 CHAPTER 10 OF THE MOUNTAINS OF CALIFORNIA This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chris Chapman. THE MOUNTAINS OF CALIFORNIA by John Muir CHAPTER 10 A WIND STORM IN THE FOREST The mountain winds, like the dew and rain, sunshine and snow, are measured and bestowed with love on the forests to develop their strength and beauty. However restricted the scope of other forest influences, that of the winds is universal. The snow bends and trims the upper forests every winter. The lightning strikes a single tree here and there, while avalanches mow down thousands at a swoop, as a gardener trims out a bed of flowers. But the winds go to every tree, fingering every leaf and branch and furrowed bowl. Not one is forgotten. The mountain pine towering with outstretched arms on the rugged buttresses of the icy peaks, the lowliest and most retiring tenant of the Dells, they seek and find them all, caressing them tenderly, bending them in lusty exercise, stimulating their growth, plucking off a leaf or limb as required, or removing an entire tree or grove, now whispering and cooing through the branches like a sleepy child, now roaring like the ocean. The winds blessing the forests, the forests, the winds, with ineffable beauty and harmony as the shore result. After one has seen pines six feet in diameter, bending like grasses before a mountain gale, and ever and on some giant falling with a crash that shakes the hills, it seems astonishing that any, save the lowest, thick-set trees, could ever have found a period sufficiently stormless to establish themselves, or once established that they should not sooner or later have been blown down. But when the storm is over, and we behold the same forests tranquil again, towering fresh and unscathed in erect majesty, and consider what centuries of storms have fallen upon them since they were first planted, hail to break the tender seedlings, lightning to scorch and shatter, snow, winds and avalanches to crush and overwhelm, while the manifest result of all this wild storm culture is the glorious perfection we behold, then faith in nature's forestry is established, and we cease to deplore the violence of her most destructive gales, or of any other storm implement whatsoever. There are two trees in the Sierra forests that are never blown down, so long as they continue in sound health. These are the Juniper and the Dwarf Pine of the Summit Peaks. Their stiff, crooked roots grip the storm-beaten ledgers like eagles' claws, while their live, cord-like branches bend round compliantly, offering but slight holds for winds, however violent. The other alpine conifers, the needle pine, mountain pine, two-leaved pine and hemlock spruce, are never thinned out by this agent to any destructive extent, on account of their admirable toughness and the closeness of their growth. In general, the same is true of the giants of the lower zones. The kingly sugar pine, towering aloft to a height of more than 200 feet, offers a fine mark to storm winds, but it is not densely foliageed, and its long horizontal arms swing round compliantly in the blast, like tressers of green, fluent algae in a brook, while the silver furs in most places keep their ranks well together in united strength. The yellow or silver pine is more frequently overturned than any other tree on the Sierra, because its leaves and branches form a larger mass in proportion to its height, while in many places it is planted sparsely, leaving open lanes through which storms may enter with full force. Furthermore, because it is distributed along the lower portion of the range, which was the first to be left bare on the breaking up of the ice sheet at the close of the glacial winter, the soil it is growing upon has been longer exposed to post-glacial weathering, and consequently is in a more crumbling decayed condition than the fresher soils farther up the range, and therefore offers a less secure anchorage for the roots. While exploring the forest zones of Mount Shasta, I discovered the path of a hurricane strewn with thousands of pines of this species. Great and small had been uprooted or wrenched off by sheer force, making a clean gap, like that made by a snow avalanche. But hurricanes capable of doing this class of work are rare in the Sierra, and when we have explored the forests from one extremity of the range to the other, we are compelled to believe that they are the most beautiful on the face of the earth, however we may regard the agents that have made them so. There is always something deeply exciting, not only in the sounds of winds in the woods, which exert more or less influence over every mind, but in their varied water-like flow, as manifested by the movements of the trees, especially those of the conifers. By no other trees are they rendered so extensively and impressively visible, not even by the lordly tropic palms or tree ferns responsive to the gentlest breeze. The waving of a forest of the giant sequoias is indescribably impressive and sublime, but the pines seem to me the best interpreters of winds. They are mighty waving golden rods, ever in tune, singing and writing wind music all their long-century lives. Little, however, of this noble tree-waving and tree music will you see or hear in the strictly alpine portion of the forests. The burly juniper, whose girth sometimes more than equals its height, is about as rigid as the rocks on which it grows. The slender, lash-like sprays of the dwarf pine stream out in wavering ripples, but the tallest and slenderest are far too unyielding to wave even in the heaviest gales. They only shake in quick short vibrations. The hemlock spruce, however, and the mountain pine and some of the tallest thickets of the two-leaved species now end storms with considerable scope and gracefulness. But it is only in the lower and middle zones that the meeting of winds and woods is to be seen in all its grandeur. One of the most beautiful and exhilarating storms I ever enjoyed in the Sierra occurred in December 1874 when I happened to be exploring one of the tributary valleys of the Yuba River. The sky and the ground and the trees had been thoroughly rainwashed and were dry again. The day was intensely pure, one of those incomparable bits of California winter, warm and balmy and full of white sparkling sunshine, redolent of all the purest influences of the spring and at the same time enlivened with one of the most bracing windstorms conceivable. Instead of camping out, as I usually do, I then chanced to be stopping at the house of a friend, but when the storm began to sound I lost no time in pushing out into the woods to enjoy it. For on such occasions nature has always something rare to show us and the danger to life and limb is hardly greater than one would experience crouching deprecatingly beneath a roof. It was still early morning when I found myself fairly adrift. Delicious sunshine came pouring over the hills, lighting the tops of the pines and setting free a steam of summery fragrance that contrasted strangely with the wild tones of the storm. The air was mottled with pine tassels and bright green plumes that went flashing past in the sunlight as birds pursued. But there was not the slightest dustiness nothing less pure than leaves and ripe pollen and flecks of withered bracken and moss. I heard trees falling for hours at the rate of one every two or three minutes. Some uprooted, partly on account of the loose water-soaked condition of the ground others broken straight across some weakness caused by fire had determined the spot. The gestures of the various trees made a delightful study. Young sugarpines, light and feathery as squirrel tails were bowing almost to the ground while the grand old patriarchs whose massive bowls had been tried in a hundred storms waved solemnly above them, their long arching branches streaming fluently on the gale and every needle thrilling and ringing and shedding off keen lances of light like a diamond. The Douglas spruces with long sprays drawn out in level tresses and needles masked in a grey shimmering glow presented a most striking appearance as they stood in bold relief along the hilltops. The madronios in the Dells with their red bark and large glossy leaves tilted every way reflected the sunshine in throbbing spangles like those one so often sees on the rippled surface of a glacier lake. But the silver pines were now the most impressively beautiful of all. Colossal spires two hundred feet in height waved like supple golden rods chanting and bowing low as if in worship while the whole mass of their long tremulous foliage was kindled into one continuous blaze of white sunfire. The force of the gale was such that the