july 26. ramble to the summit of mount hoffman, eleven thousand feet high, the highest point in life’s journey my feet have yet touched. and what glorious landscapes are about me, new plants, new animals, new crystals, and multitudes of new mountains far higher than hoffman, towering in glorious array along the axis of the range, serene, majestic, snow-laden, sun-drenched, vast domes and ridges shining below them, forests, lakes, and meadows in the hollows, the pure blue bell-flower sky brooding them all,—a glory day of admission into a new realm of wonders as if nature had wooingly whispered, “come higher.” what questions i asked, and how little i know of all the vast show, and how eagerly, tremulously hopeful of some day knowing more, learning the meaning of these divine symbols crowded together on this wondrous page.

mount hoffman is the highest part of a ridge or spur about fourteen miles from the axis of the main range, perhaps a remnant brought into relief and isolated by unequal denudation.[pg 150] the southern slopes shed their waters into yosemite valley by tenaya and dome creeks, the northern in part into the tuolumne river, but mostly into the merced by yosemite creek. the rock is mostly granite, with some small piles and crests rising here and there in picturesque pillared and castellated remnants of red metamorphic slates. both the granite and slates are divided by joints, making them separable into blocks like the stones of artificial masonry, suggesting the scripture “he hath builded the mountains.” great banks of snow and ice are piled in hollows on the cool precipitous north side forming the highest perennial sources of yosemite creek. the southern slopes are much more gradual and accessible. narrow slot-like gorges extend across the summit at right angles, which look like lanes, formed evidently by the erosion of less resisting beds. they are usually called “devil’s slides,” though they lie far above the region usually haunted by the devil; for though we read that he once climbed an exceeding high mountain, he cannot be much of a mountaineer, for his tracks are seldom seen above the timber-line.

the broad gray summit is barren and desolate-looking in general views, wasted by ages of gnawing storms; but looking at the surface in detail, one finds it covered by thousands[pg 151] and millions of charming plants with leaves and flowers so small they form no mass of color visible at a distance of a few hundred yards. beds of azure daisies smile confidingly in moist hollows, and along the banks of small rills, with several species of eriogonum, silky-leaved ivesia, pentstemon, orthocarpus, and patches of primula suffruticosa, a beautiful shrubby species. here also i found bryanthus, a charming heathwort covered with purple flowers and dark green foliage like heather, and three trees new to me—a hemlock and two pines. the hemlock (tsuga mertensiana) is the most beautiful conifer i have ever seen; the branches and also the main axis droop in a singularly graceful way, and the dense foliage covers the delicate, sensitive, swaying branchlets all around. it is now in full bloom, and the flowers, together with thousands of last season’s cones still clinging to the drooping sprays, display wonderful wealth of color, brown and purple and blue. gladly i climbed the first tree i found to revel in the midst of it. how the touch of the flowers makes one’s flesh tingle! the pistillate are dark, rich purple, and almost translucent, the staminate blue,—a vivid, pure tone of blue like the mountain sky,—the most uncommonly beautiful of all the sierra tree flowers i have seen. how wonder[pg 152]ful that, with all its delicate feminine grace and beauty of form and dress and behavior, this lovely tree up here, exposed to the wildest blasts, has already endured the storms of centuries of winters!

the two pines also are brave storm-enduring trees, the mountain pine (pinus monticola) and the dwarf pine (pinus albicaulis). the mountain pine is closely related to the sugar pine, though the cones are only about four to six inches long. the largest trees are from five to six feet in diameter at four feet above the ground, the bark rich brown. only a few storm-beaten adventurers approach the summit of the mountain. the dwarf or white-bark pine is the species that forms the timber-line, where it is so completely dwarfed that one may walk over the top of a bed of it as over snow-pressed chaparral.

how boundless the day seems as we revel in these storm-beaten sky gardens amid so vast a congregation of onlooking mountains! strange and admirable it is that the more savage and chilly and storm-chafed the mountains, the finer the glow on their faces and the finer the plants they bear. the myriads of flowers tingeing the mountain-top do not seem to have grown out of the dry, rough gravel of disintegration, but rather they appear as visi[pg 153]tors, a cloud of witnesses to nature’s love in what we in our timid ignorance and unbelief call howling desert. the surface of the ground, so dull and forbidding at first sight, besides being rich in plants, shines and sparkles with crystals: mica, hornblende, feldspar, quartz, tourmaline. the radiance in some places is so great as to be fairly dazzling, keen lance rays of every color flashing, sparkling in glorious abundance, joining the plants in their fine, brave beauty-work—every crystal, every flower a window opening into heaven, a mirror reflecting the creator.

