The Lake of the Sky.

by George Wharton James.

INTRODUCTION

California is proving itself more and more the wonderland of the United States. Its hosts of annual visitors are increasing with marvelous rapidity; its population is growing by accretions from the other states faster than any other section in the civilized world.

The reasons are not far to seek. They may be summarized in five words, viz., climate, topography, healthfulness, productiveness and all-around liveableness. Its climate is already a catch word to the nations; its healthfulness is attested by the thousands who have come here sick and almost hopeless and who are now rugged, robust and happy; its productiveness is demonstrated by the millions of dollars its citizens annually receive for the thousands of car-loads (one might almost say train-loads) of oranges, lemons, grape-fruit, walnuts, almonds, peaches, figs, apricots, onions, potatoes, asparagus and other fruits of its soil; and its all-around home qualities are best evidenced by the growth, in two or three decades, of scores of towns from a merely nominal population to five, ten, twenty, forty or fifty thousand, and of the cities of San Francisco, Los Angeles and Oakland to metropolises, the two former already claiming populations of half a million or thereabouts.

As far as its topography, its scenic qualities, are concerned, the world of tourists already has rendered any argument upon that line unnecessary. It is already beginning to rival Switzerland, though that Alpine land has crowded populations within a day's journey to draw from. One has but to name Monterey, the Mt. Shasta region, Los Angeles, San Diego and Coronado, the Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, the Big Trees, the King and Kern River Divide, Mono Lake and a score of other scenic regions in California to start tongues to wagging over interesting reminiscences, whether it be in London, Paris, Berlin, Madrid or Petrograd.

Books galore are being published to make California's charms better known, and it has long seemed strange to me that no book has been published on Lake Tahoe and its surrounding country of mountains, forests, glacial valleys, lakes and canyons, for I am confident that in one or two decades from now its circle of admirers and regular visitors will include people from all over the civilized world, all of whom will declare that it is incomparable as a lake resort, and that its infinite variety of charm, delight and healthful allurement can never adequately be told.

Discovered by the "Pathfinder" Fremont; described in the early days of California history and literature by John Le Conte, Mark Twain, Thomas Starr King, Ben C. Truman, and later by John Vance Cheney and others; for countless centuries the fishing haunt of the peaceable Nevada _Washoes_, who first called it Tahoe--High or Clear Water--and of the California _Monos_; the home of many of their interesting legends and folk-lore tales; occasionally the scene of fierce conflicts between the defending Indians and those who would drive them away, it early became the object of the jealous and inconsequent squabbling of politicians. Its discoverer had named it Mountain Lake, or Lake Bonpland, the latter name after the traveling and exploring companion of Baron von Humboldt, whose name is retained in the Humboldt River of Nevada, but when the first reasonably accurate survey of its sh.o.r.es was made, John Bigler was the occupant of the gubernatorial chair of the State of California and it was named after him. Then, later, for purely political reasons, it was changed to Tahoe, and finally back to Bigler, which name it still officially retains, though of the thousands who visit it annually but a very small proportion have ever heard that such a name was applied to it.

In turn, soon after its discovery, Tahoe became the scene of a mining excitement that failed to "pan out," the home of vast logging and lumber operations and the objective point to which several famous "Knights of the Lash" drove world-noted men and women in swinging Concord coaches. In summer it is the haunt of Nature's most dainty, glorious, and alluring picturesqueness; in winter the abode, during some days, of the Storm King with his cohorts of hosts of clouds, filled with rain, hail, sleet and snow, of fierce winds, of dread lightnings, of majestic displays of rudest power. Suddenly, after having covered peak and slope, meadow and sh.o.r.e, with snow to a depth of six, eight, ten or more feet, the Storm King retires and Solus again reigns supreme. And then! ah, then is the time to see Lake Tahoe and its surrounding country. The placid summer views are exquisite and soul-stirring, but what of Tahoe now? The days and nights are free from wind and frost, the sun tempers the cold and every hour is an exhilaration. The American people have not yet learned, as have the Europeans in the Alps, the marvelous delights and stimulations of the winter in such a place as Lake Tahoe. But they will learn in time, and though a prophet is generally without honor in his own country, I will a.s.sume a role not altogether foreign, and venture the a.s.sertion that I shall live to see the day when winter visitors to Lake Tahoe will number more than those who will visit it throughout the whole of the year (1914) in which I write. One of the surprises often expressed by those I have met here who have wintered in the Alps is that no provision is made for hotel accommodation during the winter at Lake Tahoe.

