  You are going to Yosemite. Of course you are. What else did you come to California for? The idea of a man in his right mind, having the slightest love of beauty, grandeur and sublimity, coming to California and not going to Yosemite! Why, it's preposterous; it's incredible; it's impossible. We may as well dismiss the thought at once. Of course you go. So that's settled. Now, when will you go? If you have means and are sure of time to see all the wonders and beauties which the State offers, then might you wisely and safely leave the best until the last; that is, reserve Yosemite for your final trip before you return. But, lest time or cash should fail, or sudden summons hasten your departure, it is wisest and safest to make sure of it at once while you may. It would never do to go back East, confront inquiring friends, and have to humbly confess that you had been to California, but had not seen Yosemite. Then, how shall you go. If you are fresh and strong, with the nerve and muscle of a young and enthusiastic college pedestrian, you can do it on foot, as Bayard Taylor did Europe. It's the most independent and enjoyable way of all if you have time and disposition, and no ladies in your party. If you should wish to try that, get a copy of the Overland Monthly for July, 1870, turn to the article "Yosemite on Foot," and you have your guide. If you haven't time or ambition to distinguish yourself by emulating Weston, you may possibly contemplate an excursion on hoofs. Several parties have done Yosemite on all fours, and report a tough American nag, or a wiry little Mexican mustang as an indispensable auxiliary. Parties who wish to avoid the sense of dependence, as well as the pecuniary expense of hiring Mounted in this way you accomplish a sort of vicarious pedestrianism, gladly substituting equine hoofs for human heels, while the animal himself rejoices in a responsible backer in the bifurcated person of your bestriding self; or, still again, it may be—it probably does be, as our little four-year-old says—that you are too fashionably lazy,—I beg pardon, I meant to say, it is possible that you have inherited a constitutional aversion to protracted exertion, which, by long indulgence, has quite unfitted you for the thoroughly manly or womanly pursuit of grandeur, beauty, and pleasure in the saddle—chasing health on horseback. One other way remains, before you fall back upon the fashionable and feeble way of "being carried" in the regular, orthodox and popular style, which suffers you to attempt no personal exercise beyond "the heavy looking on." You may combine saddle and wagon: that is, take a strong wagon, carrying tent, provisions and cooking apparatus, with one or two of the more unskillful riders on the seat, while the others in the saddle revolve as equestrian satellites around. But if you decide, as most do, and as you probably will, to take no responsibility and cumber yourself with no care, you select one of the various public routes, seek out its agent, make your contract, give up all planning and providing on your own part, pay over your coin, take your tickets for the round trip, commit yourself to one of the various lines of public conveyances, dismiss all anxiety and give yourself up to receive and absorb all the pleasure that may lie along the route, or await you at its end. And if your object is simply enjoyment, untroubled by exertion, and unmixed with anxiety, that is, undoubtedly, the best way. You are in San Francisco, at the Grand, at the Occidental, at the Lick House or the Cosmopolitan. In their luxurious beds you have slept off the fatigue of thirty-three hundred miles across the continent, and at their bountiful tables you have fed yourself into courage and spirit for new and further enterprise. You have come forth so fresh and brave that you feel ready for eight thousand miles more, straight across the tranquil Pacific; or climbing, unaided, the loftiest vertebral peak of that spinal range which furnishes the backbone of the continent. Your new vigor has let off its frothy effervescence in sundry spasmodic dashes about the city and around its suburbs. You have driven to the Cliff House, interviewed the seals, climbed Telegraph hill, rusticated at Woodward's, spent an afternoon at Bancroft's, crossed to Oakland, inspected Alcatraz and Fort Point, and, in short, completed the little day-trips and half-day tours which so restfully entertain the newly-arrived traveler, gradually acclimate him to our occidental air and familiarize him with our cosmopolitan people. You feel strong and fresh: ready for the grand excursion. All your drawing-room and dining-table suits are snugly packed in trunks, folded away in drawers or carefully hung in wardrobe or clothespress. The roughest, strongest and warmest suit in your possession you have donned. Specially provide good stout, yet easy, boots or shoes, with the softest and most comfortable of socks or stockings. Remember that every day brings two climates, a cool or even cold one for morning and evening, with a hot and dusty noon sandwiched between. Umbrellas and rubber blankets you won't