from garden to garden, ridge to ridge, i drifted enchanted, now on my knees gazing into the face of a daisy, now climbing again and again among the purple and azure flowers of the hemlocks, now down into the treasuries of the snow, or gazing afar over domes and peaks, lakes and woods, and the billowy glaciated fields of the upper tuolumne, and trying to sketch them. in the midst of such beauty, pierced with its rays, one’s body is all one tingling palate. who wouldn’t be a mountaineer! up here all the world’s prizes seem nothing.

the largest of the many glacier lakes in sight, and the one with the finest shore scenery, is tenaya, about a mile long, with an im[pg 154]posing mountain dipping its feet into it on the south side, cathedral peak a few miles above its head, many smooth swelling rock-waves and domes on the north, and in the distance southward a multitude of snowy peaks, the fountain-heads of rivers. lake hoffman lies shimmering beneath my feet, mountain pines around its shining rim. to the northward the picturesque basin of yosemite creek glitters with lakelets and pools; but the eye is soon drawn away from these bright mirror wells, however attractive, to revel in the glorious congregation of peaks on the axis of the range in their robes of snow and light.

carlo caught an unfortunate woodchuck when it was running from a grassy spot to its boulder-pile home—one of the hardiest of the mountain animals. i tried hard to save him, but in vain. after telling carlo that he must be careful not to kill anything, i caught sight, for the first time, of the curious pika, or little chief hare, that cuts large quantities of lupines and other plants and lays them out to dry in the sun for hay, which it stores in underground barns to last through the long, snowy winter. coming upon these plants freshly cut and lying in handfuls here and there on the rocks has a startling effect of busy life on the lonely mountain-top. these little haymakers,[pg 155] endowed with brain stuff something like our own,—god up here looking after them,—what lessons they teach, how they widen our sympathy!

an eagle soaring above a sheer cliff, where i suppose its nest is, makes another striking show of life, and helps to bring to mind the other people of the so-called solitude—deer in the forest caring for their young; the strong, well-clad, well-fed bears; the lively throng of squirrels; the blessed birds, great and small, stirring and sweetening the groves; and the clouds of happy insects filling the sky with joyous hum as part and parcel of the down-pouring sunshine. all these come to mind, as well as the plant people, and the glad streams singing their way to the sea. but most impressive of all is the vast glowing countenance of the wilderness in awful, infinite repose.

toward sunset, enjoyed a fine run to camp, down the long south slopes, across ridges and ravines, gardens and avalanche gaps, through the firs and chaparral, enjoying wild excitement and excess of strength, and so ends a day that will never end.

july 27. up and away to lake tenaya,—another big day, enough for a lifetime. the rocks, the air, everything speaking with audible voice or silent; joyful, wonderful, enchant[pg 156]ing, banishing weariness and sense of time. no longing for anything now or hereafter as we go home into the mountain’s heart. the level sunbeams are touching the fir-tops, every leaf shining with dew. am holding an easterly course, the deep cañon of tenaya creek on the right hand, mount hoffman on the left, and the lake straight ahead about ten miles distant, the summit of mount hoffman about three thousand feet above me, tenaya creek four thousand feet below and separated from the shallow, irregular valley, along which most of the way lies, by smooth domes and wave-ridges. many mossy emerald bogs, meadows, and gardens in rocky hollows to wade and saunter through—and what fine plants they give me, what joyful streams i have to cross, and how many views are displayed of the hoffman and cathedral peak masonry, and what a wondrous breadth of shining granite pavement to walk over for the first time about the shores of the lake! on i sauntered in freedom complete; body without weight as far as i was aware; now wading through starry parnassia bogs, now through gardens shoulder deep in larkspur and lilies, grasses and rushes, shaking off showers of dew; crossing piles of crystalline moraine boulders, bright mirror pavements, and cool, cheery streams going to[pg 157] yosemite; crossing bryanthus carpets and the scoured pathways of avalanches, and thickets of snow-pressed ceanothus; then down a broad, majestic stairway into the ice-sculptured lake-basin.

