angle, but gains an
ever shifting panorama of country, and, more remarkable than all, he
rides directly over that wonderful kaleidoscope of changing color that
is a never-ceasing surprise and enchantment.

Tahoe Tavern is the starting point of the ride, the train conveying
the passenger directly to the wharf from which he takes the steamer.
Capt. Pomin is in control.

Not far from where this, the most beautiful and charming hotel of the
Lake is erected, there used to be a logging camp, noted as the place
from which the first ties were cut for that portion of the Central
Pacific Railroad lying east of the summit of the Sierras. A number of
beautiful private residences line the Lake for some distance, the area
having been portioned out in acre and half-acre lots. Chief of these
are the summer home of Professor W.T. Reid, for a time President of
the State University of California, and Idlewyld, the residence of Mr.
and Mrs. Frederick Kohl, of San Francisco.

One of the oldest villas of this portion of the Lake used to be owned
by Thomas McConnell, of Galt, and it was his daughter, Mary, who first
made the ascent of one of the peaks now known as Maggie's Peaks, as a
marble tablet placed there testifies.

In the mountains beyond are Ward's Peak (8665 feet) to the right, and
Twin Peak (8924) to the left, from the first of which heads Ward's
Creek, and the second Blackwood Creek, both entering the Lake two
miles or so apart. Just beyond Twin Peak are Barker's Peak (8000
feet), and nearer to the Lake, Ellis Peak (8745 feet), the waters from
the former making the South Fork of Blackwood Creek. Ellis Peak, being
easily reached by a good trail, is the common point of ascent from
Homewood, McKinney's, Tahoe Tavern and other resorts.

Six miles out from the Tavern, the first stop is made at Homewood, one
of the newer resorts.

Three and one-half to four miles further along is McKinney's, one of
the oldest, best known and well established resorts on Lake Tahoe. It
was founded by J.W. McKinney, who was first attracted to this region
by the Squaw Valley excitement. (See special chapter.) For a time in
1862-3 he sold lots on the townsite of Knoxville, then when the
bottom dropped out of the "boom" he returned to Georgetown, engaged in
mining, but returned to Tahoe in or about 1867, located on 160 acres
on the present site and in 1891-2, after having erected two or three
cottages, embarked fairly and fully in the resort business. For
several years his chief patronage came from the mining-camps, etc.,
of Nevada, Gold Hill, Virginia City, Dayton, Carson City, Genoa, etc.
They came by stage to Glenbrook and thence across the Lake, on the
small steamer that already was doing tourist business in summer and
hauling logs to the lumber mills in winter and spring. Thus this
resort gained its early renown.

The bottom of the Lake may be seen at a considerable depth near
McKinney's, and looks like a piece of mosaic work. The low conical
peak, back of McKinney's is about 1400 feet above the Lake and used to
be called by McKinney, Napoleon's Hat.

The next stop of the steamer is quite close to McKinney's, viz.,
Moana Villa, and a mile or so further on at Pomin's, the former an old
established resort, and the latter an entirely new one. After passing
Sugar Pine Point, Meek's Bay and Grecian Bay are entered. These two
shallow indentations along the shore line are places where the color
effects are more beautiful than anywhere else in the Lake, and vie
with the attractions of the shore in arresting the keen attention of
the traveler. Meek's Bay is three miles long, and, immediately ahead,
tower the five peaks of the Rubicon Range, some 3000 feet above
the Lake. Beyond, a thousand feet higher, is snow-crowned
Tallac,--_the_ mountain--as the Washoe Indians called it, the
dominating peak of the southwest end of the Lake.

Rubicon Point is the extension of the Rubicon Range and it falls
off abruptly into the deepest portion of the Lake. The result is a
marvelous shading off of the water from a rich sapphire to a deep
purple, while the shore on either side varies from a bright sparkling
blue to a blue so deep and rich as almost to be sombre. Well, indeed,
might Lake Tahoe be named "the Lake of ineffable blue." Here are
shades and gradations that to reproduce in textile fabrics would have
pricked a king's ambition, and made the dyers of the Tyrian purple of
old turn green with envy. Solomon in his wonderful temple never saw
such blue as God here has spread out as His free gift to all the eyes,
past, present and to come, and he who has not yet seen Tahoe has yet
much to learn of color glories, mysteries, melodies, symphonies and
harmonies.

Soon, Emerald Bay is entered. This is regarded by many as the rich
jewel of Lake Tahoe. The main body of the Bay is of the deep blue
our eyes have already become accustomed to, but the shore-line is
a wonderful combination of jade and emerald, that dances and
scintillates as the breeze plays with the surface of the waters. A
landing is made at Emerald Bay Camp, one of the most popular resorts
of the Lake, and while at the landing the curious traveler should take
a good look at the steep bank of the opposite shore. This is a lateral
moraine of two glaciers, one of which formed Emerald Bay, as is
explained in Chapter VIII, and the other formed Cascade Lake, which
nestles on the other side of the ridge.

At the head of Emerald Bay, also, is Eagle Falls, caused by the
outflow of water from Eagle Lake, which is snugly ensconced at the
base of the rugged granite cliffs some three miles inland.

Four miles beyond Emerald Bay is Tallac, one of the historic resorts
on the Lake.

Tallac was originally Yanks. Yank was really Ephraim Clement,
originally a Yankee from Maine, a stout, hearty, bluff man, who
homesteaded his land, added to it until he owned about a thousand
acres, and finally sold out to E.J. (Lucky) Baldwin. Baldwin had come
over from Virginia City and seeing the great havoc made in the fine
timber, of which he was very fond, exclaimed with an oath: "Someone
will be cutting this (the timber of Yanks) next," and then and there
he began to bargain for the place. In 1878 he bought, changed the
name, and thenceforward Tallac became known. Little by little, as
Yank had done, so Baldwin bought from sheep-men, squatters, and others
until he had quite a holding.

The hotel was built and in 1879 Sharp Brothers ran it. In 1880 Capt.
Gordon was manager for a year, and in 1881 Baldwin gave a lease to
Messrs. Lawrence & Comstock who held it until 1914.

Baldwin was a great lover of trees, and when the present hotel and
cottages were built, not a single tree was cut without his express
permission. Yet he had no foolish sentiment about the matter as is
proven by the fact that all the buildings were constructed from
local lumber produced in his own sawmill, except the redwood used for
finishing. The hotel as it now stands was completed in 1900.

Gulls, pelicans and mud-hens can generally be seen in large numbers
around the piers at Tallac, and the fleet of fishing boats, each with
its one or more eager anglers, is one of the sights.

The steamer stops here long enough to allow a few minutes ashore, and
the visitors ramble over to the hotel, chat or chatter with the Washoe
Indian squaws who have their baskets for sale, or enjoy the grassy and
shaded grounds.

From the wharf at Tallac visitors for Glen Alpine, Fallen Leaf Lodge,
and Cathedral Park take their respective stages. These three resorts
are within a few miles and afford additional opportunities for lovers
of the region to add to their knowledge of its scenic, botanic,
arboreal and geologic features. Indeed such glacial experts as Joseph
LeConte, John Muir, and David Starr Jordan have united in declaring
that the region around Glen Alpine gives a better opportunity for the
study of comparatively recent glacial phenomena than any other known
area.

Adjoining Tallac on the east is the private residence of W.S. Tevis,
of San Francisco. His beautiful yacht, the _Consuelo_, may
generally be seen anchored here, when not in actual service.

Half a mile from Tallac is The Grove, close to the Upper Truckee