most steadfast monarch of them all rocked down to its roots with emotion plainly perceptible when one leaned against it. Nature was holding high festival every fibre of the most rigid giants thrilled with glad excitement. I drifted on through the midst of this passionate music and motion across many a glen from ridge to ridge often halting in the lee of a rock for shelter or to gaze and listen. Even when the grand anthem had swelled to its highest pitch I could distinctly hear the varying tones of individual trees spruce and fir and pine and leafless oak and even the infinitely gentle rustle of the withered grasses at my feet. Each was expressing itself in its own way singing its own song and making its own peculiar gestures manifesting a richness of variety to be found in no other forest I have yet seen. The coniferous woods of Canada and the Carolinas and Florida are made up of trees that resemble one another about as nearly as blades of grass and grow close together in much the same way. Coniferous trees in general seldom possess individual character such as is manifest among oaks and elms but the California forests are made up of a greater number of distinct species than any other in the world and in them we find not only a marked differentiation into special groups but also a marked individuality in almost every tree giving rise to storm effects indescribably glorious. Toward midday after a long tingling scramble through copses of hazel and seonophus I gained the summit of the highest ridge in the neighborhood and then it occurred to me that it would be a fine thing to climb one of the trees to obtain a wider outlook and get my ear close to the eolian music of its topmost needles but under the circumstances the choice of a tree was a serious matter one whose instep was not very strong seemed in danger of being blown down or of being struck by others in case they should fall another was branchless to a considerable height above the ground and at the same time too large to be grasped with arms and legs in climbing while others were not favorably situated for clear views after cautiously casting about I made choice of the tallest of a group of Douglas spruces that were growing close together like a tuft of grass no one of which seemed likely to fall unless all the rest fell with it though comparatively young they were about a hundred feet high and their lithe brushy tops were rocking and swirling in wild ecstasy being accustomed to climb trees in making botanical studies I experienced no difficulty in reaching the top of this one and never before did I enjoy so noble an exhilaration of motion the slender tops fairly flapped and swished in the passionate torrent bending and swirling backward and forward round and round tracing indescribable combinations of vertical and horizontal curves while I clung with muscles firm braced like a bobble ink on a reed in its widest sweeps my treetop described an arc of from 20 to 30 degrees but I felt sure of its elastic temper having seen others of the same species still more severely tried bent almost to the ground indeed in heavy snows without breaking a fiber I was therefore safe and free to take the wind into my pulses and enjoy the excited forest from my superb outlook the view from here must be extremely beautiful in any weather now my eye roved over the piney hills and dales as over fields of waving grain and felt the light running in ripples and broad swelling undulations across the valleys from ridge to ridge as the shining foliage was stirred by corresponding waves of air often times these waves of reflected light would break up suddenly into a kind of beaten foam and again after chasing one another in regular order they would seem to bend forward in concentric curves and disappear on some hillside like sea waves on a shelving shore the quantity of light reflected from the bent needles was so great as to make whole groves appear as if covered in snow while the black shadows beneath the trees greatly enhanced the effect of the silvery splendor accepting only the shadows there was nothing somber in all this wild sea of pines on the contrary notwithstanding this was the winter season the colours were remarkably beautiful the shafts of the pine and libocedrus were brown and purple and most of the foliage was well tinged with yellow the laurel groves with the pale undersides and upward made masses of grey and then there was many a dash of chocolate colour from groups of manzanita and jet of vivid crimson from the bark of the madronios while the ground on the hillsides appearing here and there through openings between the groves displayed masses of pale purple and brown the sounds of the storm corresponded gloriously with this wild exuberance of light and motion the profound base of the naked branches and bowls booming like waterfalls the quick tense vibrations of the pine needles now rising to a shrill whistling hiss now falling to a silky murmur the rustling of laurel groves in the dells and the keen metallic click all this was heard in easy analysis when the attention was calmly bent the varied gestures of the multitude were seen to fine advantage so that one could recognise the different species at a distance of several miles by this means alone as well as by their forms and colours and the way they reflected the light all seemed strong and comfortable so that one could be enjoying the storm while responding to its most enthusiastic greetings we hear much nowadays concerning the universal struggle for existence but no struggle in the common meaning of the word was manifest here no recognition of danger by any tree no deprecation but rather an invincible gladness as remote from exaltation as from fear I kept my lofty perch for hours frequently closing my eyes to enjoy the music by itself or to feast quietly on the delicious fragrance that was streaming past the fragrance of the woods was less marked than that produced during warm rain when so many balsamic buds and leaves are steeped like tea but from the chafing of resiny branches against each other and the incessant attrition of myriads of needles the gale was spiced to a very tonic degree and besides the fragrance from these local sources there were traces of scents brought from afar for this wind came first from the sea rubbing against its fresh briny waves then distilled through the redwoods threading rich furny gulchers spreading itself in broad undulating currents over many a flower enameled ridge of the coast mountains then across the golden plains up the purple foothills and into these piney woods with the varied incense gathered by the way winds are advertisements of all they touch however much or little we may be able to read them telling their wanderings by their scents alone mariners detect the flowery perfume of land winds far at sea and sea winds carry the fragrance of dulce and tangle far in land where it is quickly recognized though mingled with the scents of a thousand land flowers as an illustration of this I may tell here that I breathed sea air on the Firth of Forth in Scotland while a boy then was taken to Wisconsin where I remained 19 years then without in all this time having breathed one breath of the sea I walked quietly alone from the middle of the Mississippi Valley to the Gulf of Mexico on a botanical excursion and while in Florida far from the coast my attention wholly bent on the splendid tropical vegetation about me I suddenly recognized a sea breeze as it came sifting through the palmettos and blooming vine tangles which at once awakened and set free a thousand dormant associations and made me a boy again in Scotland as if all the intervening years had been annihilated most people like to look at mountain rivers and bear them in mind but few care to look at the winds though far more beautiful and sublime and though they become at times about as visible as flowing water when the north winds in winter are making upward sweeps over the curving summits of the High Sierra the fact is sometimes published with flying snow banners a mile long those portions of the winds thus embodied can scarce be wholly invisible even to the darkest imagination and when we look around over an agitated forest we may see something of the wind that stirs it by its effects upon the trees yonder it descends in a rush of water like ripples and sweeps over the bending pines from hill to hill nearer we see detached plumes and leaves now speeding by on level currents now whirling in eddies or escaping over the edges of the worlds soaring aloft on grand up swelling domes of air or tossing on flame-like crests smooth deep currents cascades, falls and swirling eddies sing around every