need, though a good traveling shawl will serve you frequently and well. Stovepipe hats are an abomination—a hard hat of any shape, first cousin to it, and the extra wide brimmed ladies' picnic hat, closely akin to both. Browns, drabs and grays are your best colors; linens and woolens your best materials; fine flannels next the skin, and especially provide plenty of something soft and thick to come between you and the horse, during the necessary miles in the He rode in at midnight, reached his lodging at one o'clock in the morning, too tired to eat, and too sore to tell of it; went to bed, sick, sore and disgusted. Up late next morning, so lame he could hardly sit in his saddle, hobbled hurriedly around three or four hours, and was on his way out again at a little after noon. Many of the grandest sights he didn't even catch the remotest glimpse of; those he did see he just glanced at, too weary to appreciate their slightest beauty, and too hurried to allow himself time to begin to grow to the true scale of their grandeur; and having given to the whole valley about one quarter of the time necessary to thoroughly study, intelligently enjoy and heartily appreciate the least of its wonders, he has the presumption to fancy he has "been to Yosemite." The fact is, he never really saw a single object about the valley, except, possibly, the giant cliff, Tu-toch-ah-nu-lah, which, as he says, looked as if it might have leaned over and buried him beneath its vastness, and which, as I say, would, doubtless, have done so speedily, had it known that the shabby rider who shambled along under its base that moonlight night, sore at one end, sleepy at the other, and sick all the way between, was going to rush off and talk so inadequately, unworthily and even untruthfully about objects which no human eye ever did see or could see in the condition of his Pardon our digression to Greeley. We have spent so much time on him, not because he occasionally scribbles illegible manuscript for a new and struggling paper in a small eastern village, but because he came faster, arrived sorer, stayed fewer hours, saw less of the valley, and slandered it more than any one else has ever attempted. Olive Logan spoke disparagingly of the Yosemite Fall, but the Fall is still there. She adds some slanderous remarks about the conduct of the drivers along the route, to which the only fitting answer would be these questions: "When a man or a woman, all alone in a room, looks into a mirror, and doesn't see a gentleman But let us start. From San Francisco to Yosemite there are three routes. All of them carry one, first, to or near Stockton, which city we reach by rail or river, and all of them bring us, at last, into the valley by one of the only two trails which enter it. Between the outer ends of these trails and Stockton, or vicinity, lie the various intermediate places or way stations which have given name to the routes which pass through them, and concerning which the tourist chiefly needs reliable information. Looking upon any good map, not drawn in the exclusive interest of some one of these rival routes, you can easily see for yourself, spite of all agents' representations, which is the most direct way, geographically or topographically. We now mention these in regular order, reckoning from north to south; that is, down the map, as we used to say at school. For convenience, we may distinguish the three routes as the upper or north route, the middle route, and the lower or south route. Big Oak Flat Route.The upper or north route is commonly called the Big Oak Flat, or the Hutchings route. If we go by this, we can either go directly into the valley, or make a detour by way of the Calaveras Big Trees. The following table showing distances, times and conveyances, by the straight and quick way. TO YOSEMITE VALLEY—DIRECT.
By the above way you leave San Francisco at four o'clock P.M., from the wharf, at the foot of Broadway, by one of the California Pacific Railroad Company's steamers for Stockton. You have a fine afternoon and sunset view of San Francisco, the shipping, Oakland, Yerba Buena and Alcatraz Islands, the Golden Gate, Angel Island, Mount Tamalpais, San Quentin, San Pablo Bay, Vallejo, Mare Island, Suisun Bay, Benicia, Martinez, and Mount Diablo. Those who have crossed the continent by rail find this sail a pleasant change. They avoid the dust, get a good night's rest on the steamer, reach Stockton at from two to three o'clock in the morning, breakfast at six, and at seven take the cars of the Stockton and Copperopolis Railroad from the station near the landing. We reach Milton, twenty-eight miles, at 8.20, find the stage waiting, and immediately embark, and are off at once. The road lies through a mountainous country, well timbered. The air is clear and invigorating, and the scenery sublime. The road is good, the stages first-class, and the drivers obliging. About one we reach Chinese Camp, and after twenty-four miles staging are ready for a half-hour's rest and a good dinner; or, we may wait for both until we reach Garrote, fourteen miles farther. Here either of two good hotels will feed