the snow on the high mountains is melting fast, and the streams are singing bank-full, swaying softly through the level meadows and bogs, quivering with sun-spangles, swirling in pot-holes, resting in deep pools, leaping, shouting in wild, exulting energy over rough boulder dams, joyful, beautiful in all their forms. no sierra landscape that i have seen holds anything truly dead or dull, or any trace of what in manufactories is called rubbish or waste; everything is perfectly clean and pure and full of divine lessons. this quick, inevitable interest attaching to everything seems marvelous until the hand of god becomes visible; then it seems reasonable that what interests him may well interest us. when we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe. one fancies a heart like our own must be beating in every crystal and cell, and we feel like stopping to speak to the plants and animals as friendly fellow mountaineers. nature as a poet, an enthusiastic workingman, becomes more and more visible the farther and higher[pg 158] we go; for the mountains are fountains—beginning places, however related to sources beyond mortal ken.

i found three kinds of meadows: (1) those contained in basins not yet filled with earth enough to make a dry surface. they are planted with several species of carex, and have their margins diversified with robust flowering plants such as veratrum, larkspur, lupine, etc. (2) those contained in the same sort of basins, once lakes like the first, but so situated in relation to the streams that flow through them and beds of transportable sand, gravel, etc., that they are now high and dry and well drained. this dry condition and corresponding difference in their vegetation may be caused by no superiority of position, or power of transporting filling material in the streams that belong to them, but simply by the basin being shallow and therefore sooner filled. they are planted with grasses, mostly fine, silky, and rather short-leaved, calamagrostis and agrostis being the principal genera. they form delightfully smooth, level sods in which one finds two or three species of gentian and as many of purple and yellow orthocarpus, violet, vaccinium, kalmia, bryanthus, and lonicera. (3) meadows hanging on ridge and mountain slopes, not in basins at all, but made and held[pg 159] in place by masses of boulders and fallen trees, which, forming dams one above another in close succession on small, outspread, channelless streams, have collected soil enough for the growth of grasses, carices, and many flowering plants, and being kept well watered, without being subject to currents sufficiently strong to carry them away, a hanging or sloping meadow is the result. their surfaces are seldom so smooth as the others, being roughened more or less by the projecting tops of the dam rocks or logs; but at a little distance this roughness is not noticed, and the effect is very striking—bright green, fluent, down-sweeping flowery ribbons on gray slopes. the broad shallow streams these meadows belong to are mostly derived from banks of snow and because the soil is well drained in some places, while in others the dam rocks are packed close and caulked with bits of wood and leaves, making boggy patches; the vegetation, of course, is correspondingly varied. i saw patches of willow, bryanthus, and a fine show of lilies on some of them, not forming a margin, but scattered about among the carex and grass. most of these meadows are now in their prime. how wonderful must be the temper of the elastic leaves of grasses and sedges to make curves so perfect and fine. tempered a little[pg 160] harder, they would stand erect, stiff and bristly, like strips of metal; a little softer, and every leaf would lie flat. and what fine painting and tinting there is on the glumes and pales, stamens and feathery pistils. butterflies colored like the flowers waver above them in wonderful profusion, and many other beautiful winged people, numbered and known and loved only by the lord, are waltzing together high over head, seemingly in pure play and hilarious enjoyment of their little sparks of life. how wonderful they are! how do they get a living, and endure the weather? how are their little bodies, with muscles, nerves, organs, kept warm and jolly in such admirable exuberant health? regarded only as mechanical inventions, how wonderful they are! compared with these, godlike man’s greatest machines are as nothing.

most of the sandy gardens on moraines are in prime beauty like the meadows, though some on the north sides of rocks and beneath groves of sapling pines have not yet bloomed. on sunny sheets of crystal soil along the slopes of the hoffman mountains, i saw extensive patches of ivesia and purple gilia with scarce a green leaf, making fine clouds of color. ribes bushes, vaccinium, and kalmia, now in flower, make beautiful rugs and borders along the[pg 161] banks of the streams. shaggy beds of dwarf oak (quercus chrysolepis, var. vaccinifolia) over which one may walk are common on rocky moraines, yet this is the same species as the large live oak seen near brown’s flat. the most beautiful of the shrubs is the purple-flowered bryanthus, here making glorious carpets at an elevation of nine thousand feet.

