THE MOUNTAINS(山脉)

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THE MOUNTAINS

BY STEWART EDWARD WHITE

THE MOUNTAINS

PREFACE

The author has followed a true sequence of events practically in all

particulars save in respect to the character of the Tenderfoot. He is in one

sense fictitious; in another sense real. He is real in that he is the

apotheosis of many tenderfeet, and that everything he does in this

narrative he has done at one time or another in the author's experience.

He is fictitious in the sense that he is in no way to be identified with the

third member of our party in the actual trip.

THE MOUNTAINS

THE RIDGE TRAIL

Six trails lead to the main ridge. They are all good trails, so that even

the casual tourist in the little Spanish-American town on the seacoast need

have nothing to fear from the ascent. In some spots they contract to an

arm's length of space, outside of which limit they drop sheer away;

elsewhere they stand up on end, zigzag in lacets each more hair- raising

than the last, or fill to demoralization with loose boulders and shale. A

fall on the part of your horse would mean a more than serious accident;

but Western horses do not fall. The major premise stands: even the

casual tourist has no real reason for fear, however scared he may become.

Our favorite route to the main ridge was by a way called the Cold

Spring Trail. We used to enjoy taking visitors up it, mainly because you

come on the top suddenly, without warning. Then we collected remarks.

Everybody, even the most stolid, said something.

You rode three miles on the flat, two in the leafy and gradually

ascending creek-bed of a canon, a half

hour of laboring steepness in the overarching mountain lilac and laurel.

There you came to a great rock gateway which seemed the top of the

world. At the gateway was a Bad Place where the ponies planted warily

their little hoofs, and the visitor played "eyes front," and besought that his

mount should not stumble.

Beyond the gateway a lush level canon into which you plunged as into

a bath; then again the laboring trail, up and always up toward the blue

California sky, out of the lilacs, and laurels, and redwood chaparral into

the manzanita, the Spanish bayonet, the creamy yucca, and the fine

angular shale of the upper regions. Beyond the apparent summit you

found always other summits yet to be climbed. And all at once, like

thrusting your shoulders out of a hatchway, you looked over the top.

Then came the remarks. Some swore softly; some uttered

appreciative ejaculation; some shouted aloud; some gasped; one man

uttered three times the word "Oh,"--once breathlessly, Oh! once in

awakening appreciation, OH! once in wild enthusiasm, OH! Then

THE MOUNTAINS

invariably they fell silent and looked.

For the ridge, ascending from seaward in a gradual coquetry of foot-

hills, broad low ranges, cross-systems, canons, little flats, and gentle

ravines, inland dropped off almost sheer to the river below. And from

under your very feet rose, range after range, tier after tier, rank after rank,

in increasing crescendo of wonderful tinted mountains to the main crest of

the Coast Ranges, the blue distance, the mightiness of California's western

systems. The eye followed them up and up, and farther and farther, with

the accumulating emotion of a wild rush on a toboggan. There came a

point where the fact grew to be almost too big for the appreciation, just as

beyond a certain point speed seems to become unbearable. It left you

breathless, wonder-stricken, awed. You could do nothing but look, and

look, and look again, tongue- tied by the impossibility of doing justice to

what you felt. And in the far distance, finally, your soul, grown big in a

moment, came to rest on the great precipices and pines of the greatest

mountains of all, close under the sky.

In a little, after the change had come to you, a change definite and

enduring, which left your inner processes forever different from what they

had been, you turned sharp to the west and rode five miles along the knife-

edge Ridge Trail to where Rattlesnake Canon led you down and back to

your accustomed environment.

To the left as you rode you saw, far on the horizon, rising to the height

of your eye, the mountains of the channel islands. Then the deep

sapphire of the Pacific, fringed with the soft, unchanging white of the surf

and the yellow of the shore. Then the town like a little map, and the lush

greens of the wide meadows, the fruit-groves, the lesser ranges-- all vivid,

fertile, brilliant, and pulsating with vitality. You filled your senses with it,

steeped them in the beauty of it. And at once, by a mere turn of the eyes,

from the almost crude insistence of the bright primary color of life, you

faced the tenuous azures of distance, the delicate mauves and amethysts,

the lilacs and saffrons of the arid country.