and lodge us. Next morning we'd better dress for the horse-back ride in the afternoon. Lay aside all superfluous luggage and pack your extra nice clothing, if you have been foolish enough to bring any, in your valise. A small hand-satchel you can pack behind you on the horse, or take it before you. Let it be as small and snugly-packed as possible. One word further, and a most important one, especially to ladies. Calculate to ride astride, and dress for it. You can wear a long skirt to Tamarack, but beyond it is a nuisance. A woman who has only one leg, or has two on one side, may have some excuse for the unnatural, ungraceful, dangerous and barbarous side-saddle. The last word was prompted by remembering the raw back of the beautiful horse which carried Miss Dix into the valley, under the old, conventional, side-saddle. From Tamarack Flat the road dwindles to a trail, winds among pine trees, crosses an occasional rivulet, commands a fine outlook through the trees, now and then, and finally, almost before you know it, brings you to the brink of the valley. Thence let your horse have his head. He'll take care of himself and you too—land you safely at the foot of the trail, and deposit you at Hutchings' by five or six o'clock, in good time for the ample dinner which will be waiting. If you wish to take the Calaveras Big Trees on your way, you can do so, either going or coming, by taking the same general route as far as Milton, to which place the times, distances, and conveyances are the same as in the table already given. From Milton you take stage through Murphy's to Sperry & Perry's hotel, where you dine in the very shadows of the Big Tree grove. Having stayed among the vegetable monsters as long as you can, you return thence by stage to Sonora, twenty-nine miles; time six hours; from Sonora to Garrote, also by stage, twenty-five miles in five hours, and then you strike the same road which you would travel by going directly in, so that the conveyances, time and distances of the former table will also serve you hence. As we said a few paragraphs back, these two routes are not really separate and distinct routes, as nearly one hundred and twenty miles on the western end, and about fifty miles at the eastern end, are the same in both. The time occupied in going or coming by the way of the trees is twelve and one half hours more The second route, the middle one, is the Coulterville Route,so named from the principal town through which it passes, which took its own name from General Coulter, who still manages the business of the line. By this route you leave San Francisco at four P.M., by cars on Central Pacific Railroad; change cars at Lathrop for Modesto, arriving same evening. Remain over night at the Ross House, James Cole, proprietor, and leave by stage at eight A.M. for Coulterville, forty-eight miles, ten hours, arriving at six P.M. You dine at La Grange, twenty-eight miles from Modesto. Stay all night at Wagner's Hotel, Coulterville, where supper, lodging and breakfast cost you $2.50. Next morning rise early, take a good hot breakfast, leave Coulterville at five o'clock for Gobin's Ranch at Crane's Flat, thirty miles, where you are due at twelve. Dine at Gobin's for $1.00. At one o'clock leave Gobin's by saddle train, arriving at Black's Hotel, in the valley, fifteen miles, at six P.M., thus taking it leisurely, especially down the mountain-side trail into the valley, where no animal can go fast and keep his feet, and no rider can hurry and save his neck. Returning, leave the valley at six in the morning, and reach Gobin's, Crane Flat, at eleven, taking five hours, the same time as when going in, as horses can go full as fast up the trail as down. Dine at Gobin's, as when going in. Leave Crane Flat at twelve, and reach Coulterville at half past five, where the same hotel, Wagner's, accommodates you with supper, lodging and breakfast, and at the same rates as before. Leave Coulterville at six next morning, and drive twenty-eight miles to Roberts', where we dine, at noon. From Roberts' to This route gives regular rest, takes one through a beautiful and picturesque country, from the fact that, after striking the foothills, it lies along the dividing ridge between the Tuolumne and Merced rivers. On the east lies the Sierra Nevada, with Castle Peak, Mount Dana, and other prominent points, while westward it commands a view of the San Joaquin Valley and the Coast Range. To this may be added the fact that as a good part of the road runs east and west, and as the prevailing winds are northerly, the dust is blown away to one side instead of along with you. Another and very great advantage of this route is that, from and after the fifteenth of this month, June, 1871, it will run stages to the very brink of the valley, leaving but two and a half miles of saddle riding to the valley below, and only seven miles on horseback to the hotels. This same advantage will then be true, also, of the Big Oak Flat, or Hutchings' route, which enters the valley by the same trail. Mariposa Route.This is the lower, or southern route, taking its name from that of its chief