tree and leaf and over all the varied topography of the region with telling changes of form like mountain rivers conforming to the features of their channels after tracing the Sierra streams from their fountains to the plains marking where they bloom white in falls glide in crystal plumes surge grey and foam-filled in bolder choked gorges and slip through the woods in long tranquil reaches after thus learning their language and forms in detail we may at length hear them chanting altogether in one grand anthem and comprehend them all in clear inner vision covering the range like lace but even this spectacle is far less sublime and not a wit more substantial than what we may behold of these storm streams of air in the mountain woods we all travel the Milky Way together trees and men but it never occurred to me until this storm day while swinging in the wind that trees are travellers in the ordinary sense they make many journeys not extensive ones it is true but our own little journeys away and back again are only little more than tree-wavings many of them not so much when the storm began to abate I dismounted and sauntered down through the calming woods the storm tones died away and turning towards the east I beheld the countless hosts of the forests hushed and tranquil towering above one another on the slopes of the hills like a devout audience the setting sun filled them with amber light and seemed to say while they listened my peace I give unto you as I gazed on the impressive scene the so-called ruin of the storm was forgotten and never before did these noble woods appear so fresh so joyous so immortal End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 The Mountains of California This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer visit LibriVox.org This reading by Lucy Burgoyne The Mountains of California by John Muir Chapter 11 The River Floods The Sierra Rivers are flooded every spring by the melting of the snow as regularly as the famous Old Nile They begin to rise in May and in June Highwater Mark is reached because the melting does not go on rapidly over all the fountains high and low simultaneously and the melted snow is not reinforced at this time of year by rain The spring floods are seldom very violent or destructive The thousand falls however and the cascades in the canyons are then in full bloom and sing songs from one end of the range to the other Of course the snow on the lower tributaries of the rivers is first melted then that on the higher fountains most exposed to sunshine and about a month later the cooler shadowy fountains sing down their treasures thus allowing the main trunk streams nearly six weeks to get their waters hurried through the foothills and across the lowlands to the sea therefore very violent spring floods are avoided and will be as long as the shading restraining forests last The rivers of the north half of the range are still less subject to sudden floods because their upper fountains in great part lie protected from the changes of the weather beneath thick folds of lava Just as many of the rivers of Alaska lie beneath folds of ice coming to the light farther down the range in large springs while those of the high Sierra lie on the surface of solid granite exposed to every change of temperature More than 90% of the water derived from the snow and ice of Mount Shasta is at once absorbed and drained away beneath the poorest lava folds of the mountain where mumbling and groping in the dark they at length find larger fissures and tunnel like caves from which they emerge filtered and cool in the form of large springs some of them so large they give birth to rivers that set out on their journeys beneath the sun without any visible intermediate period of childhood Thus the Shasta river issues from a large lake in the Shasta valley and about two thirds of the volume of the McLeod river gushes forth suddenly from the face of a lava bluff in a roaring spring 75 yards wide These spring rivers of the north are of course shorter than those of the south whose tributaries extend up to the tops of the mountains Full river and important tributary Upper Sacramento is only about 10 miles long and is all forth cascades and springs from its head to its confluence with the pit down to full springs charmingly and valid issue from the rocks at one end of it a snowy fall 180 feet high thunders at the other and a rush of crystal rapids sing and dance between of course such streams are but little affected by the weather sheltered from evaporation their flow is nearly as full in autumn as in the time of general spring floods while those at the high Sierra diminish to less than the hundredth part at their springtime prime shallowing in autumn to a series of silent pools among the rocks and hollows connected by feeble creeping threads of water like the sluggish sentences of a tired writer connected by a drizzle of ands and buts strange to say the greatest floods occur in winter when one would suppose all the wild waters would be muffled and chained in frost and snow the same long all day storms of the so called rainy season in California that give rain to the lowlands give dry frosty snow to the mountains but at rare intervals warm rains and warm winds invade the mountains and push back the snow line from two thousand feet to eight thousand or even higher and then come the big floods I was usually driven down out of the high Sierra at the end of November but the winter of 1874 and 1875 was so warm and calm that I was tempted to seek general views of the geology and topography of the basin of Feather River in January and I had just completed a hasty survey of the region and made my way down to winter quarters when one of the grandest flood that I ever saw broke on the mountains I was then in the edge of the main forest belt at a small foothill town called Knoxville on the divide between the waters of the Feather and Yuba rivers the cause of this notable flood was simply a sudden and copious fall of warm wind and rain on the basins of these rivers at a time when they contained a considerable quantity of snow the rain was so heavy and long sustained that it was of itself sufficient to make a good wild flood while the snow which the warm wind and rain melted on the upper and middle regions of the basin was sufficient to make another flood equal to that of the rain now these two distinct flood waters were gathered simultaneously and poured out on the plain in one magnificent avalanche the basins of the Yuba and Feather like many others of the Sierra are admirably adapted to the growth of floods of this kind their many tributaries radiate far and wide comprehending extensive areas and the tributaries are steeply inclined while the trunks are comparatively level while the flood storm was in progress the thermometer at Knoxville range between 44 degrees and 50 degrees and when warm wind and warm rain fell simultaneously on snow contained in basins like these both the rain and that portion of the snow which the rain and wind melt are at first bunched up and held back until the combined mass becomes sludge which at length suddenly dissolving slips and descends all together to the trunk channel and since the deeper the stream the faster it flows the flooded portion of the current above overtakes the slower foot hill portion below it and all sweeping forward together with a high over cooling front devouches on the open plain with the violence and suddenness that at first seem wholly uncountable the destructiveness of the lower portion of this particular flood was somewhat augmented by mining gravel in the river channels and by levees which gave way after having at first restrained and held back the waters these exaggerating conditions did not however greatly influence the general result the main effect having been caused by the rare combination of flood factors indicated above it is a pity that but few people meet and enjoy storms so noble as this in their homes in the mountains for spending themselves in the levels of the plains they are likely to be remembered more by the bridges and houses they carry away than by their beauty or the thousand blessings they bring to the fields and gardens of nature on the morning of the flood January 19th all the feather and uber landscapes were covered with running water muddy torrents filled every gulch and ravine and the sky was thick with rain the pines had long been sleeping in sunshine they were now awake roaring and waving with the beating storm and the winds sweeping along the curves of hill and dale streaming through the woods surging and gurgling on the tops of rocky ridges made the wildest of wild storm melody to see that