CAMERA CRAFT
A PHOTOGRAPHIC MONTHLY
VOL. XIV. No. 7 July 1907.
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

The Camera Club's Yosemite Outing
By ALBERT LEBRETON,
President C. C. C.
Illustrated by the members of the California Camera
Club, with pictures secured on the trip

A MERRY party of California Camera Club members, numbering eighty, one-fifth of the entire membership, left on a "special" June 2d for a two weeks' stay in the Yosemite Valley. This large attendance can, no doubt. be attributed to the fact that this was the first extended outing of the Club since the great unscheduled outing of April 18, 1906, when we seemed to be headed for nowhere in particular, except as our overworked nerves suggested that "bourne from whence no traveler returns." That outing cost us many simoleons. The Yosemite one at least gave us our money's worth, for everyone returned well pleased. We had few days of stormy weather, it is true, giving us unexpected and highly appreciated opportunities for snow scenes, but then photographers are used to exposures; and, by the way, speaking of the latter, we obtained something like fifteen hundred negatives to replace those lost in the great fire.

It is not my intention to dwell on personal incidents of the trip. There were many interesting ones, of course - some serious, some amusing, some pathetic, and, as there was considerable walking indulged in, we might add, some peripatetic. A narrative of the trip itself will interest . members more than the great number of "Camera Craft" readers, and therefore may better be reserved for a purely club gathering.

Nor is it my intention to describe the Yosemite Valley and its many varied and attractive features. Prose writers have reveled in encomiums on the Merced River, Mirror Lake, the many exceptionally beautiful waterfalls, the awe-inspiring heights. Probably no section of picturesque America has afforded more themes for painter and poet. I will not attempt "to throw a perfume on the violet, or add another hue unto the rainbow, or with taper-light to seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish." I will even resist the temptation to look into my friend Foley's most excellent Guide Book, or any guide book whatsoever, for fear that I may he led to give dates and figures as to discoveries, altitudes, and the like. I will simply attempt to present to the reader some matters hitherto but slightly touched upon, and will more particularly speak of the new road into the Valley. At Merced, visitors leave the Southern Pacific or the Santa Fe Railroad and take observation cars on this new road and enjoy sixty miles of an ever-varying panorama of frowning crags, imposing mountains, in connection with the swiftly flowing waters of the beautiful Merced River, broken here and there by surging rapids. The California Camera Club was the first large party by way of the new Yosemite Valley Railroad recently completed from Merced to El Portal, which now lands tourists at the gateway of the valley. To reach the Sentinel Hotel and Yosemite Postoffice requires but a short drive of three hours. El Portal was as yet scarcely fitted for so large an invasion at the time. Passing there on our return, we found a decided change and manager Sells can now accommodate several hundred guests.

The road from Merced at first runs through slightly rolling and fertile meadows with an occasional water way, which led a "nouvelle riche'' lady tourist to remark that she was "really tired of seeing those irritating ditches." But that was farther south. We do not skirt the river until somewhere above Merced Falls. As we follow and ascend the river, the scenery becomes well worthy of our cameras. The road crosses the river at several points and the bends in the precipitous stream are numerous and picturesque, the gradually rising slopes on each side of the river drawing closer together as we approach until the canyon becomes quite narrow. The Merced, placid enough where the stream is wide and deep, soon dashes over the rocks like a raging torrent.

At Bagby there is a fine dam. This place is destined to become the most important station on the railroad. From here there is a good stage road to Mariposa, and some mining claims have been located in the vicinity. Little work has as yet been done upon then. Above Bagby the gorge, looking like a chasm cut into the Cordilleras, reveals great masses of granite and splintered rock brought here by the ice rivers of the glacial period. The avalanche tracks are plainly seen. A few trees, some of them of considerable height, appear at the base of the ridges, here and there, wedged in among the rocks over which dashes the narrow river now more boisterous than ever.

We can distinctly hear the noise of the water as we are ushered by polite attendants to our comfortable tents at El Portal, four hours after leaving Merced.