To return, however, to the charms of Tahoe that are already known to many thousands. Within the last two or three decades it has become the increasingly popular Mecca of the hunter, sportsman, and fisherman; the natural haunt of the thoughtful and studious lover of G.o.d's great and varied out-of-doors, and, since fashionable hotels were built, the chosen resort of many thousands of the wealthy, pleasure-loving and luxurious. What wonder that there should be a growing desire on the part of the citizens of the United States--and especially of California and Nevada--together with well-informed travelers from all parts of the world, for larger knowledge and fuller information about Lake Tahoe than has. .h.i.therto been available.

To meet this laudable desire has been my chief incitement in the preparation of the following pages, but I should be untrue to my own devotion to Lake Tahoe, which has extended over a period of more than thirty years, were I to ignore the influence the Lake's beauty has had over me, and the urge it has placed within me. Realizing and feeling these emotions I have constantly asked with Edward Rowland Sill:

What can I for such a world give back again?

And my only answer has been, and is, this:

Could I only hint the beauty-- Some least shadow of the beauty, Unto men!

In looking over the files of more of less ephemeral literature, as well as the records of the explorations of early days, I have been astonished at the rich treasures of scientific and descriptive literature that have Lake Tahoe as their object. Not the least service this unpretentious volume will accomplish is the gathering together of these little-known jewels.

It will be noticed that I have used the word _Sierran_ rather than _Alpine_ throughout these pages. Why not? Why should the writer, describing the majestic, the glorious, the sublime of the later-formed mountain ranges of earth, designate them by a term coined for another and far-away range?

I would have the reader, however, be careful to p.r.o.nounce it accurately. It is not _Sy-eer-an_, but _See-ehr-ran_, almost as if one were advising another to "See Aaron," the brother of Moses.

Tahoe is not _Teh-o_, nor is it _Tah-ho_, nor _Tah-o_.

The Washoe Indians, from whom we get the name, p.r.o.nounce it as if it were one syllable _Tao_, like a Chinese name, the "a" having the broad sound _ah_ of the Continent.

Likewise _Tallac_ is not p.r.o.nounced with the accent on the last syllable (as is generally heard), but _Tal['x]-ac_.

While these niceties of p.r.o.nunciation are not of vast importance, they preserve to us the intonations of the original inhabitants, who, as far as we know, were the first human beings to gaze upon the face of this ever-glorious and beautiful Lake.

When Mark Twain and Thomas Starr King visited Tahoe it was largely in its primitive wildness, though logging operations for the securing of timber for the mines of Virginia City had been going on for some time and had led to the settlement at Glenbrook (where four great saw mills were in constant operation so long as weather permitted), and the stage-road from Placerville to Virginia City demanded stopping-stations, as Myers, Yanks, Rowlands and Lakeside.

But to-day, while the commercial operations have largely ceased, the scenic attractions of Lake Tahoe and its region have justified the erection of over twenty resorts and camps, at least two of them rivaling in extent and elaborateness of plant any of the gigantic resort hotels of either the Atlantic or Pacific coasts, the others varying in size and degree, according to the cla.s.s of patronage they seek. That these provisions for the entertainment of travelers, yearly visitors, and health seekers will speedily increase with the years there can be no doubt, for there is but one Lake Tahoe, and its lovers will ultimately be legion. Already, also, it has begun to a.s.sert itself as a place of summer residence. Fifteen years ago private residences on Lake Tahoe might have been enumerated on the fingers of the two hands; now they number as many hundreds, and the sound of the hammer and saw is constantly heard, and dainty villas, bungalows, cottages, and rustic homes are springing up as if by magic.

_Then_ Lake Tahoe was comparatively hard to reach. _Now_, the trains of the _Southern Pacific_ and the _Lake Tahoe Railway and Transportation Company_ deposit one on the very edge of the Lake easier and with less personal exertion than is required to go to and from any large metropolitan hotel in one city to a similar hotel in another city.

It is almost inevitable that in such a book as this there should be some repet.i.tion. Just as one sees the same peaks and lakes, sh.o.r.e-line and trees from different portions of the Lake--though, of course, at slightly or widely differing angles--so in writing, the attention of the reader naturally is called again and again to the same scenes. But this book is written not so much with an eye to its literary quality, as to afford the visitor to Lake Tahoe--whether contemplative, actual, or retrospective--a truthful and comprehensive account and description of the Lake and its surroundings.

It will be observed that in many places I have capitalized the common noun Lake. Whenever this appears it signifies Lake Tahoe--the chief of all the lakes of the Sierras.

While it is very delightful to sit on the veranda or in the swinging seats of the Tavern lawn, or at the choice nooks of all the resorts from Tahoe City completely around the Lake, it is not possible to write a book on Lake Tahoe there. One must get out and feel the bigness of it all; climb its mountains, follow its trout streams; ride or walk or push one's way through its leafy coverts; dwell in the shade of its forests; row over its myriad of lakes; study its geology, before he can know or write about Tahoe.