only a small part of the rain reach the ground in the form of drops most of it was thrashed into dusty spray like that into which small waterfalls are divided when they dash on shelving rocks never have I seen water coming from the sky in denser or more passionate streams the wind chased the spray forward in choking drifts and compelled me again and again to seek shelter in the dale copses and back of large trees to rest and catch my breath wherever I went on ridges or in hollows enthusiastic water still flashed and gurgled about my ankles recalling a wild winter flood in yosemite when a hundred waterfills came booming and chanting together and filled the grand valley with a sea like roar after drifting an hour or two in the lower woods I set out for the summit of the hill nine hundred feet high with a view to getting as near the heart of the storm as possible in order to reach it I had to cross dry creek a tributary at the uber that goes crawling along the base of the hill north west it was now a booming river as large as the two alumnae at ordinary stages its current brown with mining mud washed down from many acclaim and mottled with sluice boxes fence rails and logs that had long lane above its ridge a slim footbridge stretched across it now scarcely above the swollen current here I was glad to linger gazing and listening while the storm was in its richest mood the grey rain flood above the brown river flood below the language of the river was scarcely less enchanting than that of the wind and rain the subline over boom of the main bouncing exalted current the swash and gurgle of the eddies the keen dash and clash of heavy waves breaking against rocks and the smooth downy hush of shallow currents feeling their way through the willow thickets of the margin and amid all this varied throng of sounds I heard the smothered bumping and rumbling of boulders on the bottom as they were shoving and rolling forward against one another in a wild rush after having lain still for probably 100 years or more the glad creek rose high above its banks and wandered from its channel out over many a briary sand flat and meadow olders and willows waist deep were bearing up against the current with nervous trembling gestures as if afraid of being carried away while supple branches bending confidingly dipped lightly and rose again as if stroking the wild waters in play leaving the bridge and passing on through the storm thrash woods all the ground seemed to be moving pine tassels flakes of bark soil, leaves and broken branches were being swept forward and many a rock fragment from exposed ledges was now receiving its first rounding and polishing in the wild streams of the storm on they rushed through every gulch and hollow leaping, guiding, working with the will and rejoicing like living creatures nor was the flood confined to the ground every tree had a water system of its own spreading far like miniature Amazons and Mississippi's toward midday cloud wind and rain reached their highest development the storm was in full bloom and formed from my commanding outlook on the hilltop one of the most glorious views I ever beheld as far as the eye could reach above beneath around wind driven rain filled the air like one vast waterfall detached clouds swept imposingly up the valley as if they were endowed with independent motion and had special work to do in replenishing the mountain wells now rising above the pine tops now descending into their mits finally their arrow aspires and soothing every branch and leaf in the mits of all the savage sound and motion others keeping near the ground glided behind separate groves and brought them forward into relief with admirable distinctness all passing in front eclipsed whole groves in succession pine after pine melting in their grey fringes and bursting forth again seemingly clearer than before the forms of storms are in great part measured and controlled by the topography of the regions where they rise and over which they pass when therefore we attempt to study them from the valleys or from gaps and openings of the forest we are confounded by a multitude of separate and apparently antagonistic impressions of the storm is broken up into innumerable waves and currents that surge against the hillsides like sea waves against ashore and these reacting on that nether surface of the storm erode immense cavernous hollows and canyons and sweep forward the resulting detritus in long cranes like the moraines of glaciers but as we ascend these partial confusing effects disappear and the phenomena are beheld united and harmonious the longer I've gazed into the storm the more plainly visible it became the drifting cloud detritus gave it a kind of visible body which explained many perplexing phenomena and published its movements in plain terms while the texture of the falling mass of rain rounded it out and rendered it more complete because raindrops differ in size they fall at different velocities and overtake and clash against one another producing mist and spray they also of course yield unequal compliance to the force of the wind which gives rise to a still greater degree of interference and passionate gusts sweep off clouds of spray from the groves like that torn from waved tops in a gale all these factors of irregularity in density, colour and texture of the general rain mass tend to make it the more appreciable and telling it is then seen as one grain flood to the bank and bray bending the pines like weeds curving this way and that whirling in huge eddies in hollows and delts while the main current pours grandly overall like ocean currents over the landscapes that lie hidden at the bottom of the sea I watched the gestures of the pines while the storm was at its height and it was easy to see they were not distressed several large sugar pines stood near the thicket in which I was sheltered bowing solemnly and tossing their long arms as if interpreting the very words of the storm while accepting its wildest onsets with passionate exhilaration the lions were feeding those who have observed sunflowers feasting on sunshine during the golden days of Indian summer know that none of these gestures express thankfulness their celestial food is too heartily given too heartily taken to leave room for thanks the pines were evidently accepting the benefactions of the storm in the same whole-solved manner and when I looked down among the budding hazels they were to the young violets and fern tufts on the rocks I noticed the same divine methods of giving and taking and the same exquisite adaptions of what seems an outbreak of violent and uncontrollable force to the purposes of beautiful and delicate life calms like sleep come upon landscapes just as they do on people and trees and storms awaken them in the same way in the dry mid-summer of the lower portion of the range the withered hills and valleys seem to lie as empty and expressionless as dead shells on a shore even the highest mountains may be found occasionally dull and uncommunicative as if in some way they had lost countenance and shrunk to less than half their real statue but when the lightnings crash and echo in the canyons and the clouds come down reading and crowning their bald snowy heads every feature beams with expression and they rise again in all their imposing majesty storms of fine speakers and tell all they know but their voices of lightning torrent and rushing wind much more numerous than the nameless still small voices too low for human ears and because we are poor listeners we fail to catch much that is fairly within reach our best rains are heard mostly on roofs and winds in chimneys and when by choice or compulsion we are pushed into the heart of a storm the confusion made by and nervous haste and mean fear prevent our hearing any other than the loudest expressions yet we may draw enjoyment from storm sounds that are beyond hearing and storm movements we cannot see the sublime world of planets around their suns is as silent as raindrops erasing in the dark among the roots of plants in this great storm as in every other there were tons and gestures inexpressibly gentle manifested in the midst of what is called violence and fury that easily recognised by all who look and listen for them the rain brought out the colours of the woods with delightful freshness the rich brown at the bark of the trees and the fallen birds and leaves and dead ferns the grays at rocks and lichens the light purple the swelling buds and the warm yellow greens of the liversed dress and mosses the air was steaming with delightful fragrance not rising and walking past in separate masses but diffused through all the atmosphere pine woods are