the principal tree for the first mile or two from camp is the magnificent silver fir, which reaches perfection here both in size and form of individual trees, and in the mode of grouping in groves with open spaces between. so trim and tasteful are these silvery, spiry groves one would fancy they must have been placed in position by some master landscape gardener, their regularity seeming almost conventional. but nature is the only gardener able to do work so fine. a few noble specimens two hundred feet high occupy central positions in the groups with younger trees around them; and outside of these another circle of yet smaller ones, the whole arranged like tastefully symmetrical bouquets, every tree fitting nicely the place assigned to it as if made especially for it; small roses and eriogonums are usually found blooming on the open spaces about the groves, forming charming pleasure grounds. higher, the firs gradually become smaller and[pg 162] less perfect, many showing double summits, indicating storm stress. still, where good moraine soil is found, even on the rim of the lake-basin, specimens one hundred and fifty feet in height and five feet in diameter occur nearly nine thousand feet above the sea. the saplings, i find, are mostly bent with the crushing weight of the winter snow, which at this elevation must be at least eight or ten feet deep, judging by marks on the trees; and this depth of compacted snow is heavy enough to bend and bury young trees twenty or thirty feet in height and hold them down for four or five months. some are broken; the others spring up when the snow melts and at length attain a size that enables them to withstand the snow pressure. yet even in trees five feet thick the traces of this early discipline are still plainly to be seen in their curved insteps, and frequently in old dried saplings protruding from the trunk, partially overgrown by the new axis developed from a branch below the break. yet through all this stress the forest is maintained in marvelous beauty.

beyond the silver firs i find the two-leaved pine (pinus contorta, var. murrayana) forms the bulk of the forest up to an elevation of ten thousand feet or more—the highest timber-belt of the sierra. i saw a specimen nearly five[pg 163] feet in diameter growing on deep, well-watered soil at an elevation of about nine thousand feet. the form of this species varies very much with position, exposure, soil, etc. on stream-banks, where it is closely planted, it is very slender; some specimens seventy-five feet high do not exceed five inches in diameter at the ground, but the ordinary form, as far as i have seen, is well proportioned. the average diameter when full grown at this elevation is about twelve or fourteen inches, height forty or fifty feet, the straggling branches bent up at the end, the bark thin and bedraggled with amber-colored resin. the pistillate flowers form little crimson rosettes a fourth of an inch in diameter on the ends of the branchlets, mostly hidden in the leaf-tassels; the staminate are about three eighths of an inch in diameter, sulphur-yellow, in showy clusters, giving a remarkably rich effect—a brave, hardy mountaineer pine, growing cheerily on rough beds of avalanche boulders and joints of rock pavements, as well as in fertile hollows, standing up to the waist in snow every winter for centuries, facing a thousand storms and blooming every year in colors as bright as those worn by the sun-drenched trees of the tropics.

a still hardier mountaineer is the sierra juniper (juniperus occidentalis), growing mostly[pg 164] on domes and ridges and glacier pavements. a thickset, sturdy, picturesque highlander, seemingly content to live for more than a score of centuries on sunshine and snow; a truly wonderful fellow, dogged endurance expressed in every feature, lasting about as long as the granite he stands on. some are nearly as broad as high. i saw one on the shore of the lake nearly ten feet in diameter, and many six to eight feet. the bark, cinnamon-colored, flakes off in long ribbon-like strips with a satiny luster. surely the most enduring of all tree mountaineers, it never seems to die a natural death, or even to fall after it has been killed. if protected from accidents, it would perhaps be immortal. i saw some that had withstood an avalanche from snowy mount hoffman cheerily putting out new branches, as if repeating, like grip, “never say die.” some were simply standing on the pavement where no fissure more than half an inch wide offered a hold for its roots. the common height for these rock-dwellers is from ten to twenty feet; most of the old ones have broken tops, and are mere stumps, with a few tufted branches, forming picturesque brown pillars on bare pavements, with plenty of elbow-room and a clear view in every direction. on good moraine soil it reaches a height of from forty to[pg 165] sixty feet, with dense gray foliage. the rings of the trunk are very thin, eighty to an inch of diameter in some specimens i examined. those ten feet in diameter must be very old—thousands of years. wish i could live, like these junipers, on sunshine and snow, and stand beside them on the shore of lake tenaya for a thousand years. how much i should see, and how delightful it would be! everything in the mountains would find me and come to me, and everything from the heavens like light.