This is what I have done.

And this is what I desire to urge most earnestly upon my reader. Don't lounge around the hotels all the time. Get all you want of that kind of recreation; then "go in" for the more strenuous fun of wandering and climbing. Go alone or in company, afoot or horseback, only go!

Thus will Tahoe increase the number of its devoted visitants and my object in writing these pages be accomplished.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Signature]

George Wharton James

TAHOE TAVERN, June 1914.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PANORAMA FROM SOUTH END FALLEN LEAF LAKE.

Captions along top edge of ill.u.s.tration: Angora Peak--Glen Alpine--Mt. Tallac--Rubicon Peaks--Fallen Leaf Lake]

[Ill.u.s.tration: PANORAMA FROM SOUTH END FALLEN LEAF LAKE.

Captions along top edge of ill.u.s.tration: Mt. Tallac--Rubicon Peaks--Fallen Leaf Lake--Lake Tahoe]

THE LAKE OF THE SKY LAKE TAHOE

CHAPTER I

WHY "THE LAKE OF THE SKY"?

Lake Tahoe is the largest lake at its alt.i.tude--twenty-three miles long by thirteen broad, 6225 feet above the level of the sea--with but one exception in the world. Then, too, it closely resembles the sky in its pure and perfect color. One often experiences, on looking down upon it from one of its many surrounding mountains, a feeling of surprise, as if the sky and earth had somehow been reversed and he was looking down upon the sky instead of the earth.

And, further, Lake Tahoe so exquisitely mirrors the purity of the sky; its general atmosphere is so perfect, that one feels it is peculiarly akin to the sky.

Mark Twain walked to Lake Tahoe in the early sixties, from Carson City, carrying a couple of blankets and an ax. He suggests that his readers will find it advantageous to go on horseback. It was a hot summer day, not calculated to make one of his temperament susceptible to fine scenic impressions, yet this is what he says:

We plodded on, two or three hours longer, and at last the Lake burst upon us--a n.o.ble sheet of blue water lifted six thousand three hundred feet above the level of the sea, and walled in by a rim of snow-clad mountain peaks that towered aloft full three thousand feet higher still. It was a vast oval, and one would have to use up eighty or a hundred good miles in traveling around it. As it lay there with the shadows of the mountains brilliantly photographed upon its still surface I thought it must surely be the fairest picture the whole earth affords!

And there you have it! Articulate or inarticulate, something like this is what every one thinks when he first sees Tahoe, and the oftener he sees it, and the more he knows it the more grand and glorious it becomes. It is immaterial that there are lakes perched upon higher mountain shelves, and that one or two of them, at equal or superior alt.i.tudes, are larger in size. Tahoe ranks in the forefront both for alt.i.tude and size, and in beauty and picturesqueness, majesty and sublimity, there is no mountain body of water on this earth that is its equal.

Why such superlatives in which world-travelers generally--in fact, invariably--agree? There must be some reason for it. Nay, there are many. To thousands the chief charm of Lake Tahoe is in the exquisite, rare, and astonishing colors of its waters. They are an endless source of delight to all who see them, no matter how insensible they may be, ordinarily, to the effect of color. There is no shade of blue or green that cannot here be found and the absolutely clear and pellucid quality of the water enhances the beauty and perfection of the tone.

One minister of San Francisco thus speaks of the coloring:

When the day is calm there is a ring around the Lake extending from a hundred yards to a mile from the sh.o.r.e which is the most brilliant green; within this ring there is another zone of the deepest blue, and this gives place to royal purple in the distance; and the color of the Lake changes from day to day and from hour to hour. It is never twice the same--sometimes the blue is lapis lazuli, then it is jade, then it is purple, and when the breeze gently ruffles the surface it is silvery-gray. The Lake has as many moods as an April day or a lovely woman. But its normal appearance is that of a floor of lapis lazuli set with a ring of emerald.

The depth of the water, varying as it does from a few feet to nearly or over 2000 feet, together with the peculiarly variable bottom of the Lake, have much to do with these color effects. The lake bottom on a clear wind-quiet day can be clearly seen except in the lowest depths.

Here and there are patches of fairly level area, covered either with rocky bowlders, moss-covered rocks, or vari-colored sands. Then, suddenly, the eye falls upon a ledge, on the yonder side of which the water suddenly becomes deep blue. That ledge may denote a submarine precipice, a hundred, five hundred, a thousand or more feet deep, and the changes caused by such sudden and awful depths are beyond verbal description.