always fragrant but most so in spring when the young tassels are opening in warm weather when the various gums and balsams are softened by the sun the wind was now chafing their innumerable needles and the warm rain was steeping them mono-della grows here in large beds in the openings and there is plenty of laurel in delves and manzanita on the hill sides and the rosy fragrant chamobatia carpets on the ground and the mist everywhere these, with the gums and balsams of the woods form the main local fragrance fountains of the storm the ascending clouds of aroma, wind rolled and rain washed became pure like light and travelled with the wind as part of it toward the middle of the afternoon the main flood cloud lifted along its western border revealing a beautiful section of the Sacramento Valley some twenty or thirty miles away brilliantly sun lighted and glistering with rain sheets as if paved with silver soon afterward a jagged bluff like cloud with a sheer face appeared over the valley of the uber dark coloured and roughened with numerous furrows like some huge lava table the blue coast range was seen stretching along the sky like a beveled wall and the somber craigie merriesville butts rose impressively out of the flooded plain like islands out of the sea then the rain began to abate and I sauntered down through the dripping bushes revealing in the universal figure and freshness that inspired all the life about me how clean and unworn and immortal the woods seem to be the lofty cedars in full bloom laden with golden pollen and their washed plumes shining the pines rocking gently and settling back into rest and the evening sunbeams spangling on the broad leaves of the madronas their tracery of yellow boughs relieved against dusky thickets of chestnut oak liverwarts lycopodiums ferns were exulting in glorious revival and every moss that had ever lived seemed to be coming crowding back from the dead to clothe each trunk and stone in living green the steaming ground seemed fairly to throb and tingle with life smiley fritillaria and young violets were pushing up as if already conscience of the summer glory and innumerable green and yellow buds were peeping and smiling everywhere as for the birds and squirrels not a wing or tail of them was to be seen while the storm was blowing squirrels disliked wet weather more than cats do therefore they were at home rocking in their dry nests the birds were hiding in the dowels out of the wind some of the strongest of them pecking at acorns and manzanita berries that most were perched on low twigs their breast feathers puffed out and keeping one another company through the hard time as best they could when I arrived at the village about sundown the good people bestowed themselves pitting my bedraggled condition as if I were some benumbed cast away snatched from the sea while I in turn warmed with excitement and reeking like the ground pitted them for being dry and defrauded of all the glory that nature had spread round about them that day End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of The Mountains of California This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Laurie Ann Walden The Mountains of California by John Muir Chapter 12 Sierra Thunderstorms The weather of spring and summer in the middle region of the Sierra is usually well-flecked with rains most of which are far too obviously joyful and life-giving to be regarded as storms and in the picturesque beauty and clearness of outlines of their clouds they offer striking contrasts to those boundless, all-embracing cloud mantles of the storms of winter The smallest and most perfectly individualized specimens present a richly-modeled cumulus cloud rising above the dark woods about 11 a.m. swelling with a visible motion from the palm sunny sky to a height of 12,000 to 14,000 feet above the sea its white pearly bosses relieved by gray and pale purple shadows in the hollows and showing outlines as keenly defined as those of the glacier-polished domes In less than an hour it attains full development and stands poised in the blazing sunshine like some colossal mountain as beautiful in form and finish as if it were to become a permanent addition to the landscape The thunderbolt crashes through the crisp air ringing like steel on steel sharp and clear its startling detonation breaking into a spray of echoes against the cliffs and canyon walls then down comes a cataract of rain The big drops sift through the pine needles plash and patter on the granite pavements and pour down the sides of ridges and domes in a network of gray bubbling rills In a few minutes the cloud withers to a mesh of dim filaments and disappears leaving the sky perfectly clear and bright every dust particle wiped and washed out of it Everything is refreshed and invigorated a steam of fragrance rises and the storm is finished one cloud, one lightning stroke and one dash of rain This is the Sierra mid-summer thunderstorm reduced to its lowest terms But some of them attain much larger proportions and assume a grandeur and energy of expression hardly surpassed by those bred in the depths of winter producing those sudden floods called cloud bursts which are local and to a considerable extent periodical for they appear nearly every day about the same time for weeks, usually about eleven o'clock and lasting from five minutes to an hour or two One soon becomes so accustomed to see them that the noon sky seems empty and abandoned without them as if nature were forgetting something When the glorious pearl and alabaster clouds of those noonday storms are being built, I never give attention to anything else. No mountain or mountain range, however divinely clothed with light, has a more endearing charm than those fleeting mountains of the sky, floating fountains bearing water for every well, the angels of the streams and lakes, brooding in the deep azure or sweeping softly along the ground over ridge and dome, over meadow, over forest over garden and grove lingering with cooling shadows refreshing every flower and soothing rugged rock brows with a gentleness of touch and gesture, holy divine. The most beautiful and imposing of the summer storms rise just above the upper edge of the silver fir zone and all are so beautiful that it is not easy to choose anyone for particular description. The one that I remember best fell on the mountains near Yosemite Valley July 19, 1869 while I was encamped in the silver fir woods. A range of bossy cumuli took possession of the sky, huge domes and peaks rising one beyond another with deep canyons between them, bending this way and that in long curves and reaches, interrupted here and there with white up-boiling masses that looked like the spray of waterfalls. Zigzag lances of lightning followed each other in quick succession and the thunder was so gloriously loud and massive, it seemed as if surely an entire mountain was being shattered at every stroke. Only the trees were touched, however, so far as you could see. A few firs 200 feet high perhaps and 5 to 6 feet in diameter were split into long rails and slivers from top to bottom and scattered to all points of the compass. Then came the rain in a hearty flood covering the ground and making it shine with a continuous sheet of water that, like a transparent film or skin, fitted closely down over all the rugged anatomy of the landscape. It is not long, geologically speaking, since the first raindrop fell on the present part of the Sierra, and in the few tens of thousands of years of stormy cultivation they have been blessed with how beautiful they have become. The first rains fell on raw crumbling moraines and rocks without a plant. Now scarcely a drop can fail to find a beautiful mark on the tops of the peaks, on the smooth glacier pavements, on the curves of the domes, on moraines full of crystals, on the thousand forms of yosemitic sculpture with their tender beauty of balmy flowery vegetation, laving plashing, glinting, pattering some falling softly on meadows creeping out of sight, seeking and finding every thirsty rootlet some through the spires of the woods sifting in dust through the needles and whispering good cheer to each of them some falling with blunt tapping sounds drumming on the broad leaves of veratrum, syphropetium, saxophage some falling straight into fragrant corollas kissing the lips of lilies, glinting on the sides of the crystals, on shining grains of gold some falling into the fountains of snow to swell their well-saved stores some into the lakes and rivers patting the smooth glassy levels making dimples and bells and spray, washing the mountain windows washing the wandering winds some plashing into the heart of snowy falls