I will say however,that as a matter of personal gratification, it is worth spending a night at El Portal in order to enjoy the hospitable treatment of manager Sells and make the trip into the valley next morning. Here the new stage road but ten miles to the floor of the valley, affords the visitor a most delightful trip through scenery only surpassed by that in the valley itself.

The dewy freshness of dawn, the lovely tints imparted to the water trees and rocky by the rising sun, the dignity of the crags whose tops reach higher and higher, gradually prepare us for the sublime spectacle awaiting us at the summit of the canyon. This is undoubtedly destined to become the popular route to the Yosemite. Indeed, so great is the travel at this early date that the roadway, in many places cut into the sheer rock, is being widened to admit of more extended travel. In some places a change is not necessary and in others it is hoped none will be made. Tunnel Rock, for instance, should be allowed to remain as it is. Nature, in her Titanic play at ninepins with boulders, considerately caused two immense ones to fall in such positions as to form a perfect tunnel. Stage drivers, with a tact that does them infinite credit, slacken the speed of their horses when driving through, in order to facilitate indulgence in the usual privileges accorded affectionate couples under such circumstances. After leaving Tunnel Rock, we are too engrossed in the scenery to think of much else, although our imaginations are taxed by the stage drivers, who call our attention to the fancied resemblance of rock formations to various images of familiar objects. The greater your imagination the more you will enjoy the fancied resemblance. Elephant Rock certainly does reveal, at its summit, when seen at a proper angle, a fairly good profile of that pachyderm order of quadrupeds. A little distance beyond, on the left, is the most attractive individual feature of the drive, the beautiful "Cascades," unlike the other falls in the valley, which makes a sharp turn to the right midway in its descent, owing to the formation of the cliff over which it dashes.

In the ascent from El Portal to the floor of the valley, a distance of nine or ten miles, we rise two thousand feet, the heavier part of the grade being between El Portal and the Cascades. Above the latter the scenery is perhaps less rugged and wild. The timber gradually takes in more imposing proportions, yielding a greater abundance of foliage. We are still running, or rather creeping, along the banks of the narrow river. The road is like a winding stairway from its ever changing position, presenting a different point of observation, now through a wealth of ferns and taller foliage, now from between the moss-covered rocks and boulders that almost bar our passage. There is one feature here which is particularly gratifying: not a single rock or tree proclaims the merits of Peruna, Bing's Bitters, or other patent medicines, possibly because it is known that they will not.be needed here. Nor do we see painted pictures of erect goats holding in devilish glee the festive ''stein,'' no eulogies of soap, floating on the surface of water in imaginary wash bowls. Of course. their absence is so unusual in California that we almost feel the scenery incomplete.

We finally reach the summit of the canyon, and enter the Bridal Veil meadows, where we are suddenly ushered into the wonders and beauties of the world-famed valley.

Its great walls tower above us, while the clean, level floor presents a beautiful carpet of green, through which runs the winding river, fringed by groves of cedar, cottonwood and oak. The Camera Club located at Camp Yosemite, an ideal spot for a tent-hotel, near the foot of the falls. It is admirably presided over by Miss Hickey. Even the writer, who, through the machinations of his enemies, was assigned to Tent 23. can say that he found the accommodations all that could be desired. Excursions were made every other day to the principal points of interest, the alternate days being spent in such manner as the fancy of individual members dictated. The Club members enjoyed a very unusual experience for the valley at this season of the year in the form of a heavy fall of snow which they enjoyed to the full, particularly as it was accompanied by a very mild temperature. Many good pictures were secured by those who were not too busy enjoying the snowballing. Good trails make the ascent to the summits of the falls and peaks by no means difficult. The donkeys know ever foot of the ground, and it is unnecessary to admonish them or indulge in remonstrances.  One of our party, for so doing, was unceremoniously whisked off of his charge at Sentinel Dome. A piece of advice I might give tourists on the trails: If you have anything to say to your donkey, say it "to his face," and above all never attempt any liberties with his narrative. A feature of interest in the valley, and one seldom touched upon,  is the little rancheria, or so-called Indian Village, less than a quarter of a mile from Camp Yosemite. The Indians in the valley today are not so numerous as in years past. I only saw a few, but my friend Weidner was more fortunate, and obtained some excellent pictures.