This was the wonder we never tired of seeing for ourselves, of

showing to others. And often, academically, perhaps a little wistfully, as

one talks of something to be dreamed of but never enjoyed, we spoke of

THE MOUNTAINS

how fine it would be to ride down into that land of mystery and

enchantment, to penetrate one after another the canons dimly outlined in

the shadows cast by the westering sun, to cross the mountains lying

outspread in easy grasp of the eye, to gain the distant blue Ridge, and see

with our own eyes what lay beyond.

For to its other attractions the prospect added that of impossibility, of

unattainableness. These rides of ours were day rides. We had to get

home by nightfall. Our horses had to be fed, ourselves to be housed.

We had not time to continue on down the other side whither the trail led.

At the very and literal brink of achievement we were forced to turn back.

Gradually the idea possessed us. We promised ourselves that some

day we would explore. In our after-dinner smokes we spoke of it.

Occasionally, from some hunter or forest-ranger, we gained little items of

information, we learned the fascination of musical names--Mono Canon,

Patrera Don Victor, Lloma Paloma, Patrera Madulce, Cuyamas, became

familiar to us as syllables. We desired mightily to body them forth to

ourselves as facts. The extent of our mental vision expanded. We heard

of other mountains far beyond these farthest--mountains whose almost

unexplored vastnesses contained great forests, mighty valleys, strong

water-courses, beautiful hanging-meadows, deep canons of granite, eternal

snows,--mountains so extended, so wonderful, that their secrets offered

whole summers of solitary exploration. We came to feel their marvel, we

came to respect the inferno of the Desert that hemmed them in. Shortly

we graduated from the indefiniteness of railroad maps to the intricacies of

geological survey charts. The fever was on us. We must go.

A dozen of us desired. Three of us went; and of the manner of our

going, and what you must know who would do likewise, I shall try here to

tell.

THE MOUNTAINS

ON EQUIPMENT

If you would travel far in the great mountains where the trails are few

and bad, you will need a certain unique experience and skill. Before you

dare venture forth without a guide, you must be able to do a number of

things, and to do them well.

First and foremost of all, you must be possessed of that strange sixth

sense best described as the sense of direction. By it you always know

about where you are. It is to some degree a memory for back- tracks and

landmarks, but to a greater extent an instinct for the lay of the country, for

relative bearings, by which you are able to make your way across-lots

back to your starting-place. It is not an uncommon faculty, yet some lack

it utterly. If you are one of the latter class, do not venture, for you will

get lost as sure as shooting, and being lost in the mountains is no joke.

Some men possess it; others do not. The distinction seems to be

almost arbitrary. It can be largely developed, but only in those with

whom original endowment of the faculty makes development possible.

No matter how long a direction-blind man frequents the wilderness, he is

never sure of himself. Nor is the lack any reflection on the intelligence.

I once traveled in the Black Hills with a young fellow who himself frankly

confessed that after much experiment he had come to the conclusion he

could not "find himself." He asked me to keep near him, and this I did as

well as I could; but even then, three times during the course of ten days he

lost himself completely in the tumultuous upheavals and canons of that

badly mixed region. Another, an old grouse-hunter, walked twice in a

circle within the confines of a thick swamp about two miles square. On

the other hand, many exhibit almost marvelous skill in striking a bee-line

for their objective point, and can always tell you, even after an engrossing

and wandering hunt, exactly where camp lies. And I know nothing more

discouraging than to look up after a long hard day to find your landmarks

changed in appearance, your choice widened to at least five diverging and

similar canons, your pockets empty of food, and the chill mountain

twilight descending.

THE MOUNTAINS

Analogous to this is the ability to follow a dim trail. A trail in the

mountains often means merely a way through, a route picked out by some

prospector, and followed since at long intervals by chance travelers.