and cascades as if eager to join in the dance and the song and beat the foam yet finer good work and happy work for the merry mountain raindrops each one of them a brave fall in itself rushing from the cliffs and hollows of the clouds into the cliffs and hollows of the mountains away from the thunder of the sky into the thunder of the roaring rivers and how far they have to go and how many cups to fill cassiope cups holding half a drop and lake basins between the hills each replenished with equal care every drop God's messenger sent on its way with glorious pomp and display of power silvery newborn stars with lake and river, mountain and valley all that the landscape holds reflected in their crystal depths End of Chapter 12 The waterfalls of the Sierra are frequented by only one bird the oozle or water thrush Sinclus Mexicanus S.W. He is a singularly joyous and lovable little fellow about the size of a robin clad in a plain waterproof suit of bluish gray with a tinge of chocolate on the head and shoulders In form he is about as smoothly plump and compact as a pebble that has been whirled in a pothole the flowing contour of his body being interrupted only by his strong feet and bill the crisps, wingtips and the upslanted, wren-like tail Among all the countless waterfalls I have met in the course of ten years exploration in the Sierra whether among the icy peaks or warm foothills or in the profound, eosemitic canyons of the middle region not one was found without its oozle No canyon is too cold for this little bird none too lonely provided it be rich in falling water Find a fall or cascade or rushing rapid anywhere upon a clear stream and there you will surely find its complimentary oozle flitting about in the spray diving in foaming eddies whirling like a leaf among beaten foam bells ever vigorous and enthusiastic yet self-contained and neither seeking nor shunning your company If disturbed while dipping about in the margin shallows he either sets off with a rapid whir on the other feeding-ground up or down the stream or alights on some half-submerged rock or snag out in the current and immediately begins to nod and curtsy like a wren turning his head from side to side with many other odd dainty movements that never fail to fix the attention of the observer He is the mountain stream's own darling the hummingbird of blooming waters loving rocky ripple slopes and sheets of foam as a bee loves flowers love sunshine and meadows Among all the mountain birds none has cheered me so much in my lonely wanderings none so unfailingly For both in winter and summer he sings sweetly, cheerly independent alike of sunshine and of love requiring no other inspiration than the stream on which he dwells While water sings so must he in heat or cold, calm or storm ever attuning his voice in sure accord so in the drought of summer and the drought of winter but never silent During the golden days of Indian summer after most of the snow has been melted and the mountain streams have become feeble a succession of silent pools linked together by shallow transparent currents and strips of silvery lacework then the song of the oozle is at its lowest ebb But as soon as the winter clouds have bloomed and the mountain treasuries are once more replenished with snow the voices of the streams and oozles increase in strength and richness until the flood season of early summer Then the torrents chant their noblest anthems and then is the flood time of our songster's melody As for weather dark days and sundays are the same to him The voices of most songbirds however joyous suffer a long winter eclipse but the oozle sings on through all the seasons and every kind of storm Indeed no storm can be more violent than those of the waterfalls in the midst of which he delights to dwell However dark and boisterous the weather snowing, blowing, or cloudy all the same he sings and with never a note of sadness No need of spring sunshine to thaw his song for it never freezes Never shall you hear anything wintry from his warm breast no pinch-cheeping no wavering notes between sorrow and joy The flutey voice is ever-tuned to downright gladness as free from dejection as cock-crowing It is pitiful to see we frost-pinch sparrows on cold mornings in the mountain groves shaking the snow from their feathers and hopping about as if anxious to be cheery then hastening back to their hideings out of the wind puffing out their breast feathers over their toes and subsiding among the leaves cold and breakfastless while the snow continues to fall there is no sign of clearing But the oozle never calls forth a single touch of pity not because he is strong to endure but rather because he seems to live a charmed life beyond the reach of every influence that makes endurance necessary One wild winter morning when Yosemite Valley was swept its length from west to east by a cordial snowstorm I sallied forth to see what I might learn and enjoy A sort of grey gloaming-like darkness filled the valley The huge walls were out of sight All ordinary sounds were smothered and even the loudest booming of the falls was at times buried beneath the roar of the heavy laden blast The loose snow was already over five feet deep on the meadows making extended walks impossible without the aid of snowshoes I found no great difficulty, however in making my way to a certain ripple on the river where one of my oozles lived He was at home busily gleaning his breakfast among the pebbles of a shallow portion of the margin apparently unaware of anything extraordinary in the weather Presently he flew out to a stone against which the icy current was beating and turning his back to the wind sang as delightfully as a lark in springtime After spending an hour or two with my favourite I made my way across the valley boring and wallowing through the drifts to learn as definitely as possible how the other birds were spending their time The Yosemite birds are easily found during the winter because all of them accepting the oozle are restricted to the sunny north side of the valley the south side being constantly eclipsed by the great frosty shadow of the wall and because the Indian canyon groves from their peculiar exposure or the warmest the birds congregate there more especially in severe weather I found most of the robins cowering on the lee side of the larger branches where the snow could not fall upon them while two or three of the more enterprising were making desperate efforts to reach the mistletoe berries by clinging nervously to the underside of the snow-crowned masses back downward like woodpeckers Every now and then they would dislodge some of the loose fringes of the snow-crown which would come sifting down on them and send them screaming back to camp where they would subside among their companions with a shiver muttering in low, quarrelous chatter like hungry children Some of the sparrows were busy at the foot of the larger trees gleaning seeds and benumbed insects joined now and then by a robin weary of his unsuccessful attempts upon the snow-covered berries The brave woodpeckers were clinging to the snowless sides of the larger bulls and overarching branches of the camp trees making short flights from side to side of the grove pecking now and then at the acorns they had stored in the bark and chattering aimlessly as if unable to keep still yet evidently putting in the time in a very dull way like storm-bound travelers at a country tavern The hardy nut-hatches were threading the open furrows of the trunks in their usual industrious manner and uttering their quaint notes evidently less distressed than their neighbors The stellar jays were of course making more noisy stir than all the other birds combined ever coming and going with loud bluster screaming as if each had a lump of melting sludge in his throat and taking good care to improve the favorable opportunity afforded by the storm to steal from the acorn stores of the woodpeckers I also noticed one solitary grey eagle braving the storm on the top of a tall pine stump just outside the main grove He was standing bolt upright with his back to the wind A tuft of snow piled on his square shoulders a monument of passive endurance Thus every snow-bound bird seemed more or less uncomfortable if not in positive distress The storm was reflected in every gesture and not one cheerful note not to say song came from a single bill their carrowing joyless endurance offering a striking contrast to the spontaneous irresistible gladness of the oozle who could no more help excelling sweet song than arose sweet fragrance He must sing though the heavens fall I remember noticing the distress of a pair of robins during the violent earthquake