town, Mariposa, once famous as the seat of Fremont's famous "estate," with its gold mines of supposed exhaustless wealth. This route takes one by California Pacific Railroad from San Francisco, through Lathrop to Modesto, one hundred and one miles; thence ninety-six miles of staging, through Besides the view from Inspiration Point, this route also presents the attraction of the Mariposa Big Trees, six miles from Clark's, and requiring an additional expense of $2.50 for each horse, besides the cost of another day's board and the fee of the guide. The Calaveras trees, while equally grand and beautiful and even loftier, have the great advantage of an excellent hotel in the very midst of them, so that the tourist can spend much more time in rambling among their monumental bulks. Besides the three routes already named, two others have been opened during the present season. The first of these may be called the Mokelumne Hill Route.Parties of eight, leaving San Francisco on the morning train, or Sacramento on the noon train, can take stage at Mokelumne station, at 1.30 P.M., reach Mokelumne Hill the same evening at seven o'clock, stay all night, and reach the Calaveras Big Trees at noon next day. Price, from San Francisco to the Trees, and return, $17.00; from Sacramento to the Trees and back, $15.50. Parties of four will be taken for $15.00 each from Mokelumne station to the trees and back, in first class coaches and carriages. Any wishing to try this route can address Peck & Co., Mokelumne Hill. From the trees one can go on to the valley by regular stages, The second additional route is known as Hamilton's New Route.By this route the tourist from either San Francisco or Stockton takes the Western Pacific Railroad to Galt, whence stages leaving at one P.M., carry him by the way of Ione City and Valley, through Jackson to Mokelumne Hill, where he arrives at 7 P.M., and stays over night. Leave Mokelumne Hill at 6.30 next morning; take the direct route through Railroad Flat and reach the Big Trees at noon. Fare, for the round trip from San Francisco or Sacramento, $20.00. From either city to the Big Trees, $12.00, leaving one free to go from the grove to Yosemite, when and as he likes. Independent Trips,Are commonly made in one of three ways: 1st. By private wagons, taking camping apparatus, cooking utensils and provisions along. 2d. In the saddle, taking apparatus, utensils and food along on pack horses. 3d. On foot, taking as little as possible, and depending mainly on hotels and wayside ranches or farm houses for the necessary meals and lodging, unless you choose to lodge in your own blankets. I. BY PRIVATE WAGONS. Parties of from four to thirty try this method every season, and report themselves delighted with the enjoyment of it, and subjected to an average expense not exceeding $2.00 a day for each one of a party less than eight, or $1.50, or even less, a day for a party of from twelve to thirty. II. BY SADDLE AND PACK ANIMALS. By this method the party is still more independent than by wagons, as hoofs can go where wheels cannot. The expense is about the same, as what is saved in the hire of wagons is balanced by the cost of the greater number of horses where there must be one animal for each person in the party, besides from one to four, or even six, animals to carry camp equipage and food. III. ON FOOT. For complete independence, combined with the ability to go where and as you please, unconfined by roads or trails, this is the best way of all. You can feed and lodge at hotels and wayside houses, or you can take along blankets and lodge where night overtakes you. To the untrained this may seem exceedingly rough and uncomfortable; to those who have fairly tried it, you will have no need to recommend it. Hotel Rates along these Routes.The hotel rates vary but little by whatever route you may go or come. You will seldom find a meal or a lodging as low as fifty cents, especially among the mountains and at the places most frequented by summer travel. The more common price is seventy-five cents for either, and as we approach the Valley, or the Big Trees, we may calculate on that figure as the usual cost. The reasonable tourist,—and those who have souls great enough to lead them to nature's wonders are supposed to be reasonable at least,—will readily see two good reasons why the charges along routes like these must be relatively higher than along the more frequently and permanently traveled routes of the thickly settled portions of the State: 1st, Everything which requires transportation, furniture, carpets, and all articles of food which cannot be raised in the immediate vicinity, necessarily cost much more for transportation than where steamers or cars bring them almost to the door. 2nd, The travel along all such routes, and the consequent profit We have no disposition to apologize for any extortionate or unreasonable charges; for we are very happy to say that any such apology is rarely needed. Every experienced and fair-minded traveler knows that his fellow passengers are unreasonable and extortionate in their demands fully as often as the transportation companies