Within a stone's throw of the rancheria is the little cemetery, of particular interest because the remains of the first settlers, Hutchins and Lamon, lie there, appropriately reposing under the shadow of Sentinel Rock. Another pioneer, now in his ninety-fourth year, will in time be beside them; and he has himself prepared for the final summons. He may now be seen every day, a familiar figure around Camp Yosemite. In his spare moments he visits the little cemetery, where he has fenced in a plot and planted a few locust trees which he waters with regularity. Lying in front of the lot is a granite block on which is simply inscribed the name Galen Clark. We all left the valley with a kindly feeling for the old pioneer.

Some thirty years ago, when I had as yet traveled but little, I visited the Yosemite Valley. A number of my fellow members have asked me to give my present impressions. I may as well state, in all candor, that on entering the valley I was not as spell-bound as I had been on the occasion of my first visit. The height of the encompassing mountains, the mighty cataracts sending down, in amazing volumes, their diaphanous and fleecy sheets, and above all the graceful proportions of the valley did not at once impress their grandeur upon me. Perhaps the scene is too great and too vast to be easily comprehended. But one thing is certain, it grows upon one. It appealed to me more and more as my visit was prolonged.

Of some points I had retained but an imperfect recollection, and I rejoice that I have visited them a second time. The Half Dome, Tissask, Goddess of the Valley with its large level crown of snow, made upon me a most profound impression n Its quiet dignity and unobtrusive grandeur always arrested my steps when I passed within sight of it. To me El Capitan belongs to another order of grandeur, more sublime, more awe-inspiring of course, but almost too much so, too terrifying in its aspect. I can imagine no greater emblem of massiveness, strength and majesty. But Half Dome, with its singular shape, leaving so much for conjecture as to its possible origin, and its inaccessible heights, soaring far above El Capitan, holds the eye in constant bondage. Indeed, as I looked at its solid vertical front of two thousand feet, and the beautiful setting in which it lay, - perhaps that had something to do with it, - I was always fascinated. It and Vernal Falls are my favorites. The latter, from Lady Franklin Rock, is to me a picture never to be forgotten.

Mirror Lake, although charming from a photographic view point, was a disappointment, both as to extent and surroundings. But then I have been to Lake Louise, near Laggan, British Columbia, and I consider it the most beautiful spot I have ever seen. The towering Victoria and Leproy Glaciers, at the base of which lies the lake, have no counterpart in Tenaya Canyon, nor does one find the wealth of coloring in the reflections.

But while I recall, and always will recall, the great glories of the glaciers Sir Donald, The Hermit, Mts. MacDonald, Assiniboine and others in British Columbia, I cannot overlook many features here which are not found in those impressive sections of our continent. Vegetation in the Yosemite is more luxuriant and exists in far greater abundance. The eye is everywhere charmed by the presence of magnificent trees, even on the top of Clouds Rest and Sentinel Dome. Most of these trees belong to sugar and yellow pine variety. (The sequoia is only found at a greater elevation, the grove at Wawona being, I believe, nearly seven thousand feet above sea level.)



Accompanying photographs:
Glacier Point
Passenger train above Bagby - Edgar A. Cohen -- (Sheppards Point, made into postal card)
On arrival at El Portal - Charles Weidner
In the snow at Glacier Point - Charles Weidner
Just above El Portal - Edgar A. Cohen
Chimmey Rock- Edgar A. Cohen
The Portal through Arch of Oaks - Edgar A. Cohen -- (made into Postal card)
The Indian Village - Charles Weidner
Galen Clark the Pioneer - Albert LeBreton
Yosemite Falls - Frances McCulloch