of the year 1872 when the pines of the valley with strange movements flapped and waved their branches and beatling rock-brows came thundering down to the meadows in tremendous avalanches It did not occur to me in the midst of the excitement of other observations to look for the oozles and doubt not they were singing straight on through it all regarding the terrible rock thunder as fearlessly as they do the booming of the waterfalls What may be regarded as the separate songs of the oozle are exceedingly difficult of description because they are so variable and at the same time so confluent Though I have been acquainted with my favorite ten years and during most of this time have heard him sing nearly every day I still detect notes and strains nearly all of his music is sweet and tender lapsing from his round breasts like water over the smooth lip of a pool then breaking farther on into a sparkling foam of melodious notes which glow with subdued enthusiasm yet without expressing much of the strong gushing ecstasy of the bobble ink or skylark The more striking strains are perfect arabesque of melody composed of a few full round mellow notes with delicate trills which fade and melt in long slender cadences In a general way his music is that of the streams refined and spiritualized The deep booming notes of the falls are in it the trills of the rapids the gurgling of margin eddies the low whispering of level reaches and the sweet tinkle of separate drops oozing from the ends of mosses and falling into tranquil pools The oozle never sings in chorus with other birds nor with his kind but only with the streams and like flowers that bloom beneath the surface of the ground some of our favorites best song blossoms never rise above the surface of the heavier music of the water I have often observed him singing in the midst of beaten spray his music completely buried beneath the water's roar yet I knew he was surely singing by his gestures and the movements of his bill His food as far as I have noticed consists of all kinds of water insects which in summer are chiefly procured along shallow margins Here he wades about ducking his head under water and deathly turning over pebbles and fallen leaves with his bill seldom choosing to go into deep water where he has to use his wings in diving He seems to be especially fond of the larvae of mosquitoes found in abundance attached to the bottom of smooth rock channels where the current is shallow when feeding in such places he wades upstream and often while his head is under water the swift current is deflected upward along the glossy curves of his neck and shoulders in the form of a clear crystalline shell which fairly encloses him like a bell glass the shell being broken and reformed as he lifts and dips his head while ever in a non he sidles out to where the two powerful current carries him off his feet then he dexterously rises on the wing and goes gleaming again in shallower places but during the winter when the stream banks are embossed in snow and the streams themselves are chilled nearly to the freezing point so that the snow falling into them in stormy weather is not wholly dissolved but forms a thin blue sludge thus rendering the current opaque then he seeks the deeper portions of the main rivers where he may dive to clear water beneath the sludge or he repairs to some open lake at the bottom of which he feeds in safety when thus compelled to take himself to a lake he does not plunge into it at once like a duck but always alights in the first place upon some rock or fallen pine along the shore then flying out 30 or 40 yards more or less according to the character of the bottom he alights with a dainty glint on the surface swims about looks down finally makes up his mind and disappears with a sharp stroke of his wings after feeding for 2 or 3 minutes he suddenly reappears showers the water from his wings with one vigorous shake and rises abruptly into the air as if pushed up from beneath comes back to his perch, sings a few minutes and goes out to dive again thus coming and going singing and diving at the same place for hours the oozle is usually found singly rarely in pairs accepting during the breeding season and very rarely in threes or fours I once observed three thus spending a winter morning in company upon a small glacier lake on the upper merced about 7500 feet above the level of the sea a storm had occurred during the night but the morning sun shown unclouded and the shadowy lake gleaming darkly in its setting of fresh snow lay smooth and motionless as a mirror my camp chance to be within a few feet of the water's edge opposite a fallen pine some of the branches of which leaned out over the lake here my three dearly welcome visitors took up their station and at once began to embroider the frosty air with their delicious melody doubly delightful to me that particular morning as I had been somewhat apprehensive of danger in breaking my way down through the snow choked canyons to the lowlands the portion of the lake bottom selected for a feeding ground lies at a depth of 15 or 20 feet below the surface and is covered with a short growth of algae and other aquatic plants facts I had previously determined while sailing over it on a raft after alighting on the glassy surface they occasionally indulged in a little play chasing one another round about in small circles then all three would suddenly dive together and then come ashore and sing the oozle seldom swims more than a few yards on the surface we're not being webfooted he makes rather slow progress but by means of his strong, crisp wings he swims or rather flies with celerity under the surface often to considerable distances but it is inwithstanding the force of heavy rapids that his strength of wing in this respect is most strikingly manifested the following may be regarded as a fair illustration of his power of sub-aquatic flight one stormy morning in winter when the Merced River was blue and green and melted snow I observed one of my oozles perched on a snag out in the midst of a swift rushing rapid singing cheerily as if everything was just to his mind and while I stood on the bank admiring him he suddenly plunged into the sludgy current leaving his song abruptly broken off after feeding a minute or two at the bottom and when one would suppose that he must inevitably be swept far downstream he emerged just where he went down alighted on the same snag showered the water beads from his feathers and continued his unfinished song seemingly in tranquil ease as if it had suffered no interruption the oozle alone of all birds dares to enter a white torrent and though strictly terrestrial in structure no other is so inseparably related to water not even the duck or the bold ocean albatross or the stormy petrol for ducks go ashore as soon as they finish feeding in disturbed places and very often make long flights over land from lake to lake or field to field the same is true of most other aquatic birds but the oozle born on the brink of a stream or on a snag or boulder in the midst of it seldom leaves it for a single moment for notwithstanding he is often on the wing he never flies over land but whirs with rapid quail-like beat above the stream tracing all its windings even when the stream is quite small say from five to ten feet wide he seldom shortens his flight by crossing a bend however abrupt it may be and even when disturbed by meeting someone on the bank he prefers to fly over one's head to dodging out over the ground when therefore his flight along a crooked stream is viewed end-wise it appears most strikingly wavered a description on the air of every curve with lightning-like rapidity the vertical curves and angles of the most precipitous torrents he traces with the same rigid fidelity swooping down the inclines of cascades dropping sheer over dizzy falls amid the spray and ascending with the same fearlessness and ease seldom seeking to lessen the steepness of the eclivity by beginning to ascend before reaching the base of the fall no matter though it may be several hundred feet in height he holds straight on as if about to dash headlong into the throng of booming rockets then darts abruptly upward and after alighting at the top of the precipice to rest a moment proceeds to feed and sing his flight is solid and impetuous without any intermission of wing beats one homogeneous buzz like that of a laden bee on its way home and while thus buzzing freely from fall to fall he is frequently heard giving utterance to a long outrun train of unmodulated notes in no way connected with his song but corresponding closely with his flight in sustained vigor where the flights of all the oozles in