and their agents are in theirs. The various lines into the Valley and the Big Trees are managed by men who realize perfectly well that the amount of patronage they receive, and consequently, the profits which they make, must depend upon their gaining and keeping the good will of the traveling public. There is plenty of opposition; among the rival lines, no one has or can obtain any monopoly. The sensible and safe way, here, as everywhere, is to make a definite agreement beforehand. Don't trust any stranger's assurance that "we'll make that all right." That very fair sounding phrase has made more trouble than almost any other of equal length. The trouble is that it has two meanings. The speaker's "all right" means, for himself, and the hearer's "all right" means for himself, too; hence the frequent upshot of such loose understanding is, that it proves a complete misunderstanding, when they come to settle. Distinctly specify what is to be done; how it is to be done; by whom and when; and then add at least ten per cent. to the specified cost for those little extras which will inevitably force themselves upon you in almost every trip. Thus you may escape adding yourself to the list of those improvident ones whose usual exclamation at the close of any pleasure trip is "It cost me a great deal more than I expected; and I always thought it would." Valley Hotels.There are three—Hutching's, Black's, and Liedig's. Any of them will keep you well for from $3.00 to $3.50 a day, or $20.00 a week. Hutchings' is the farthest up the valley and nearer the greater number of points of interest. Hutchings himself, as poor Dan Setchell used to make Captain Cuttle say of his friend "Ole Sol Gills," is the "chuck-fulledest man o' science," in all matters pertaining to the valley and its history, that one can find in the State. He keeps an excellent house and usually entertains the more distinguished literary and scientific tourists. The Yosemite branch of the Western Union Telegraph now completed and working as far as Garrote, will be extended into the valley and have its office at Hutchings, by July 1st. Black's is a new house, built expressly for the increased travel of late years—having excellent bath and other accommodations, with well-finished and furnished rooms. It stands three quarters of a mile nearer the west end of the valley. Liedig's is also new, and is specially noted for the bountiful supply of well-cooked food which usually loads its hospitable table, under the immediate and personal superintendence of its obliging hostess. It is situated nearly in front of the base of Sentinel Rock. Each of these houses, of course, has its warm friends, loud in its praises. All of them do their best for the satisfaction of guests and any one of them will provide the tourist with a comfortable home. Horses and Guides in the Valley.For a good horse and saddle the charge is $2.50 a day, or for a trip, if it occupies such part of the day that the animal cannot go out on any other one the same day. If you propose to stay a week or more, and wish to engage the same horse for your The horses are good, trusty, serviceable beasts, trained to their business and generally safe and reliable. Going into or coming out from the valley with any regular trip, over any route, you have nothing to do with providing or paying for a guide. One accompanies the saddle-train each way. In and about the valley, you can have the company and attention of a practiced and competent guide for $3.00 a day—or, a trip. The guide's fee is the same whether the party be small or large. No tourist who has the nerve and muscle of an average man or woman really needs either horse or guide. The valley is only seven miles long and but a mile wide. The perpendicular walls, from three to five thousand feet high, shut you in all around. You certainly can't get out; and with so many prominent landmarks all about you, you can't get lost, unless you try very hard indeed. With a good guide-book before you and well-rested legs under you, a very moderate exercise of common sense will take you all about the valley, and enable you thoroughly to explore its wonders "on foot and alone" if you choose so to go. Bear in mind, however, that you are nearly a mile—in some places more than a mile—above the sea; that the atmosphere is rare and light; that you need to restrain your impulse to dash about, especially at first. For the first two or three days "go slow"—take it moderately; see less than you think you might, rather than more. As you become more familiar with the character of the rocks and ravines and accustomed to the exertion of climbing about them, you can extend your excursions and attempt harder things. For the longer trips, such as the ascent of the Sentinel Rock, it may be safer and wiser to employ a good guide. Expenses.The total necessary expenses by each route are:
TOTAL EXPENSES OF EXCURSION.
In the above statement the expense for guide is based on the supposition that the party includes at least three persons. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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