the lake was named for one of the chiefs of the yosemite tribe. old tenaya is said to have been a good indian to his tribe. when a company of soldiers followed his band into yosemite to punish them for cattle-stealing and other crimes, they fled to this lake by a trail that leads out of the upper end of the valley, early in the spring, while the snow was still deep; but being pursued, they lost heart and surrendered. a fine monument the old man has in this bright lake, and likely to last a long time, though lakes die as well as indians, being gradually filled with detritus carried in by the feeding streams, and to some extent also by snow avalanches and rain and wind. a considerable portion of the tenaya basin is already changed into a forested flat and[pg 166] meadow at the upper end, where the main tributary enters from cathedral peak. two other tributaries come from the hoffman range. the outlet flows westward through tenaya cañon to join the merced river in yosemite. scarce a handful of loose soil is to be seen on the north shore. all is bare, shining granite, suggesting the indian name of the lake, pywiack, meaning shining rock. the basin seems to have been slowly excavated by the ancient glaciers, a marvelous work requiring countless thousands of years. on the south side an imposing mountain rises from the water’s edge to a height of three thousand feet or more, feathered with hemlock and pine; and huge shining domes on the east, over the tops of which the grinding, wasting, molding glacier must have swept as the wind does to-day.

july 28. no cloud mountains, only curly cirrus wisps scarce perceptible, and the want of thunder to strike the noon hour seems strange, as if the sierra clock had stopped. have been studying the magnifica fir—measured one near two hundred and forty feet high, the tallest i have yet seen. this species is the most symmetrical of all conifers, but though gigantic in size it seldom lives more than four or five hundred years. most of the trees die[pg 167] from the attacks of a fungus at the age of two or three centuries. this dry-rot fungus perhaps enters the trunk by way of the stumps of limbs broken off by the snow that loads the broad palmate branches. the younger specimens are marvels of symmetry, straight and erect as a plumb-line, their branches in regular level whorls of five mostly, each branch as exact in its divisions as a fern frond, and thickly covered by the leaves, making a rich plush over all the tree, excepting only the trunk and a small portion of the main limbs. the leaves turn upward, especially on the branchlets, and are stiff and sharp, pointed on all the upper portion of the tree. they remain on the tree about eight or ten years, and as the growth is rapid it is not rare to find the leaves still in place on the upper part of the axis where it is three to four inches in diameter, wide apart of course, and their spiral arrangement beautifully displayed. the leaf-scars are conspicuous for twenty years or more, but there is a good deal of variation in different trees as to the thickness and sharpness of the leaves.

after the excursion to mount hoffman i had seen a complete cross-section of the sierra forest, and i find that abies magnifica is the most symmetrical tree of all the noble coniferous company. the cones are grand affairs,[pg 168] superb in form, size, and color, cylindrical, stand erect on the upper branches like casks, and are from five to eight inches in length by three or four in diameter, greenish gray, and covered with fine down which has a silvery luster in the sunshine, and their brilliance is augmented by beads of transparent balsam which seems to have been poured over each cone, bringing to mind the old ceremonies of anointing with oil. if possible, the inside of the cone is more beautiful than the outside; the scales, bracts, and seed wings are tinted with the loveliest rosy purple with a bright lustrous iridescence; the seeds, three fourths of an inch long, are dark brown. when the cones are ripe the scales and bracts fall off, setting the seeds free to fly to their predestined places, while the dead spike-like axes are left on the branches for many years to mark the positions of the vanished cones, excepting those cut off when green by the douglas squirrel. how he gets his teeth under the broad bases of the sessile cones, i don’t know. climbing these trees on a sunny day to visit the growing cones and to gaze over the tops of the forest is one of my best enjoyments.