It may, moreover, mean the only way through. Missing it will bring

you to ever-narrowing ledges, until at last you end at a precipice, and there

is no room to turn your horses around for the return. Some of the great

box canons thousands of feet deep are practicable by but one passage,--

and that steep and ingenious in its utilization of ledges, crevices, little

ravines, and "hog's-backs"; and when the only indications to follow

consist of the dim vestiges left by your last predecessor, perhaps years

before, the affair becomes one of considerable skill and experience. You

must be able to pick out scratches made by shod hoofs on the granite,

depressions almost filled in by the subsequent fall of decayed vegetation,

excoriations on fallen trees. You must have the sense to know AT ONCE

when you have overrun these indications, and the patience to turn back

immediately to your last certainty, there to pick up the next clue, even if it

should take you the rest of the day. In short, it is absolutely necessary

that you be at least a persistent tracker.

Parenthetically; having found the trail, be charitable. Blaze it, if

there are trees; otherwise "monument" it by piling rocks on top of one

another. Thus will those who come after bless your unknown shade.

Third, you must know horses. I do not mean that you should be a

horse-show man, with a knowledge of points and pedigrees. But you

must learn exactly what they can and cannot do in the matters of carrying

weights, making distance, enduring without deterioration hard climbs in

high altitudes; what they can or cannot get over in the way of bad places.

This last is not always a matter of appearance merely. Some bits of

trail, seeming impassable to anything but a goat, a Western horse will

negotiate easily; while others, not particularly terrifying in appearance,

offer complications of abrupt turn or a single bit of unstable, leg-

breaking footing which renders them exceedingly dangerous. You must,

moreover, be able to manage your animals to the best advantage in such

bad places. Of course you must in the beginning have been wise as to

the selection of the horses.

THE MOUNTAINS

Fourth, you must know good horse-feed when you see it. Your

animals are depending entirely on the country; for of course you are

carrying no dry feed for them. Their pasturage will present itself under a

variety of aspects, all of which you must recognize with certainty. Some

of the greenest, lushest, most satisfying-looking meadows grow nothing

but water-grasses of large bulk but small nutrition; while apparently barren

tracts often conceal small but strong growths of great value. You must

differentiate these.

Fifth, you must possess the ability to pare a hoof, fit a shoe cold, nail it

in place. A bare hoof does not last long on the granite, and you are far

from the nearest blacksmith. Directly in line with this, you must have the

trick of picking up and holding a hoof without being kicked, and you must

be able to throw and tie without injuring him any horse that declines to be

shod in any other way.

Last, you must of course be able to pack a horse well, and must know

four or five of the most essential pack-"hitches."

With this personal equipment you ought to be able to get through the

country. It comprises the absolutely essential.

But further, for the sake of the highest efficiency, you should add, as

finish to your mountaineer's education, certain other items. A knowledge

of the habits of deer and the ability to catch trout with fair certainty are

almost a necessity when far from the base of supplies. Occasionally the

trail goes to pieces entirely: there you must know something of the

handling of an axe and pick. Learn how to swim a horse. You will have

to take lessons in camp-fire cookery. Otherwise employ a guide. Of

course your lungs, heart, and legs must be in good condition.

As to outfit, certain especial conditions will differentiate your needs

from those of forest and canoe travel.

You will in the changing altitudes be exposed to greater variations in

temperature. At morning you may travel in the hot arid foot-hills; at

noon you will be in the cool shades of the big pines; towards evening you

may wallow through snowdrifts; and at dark you may camp where

morning will show you icicles hanging from the brinks of little waterfalls.

Behind your saddle you will want to carry a sweater, or better still a

THE MOUNTAINS

buckskin waistcoat. Your arms are never cold anyway, and the pockets

of such a waistcoat, made many and deep, are handy receptacles for

smokables, matches, cartridges, and the like. For the night-time, when

the cold creeps down from the high peaks, you should provide yourself

with a suit of very heavy underwear and an extra sweater or a buckskin

shirt. The latter is lighter, softer, and more impervious to the wind than

the sweater. Here again I wish to place myself on record as opposed to a

coat. It is a useless ornament, assumed but rarely, and then only as

substitute for a handier garment.