july 29. bright, cool, exhilarating. clouds about .05. another glorious day of rambling, sketching, and universal enjoyment.[pg 169]

july 30. clouds .20, but the regular shower did not reach us, though thunder was heard a few miles off striking the noon hour. ants, flies, and mosquitoes seem to enjoy this fine climate. a few house-flies have discovered our camp. the sierra mosquitoes are courageous and of good size, some of them measuring nearly an inch from tip of sting to tip of folded wings. though less abundant than in most wildernesses, they occasionally make quite a hum and stir, and pay but little attention to time or place. they sting anywhere, any time of day, wherever they can find anything worth while, until they are themselves stung by frost. the large, jet-black ants are only ticklish and troublesome when one is lying down under the trees. noticed a borer drilling a silver fir. ovipositor about an inch and a half in length, polished and straight like a needle. when not in use, it is folded back in a sheath, which extends straight behind like the legs of a crane in flying. this drilling, i suppose, is to save nest building, and the after care of feeding the young. who would guess that in the brain of a fly so much knowledge could find lodgment? how do they know that their eggs will hatch in such holes, or, after they hatch, that the soft, helpless grubs will find the right sort of nourishment in silver fir sap? this domestic[pg 170] arrangement calls to mind the curious family of gallflies. each species seems to know what kind of plant will respond to the irritation or stimulus of the puncture it makes and the eggs it lays, in forming a growth that not only answers for a nest and home but also provides food for the young. probably these gallflies make mistakes at times, like anybody else; but when they do, there is simply a failure of that particular brood, while enough to perpetuate the species do find the proper plants and nourishment. many mistakes of this kind might be made without being discovered by us. once a pair of wrens made the mistake of building a nest in the sleeve of a workman’s coat, which was called for at sundown, much to the consternation and discomfiture of the birds. still the marvel remains that any of the children of such small people as gnats and mosquitoes should escape their own and their parents’ mistakes, as well as the vicissitudes of the weather and hosts of enemies, and come forth in full vigor and perfection to enjoy the sunny world. when we think of the small creatures that are visible, we are led to think of many that are smaller still and lead us on and on into infinite mystery.

july 31. another glorious day, the air as delicious to the lungs as nectar to the tongue;[pg 171] indeed the body seems one palate, and tingles equally throughout. cloudiness about .05, but our ordinary shower has not yet reached us, though i hear thunder in the distance.

the cheery little chipmunk, so common about brown’s flat, is common here also, and perhaps other species. in their light, airy habits they recall the familiar species of the eastern states, which we admired in the oak openings of wisconsin as they skimmed along the zigzag rail fences. these sierra chipmunks are more arboreal and squirrel-like. i first noticed them on the lower edge of the coniferous belt, where the sabine and yellow pines meet,—exceedingly interesting little fellows, full of odd, funny ways, and without being true squirrels, have most of their accomplishments without their aggressive quarrelsomeness. i never weary watching them as they frisk about in the bushes gathering seeds and berries, like song sparrows poising daintily on slender twigs, and making even less stir than most birds of the same size. few of the sierra animals interest me more; they are so able, gentle, confiding, and beautiful, they take one’s heart, and get themselves adopted as darlings. though weighing hardly more than field mice, they are laborious collectors of seeds, nuts, and cones, and are therefore well fed, but never in the least swollen[pg 172] with fat or lazily full. on the contrary, of their frisky, birdlike liveliness there is no end. they have a great variety of notes corresponding with their movements, some sweet and liquid, like water dripping with tinkling sounds into pools. they seem dearly to love teasing a dog, coming frequently almost within reach, then frisking away with lively chipping, like sparrows, beating time to their music with their tails, which at each chip describe half circles from side to side. not even the douglas squirrel is surer-footed or more fearless. i have seen them running about on sheer precipices of the yosemite walls seemingly holding on with as little effort as flies, and as unconscious of danger, where, if the slightest slip were made, they would have fallen two or three thousand feet. how fine it would be could we mountaineers climb these tremendous cliffs with the same sure grip! the venture i made the other day for a view of the yosemite fall, and which tried my nerves so sorely, this little tamias would have made for an ear of grass.

the woodchuck (arctomys monax) of the bleak mountain-tops is a very different sort of mountaineer—the most bovine of rodents, a heavy eater, fat, aldermanic in bulk and fairly bloated, in his high pastures, like a cow in a clover field. one woodchuck would outweigh a[pg 173] hundred chipmunks, and yet he is by no means a dull animal. in the midst of what we regard as storm-beaten desolation he pipes and whistles right cheerily, and enjoys long life in his skyland homes. his burrow is made in disintegrated rocks or beneath large boulders. coming out of his den in the cold hoarfrost mornings, he takes a sun-bath on some favorite flat-topped rock, then goes to breakfast in garden hollows, eats grass and flowers until comfortably swollen, then goes a-visiting to fight and play. how long a woodchuck lives in this bracing air i don’t know, but some of them are rusty and gray like lichen-covered boulders.

august 1. a grand cloudland and five-minute shower, refreshing the blessed wilderness, already so fragrant and fresh, steeping the black meadow mold and dead leaves like tea.

the waycup, or flicker, so familiar to every boy in the old middle west states, is one of the most common of the wood-peckers hereabouts, and makes one feel at home. i can see no difference in plumage or habits from the eastern species, though the climate here is so different,—a fine, brave, confiding, beautiful bird. the robin, too, is here, with all his familiar notes and gestures, tripping daintily on open garden spots and high meadows. over all[pg 174] america he seems to be at home, moving from the plains to the mountains and from north to south, back and forth, up and down, with the march of the seasons and food supply. how admirable the constitution and temper of this brave singer, keeping in cheery health over so vast and varied a range! oftentimes, as i wander through these solemn woods, awe-stricken and silent, i hear the reassuring voice of this fellow wanderer ringing out, sweet and clear, “fear not! fear not!”

the mountain quail (oreortyx ricta) i often meet in my walks—a small brown partridge with a very long, slender, ornamental crest worn jauntily like a feather in a boy’s cap, giving it a very marked appearance. this species is considerably larger than the valley quail, so common on the hot foothills. they seldom alight in trees, but love to wander in flocks of from five or six to twenty through the ceanothus and manzanita thickets and over open, dry meadows and rocks of the ridges where the forest is less dense or wanting, uttering a low clucking sound to enable them to keep together. when disturbed they rise with a strong birr of wing-beats, and scatter as if exploded to a distance of a quarter of a mile or so. after the danger is past they call one another together with a loud piping note—nature’s beautiful[pg 175] mountain chickens. i have not yet found their nests. the young of this season are already hatched and away—new broods of happy wanderers half as large as their parents. i wonder how they live through the long winters, when the ground is snow-covered ten feet deep. they must go down towards the lower edge of the forest, like the deer, though i have not heard of them there.

the blue, or dusky, grouse is also common here. they like the deepest and closest fir woods, and when disturbed, burst from the branches of the trees with a strong, loud whir of wing-beats, and vanish in a wavering, silent slide, without moving a feather—a stout, beautiful bird about the size of the prairie chicken of the old west, spending most of the time in the trees, excepting the breeding season, when it keeps to the ground. the young are now able to fly. when scattered by man or dog, they keep still until the danger is supposed to be passed, then the mother calls them together. the chicks can hear the call a distance of several hundred yards, though it is not loud. should the young be unable to fly, the mother feigns desperate lameness or death to draw one away, throwing herself at one’s feet within two or three yards, rolling over on her back, kicking and gasping, so as to de[pg 176]ceive man or beast. they are said to stay all the year in the woods hereabouts, taking shelter in dense tufted branches of fir and yellow pine during snowstorms, and feeding on the young buds of these trees. their legs are feathered down to their toes, and i have never heard of their suffering in any sort of weather. able to live on pine and fir buds, they are forever independent in the matter of food, which troubles so many of us and controls our movements. gladly, if i could, i would live forever on pine buds, however full of turpentine and pitch, for the sake of this grand independence. just to think of our sufferings last month merely for grist-mill flour. man seems to have more difficulty in gaining food than any other of the lord’s creatures. for many in towns it is a consuming, lifelong struggle; for others, the danger of coming to want is so great, the deadly habit of endless hoarding for the future is formed, which smothers all real life, and is continued long after every reasonable need has been over-supplied.

on mount hoffman i saw a curious dove-colored bird that seemed half woodpecker, half magpie, or crow. it screams something like a crow, but flies like a woodpecker, and has a long, straight bill, with which i saw it opening the cones of the mountain and white-[pg 177]barked pines. it seems to keep to the heights, though no doubt it comes down for shelter during winter, if not for food. so far as food is concerned, these bird-mountaineers, i guess, can glean nuts enough, even in winter, from the different kinds of conifers; for always there are a few that have been unable to fly out of the cones and remain for hungry winter gleaners.