Inasmuch as you will be a great deal called on to handle abrading and

sometimes frozen ropes, you will want a pair of heavy buckskin gauntlets.

An extra pair of stout high-laced boots with small Hungarian hob-nails

will come handy. It is marvelous how quickly leather wears out in the

downhill friction of granite and shale. I once found the heels of a new

pair of shoes almost ground away by a single giant-strides descent of a

steep shale-covered thirteen- thousand-foot mountain. Having no others

I patched them with hair-covered rawhide and a bit of horseshoe. It

sufficed, but was a long and disagreeable job which an extra pair would

have obviated.

Balsam is practically unknown in the high hills, and the rocks are

especially hard. Therefore you will take, in addition to your gray army-

blanket, a thick quilt or comforter to save your bones. This, with your

saddle-blankets and pads as foundation, should give you ease--if you are

tough. Otherwise take a second quilt.

A tarpaulin of heavy canvas 17 x 6 feet goes under you, and can be, if

necessary, drawn up to cover your head. We never used a tent. Since

you do not have to pack your outfit on your own back, you can, if you

choose, include a small pillow. Your other personal belongings are those

you would carry into the Forest. I have elsewhere described what they

should be.

Now as to the equipment for your horses.

The most important point for yourself is your riding- saddle. The

cowboy or military style and seat are the only practicable ones. Perhaps

of these two the cowboy saddle is the better, for the simple reason that

THE MOUNTAINS

often in roping or leading a refractory horse, the horn is a great help. For

steep-trail work the double cinch is preferable to the single, as it need not

be pulled so tight to hold the saddle in place.

Your riding-bridle you will make of an ordinary halter by riveting two

snaps to the lower part of the head-piece just above the corners of the

horse's mouth. These are snapped into the rings of the bit. At night you

unsnap the bit, remove it and the reins, and leave the halter part on the

horse. Each animal, riding and packing, has furthermore a short lead-

rope attached always to his halter-ring.

Of pack-saddles the ordinary sawbuck tree is by all odds the best,

provided it fits. It rarely does. If you can adjust the wood accurately to

the anatomy of the individual horse, so that the side pieces bear evenly and

smoothly without gouging the withers or chafing the back, you are

possessed of the handiest machine made for the purpose. Should

individual fitting prove impracticable, get an old LOW California riding-

tree and have a blacksmith bolt an upright spike on the cantle. You can

hang the loops of the kyacks or alforjas--the sacks slung on either side the

horse --from the pommel and this iron spike. Whatever the saddle

chosen, it should be supplied with breast- straps, breeching, and two good

cinches.

The kyacks or alforjas just mentioned are made either of heavy canvas,

or of rawhide shaped square and dried over boxes. After drying, the

boxes are removed, leaving the stiff rawhide like small trunks open at the

top. I prefer the canvas, for the reason that they can be folded and

packed for railroad transportation. If a stiffer receptacle is wanted for

miscellaneous loose small articles, you can insert a soap-box inside the

canvas. It cannot be denied that the rawhide will stand rougher usage.

Probably the point now of greatest importance is that of saddle-

padding. A sore back is the easiest thing in the world to induce,--three

hours' chafing will turn the trick,--and once it is done you are in trouble

for a month. No precautions or pains are too great to take in assuring

your pack-animals against this. On a pinch you will give up cheerfully

part of your bedding to the cause. However, two good- quality woolen

blankets properly and smoothly folded, a pad made of two ordinary collar-

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THEMOUNTAINS1THEMOUNTAINSBYSTEWARTEDWARDWHITETHEMOUNTAINS2PREFACETheauthorhasfollowedatruesequenceofeventspracticallyinallparticularssaveinrespecttothecharacteroftheTenderfoot.Heisinonesensefictitious;inanothersensereal.Heisrealinthatheistheapotheosisofmanytenderfeet,andthateverythinghedoesinthisnar...

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