the Sierra traced on a chart they would indicate the direction of the flow of the entire system of ancient glaciers from about the period of the breaking up of the ice sheet until near the close of the glacial winter because the streams which the oozles so rigidly follow are with the unimportant exceptions of a few side tributaries all flowing in channels eroded for them out of the solid flank of the range by the vanished glaciers the streams tracing the ancient glaciers the oozles tracing the streams nor do we find so complete compliance to glacial conditions in the life of any other mountain bird or animal of any kind bears frequently accept the pathways laid down by glaciers as the easiest to travel but they often leave them and cross over from canyon to canyon so also most of the birds trace the moraines to some extent because the forests are growing on them but they wander far crossing the canyons from grove to grove and draw exceedingly angular and complicated courses the oozles nest is one of the most extraordinary pieces of bird architecture I ever saw odd and novel in design perfectly fresh and beautiful and in every way worthy of the genius of the little builder it is about a foot in diameter round and bossy in outline with a neatly arched opening near the bottom of an old-fashioned brick oven or hoakentuts hut it is built almost exclusively of green and yellow mosses chiefly the beautiful fronded hipnum that covers the rocks and old drift logs in the vicinity of waterfalls these are deftly interwoven and felted together into a charming little hut and so situated that many of the outer mosses continue to flourish as if they had not been plucked a few fine silky stem grasses are occasionally found interwoven with the mosses but with the exception of a thin layer lining the floor their present seems accidental as if they are of a species found growing with the mosses and are probably plucked with them the site chosen for this curious mansion is usually some little rock shelf within reaches of the lighter particles of the spray of a waterfall so that its walls are kept green and growing at least during the time of high water no harsh lines are presented by any portion of the nest as seen in place but when removed from its shelf the back and bottom and sometimes a portion of the top is found quite sharply angular because it is made to conform to the surface of the rock upon which and against which it is built the little architect always taking advantage of slight crevices and protuberances that may chance to offer to render his structure stable by means of a kind of gripping and dovetailing in choosing a building spot concealment does not seem to be taken into consideration yet notwithstanding the nest is large and guillessly exposed to view it is far from being easily detected chiefly because it swells forward like any other bulging moss cushion growing naturally in such situations this is more especially the case where the nest is kept fresh by being well sprinkled sometimes these romantic little huts have their beauty enhanced by rock ferns and grasses that spring up around the mossy walls or in front of the door sill dripping with crystal beads furthermore at certain hours of the day when the sunshine is poured down at the required angle the whole mass of the spray enveloping the fairy establishment is brilliantly iris and is through so glorious a rainbow atmosphere as this that some of our blessed oozles obtain their first peep at the world oozles seem so completely part and parcel of the streams they inhabit they scarce suggest any other origin than the streams themselves and one might almost be pardoned infancing that they come direct from the living waters like flowers from the ground at least from whatever cause it never occurred to me to look for their nests until more than a year after I had made the acquaintance of the birds themselves although I found one the very day in which I began the search in making my way from Yosemite to the glaciers at the heads of the Merced and Tulum rivers camped in a particularly wild and romantic portion of the Nevada canyon where in previous excursions I had never failed to enjoy the company of my favorites who were attracted here no doubt by the safe nesting places in the shelving rocks and by the abundance of food and falling water the river for miles above and below consists of a succession of small falls from 10 to 60 feet in height connected by flat plume-like cascades that go flashing from fall to fall free and almost channelless over waving folds of glacier-polished granite. On the south side of one of the falls that portion of the precipice which is bathed by the spray presents a series of little shelves and tablets caused by the development of plains of cleavage in the granite and by the consequent fall of masses through the action of the water. Now here, said I, of all places is the most charming spot for an oozle's nest then carefully scanning the fretted face of the precipice through the spray I at length noticed a yellowish moss cushion growing on the edge of a level tablet within 5 or 6 feet of the outer folds of the fall. But apart from the fact of its being situated where one acquainted with the lives of oozles would fancy an oozle's nest ought to be there was nothing in its appearance visible at first sight to distinguish it from other bosses of rock moss similarly situated with reference to perennial spray. And it was not until I had scrutinized it again and again and had removed my shoes and stockings and crept along the face of the rock within 8 or 10 feet of it that I could decide certainly whether it was a nest or a natural growth. In these moss huts 3 or 4 eggs are laid white like foam bubbles and well may the little birds hatch from them sing water songs for they hear them all their lives and even before they are born. I have often observed the young just out of the nest making their odd gestures and seeming in every way as much at home as their experienced parents like young bees on their first excursions to the flower fields. No amount of familiarity with people and their ways seems to change them in the least. To all appearance their behavior is just the same on seeing a man for the first time as one they have seen him frequently. On the lower reaches of the rivers are built they sing on through the din of the machinery and all the noisy confusion of dogs cattle and workmen. On one occasion while a wood chopper was at work on the river bank I observed one cheerily singing within reach of the flying chips nor does any kind of unwanted disturbance put him in bad humor or frighten him out of calm self-possession. In passing through a narrow gorge I once drove one ahead of me from rapid to rapid disturbing him sometimes in quick succession where he could not very well fly past me on account of the narrowness of the channel. Most birds under similar circumstances fancy themselves pursued and become suspiciously uneasy. But instead of growing nervous about it he made his usual dippings and sang one of his most tranquil strains. When observed within a few yards their eyes are seen to express remarkable gentleness and intelligence but they seldom allow so near a view unless one wears clothing of about the same color as the rocks and trees and knows how to sit still. On one occasion while rambling along the shore of a mountain lake where the birds at least those born that season had never seen a man I sat down to rest on a large stone close to the water's edge upon which it seemed the oozles and sandpipers were in the habit of a lighting when they came to feed on that part of the shore and some of the other birds also when they came down to wash or drink. In a few minutes along came a whirring oozle and a lighted on the stone beside me within reach of my hand then suddenly observing me he stooped nervously as if about to fly on the instant but as I remained as motionless as the stone he gained confidence and looked me steadily in the face for about a minute then flew quietly to the outlet and began to sing. Next came a sandpiper and gazed at me with much the same guileless expression of eye as the oozle. Lastly down with the swoop came a stellar's jay out of a fir tree probably with the intention of moistening his noisy throat but instead of sitting confidingly as my other visitors had done he rushed off at once nearly tumbling heels overhead into the lake in his suspicious confusion and with loud screams roused the neighborhood. Love for songbirds with their sweet human voices appears to be more common and unfailing than love for flowers. Love loves flowers to some extent at least in life's fresh morning attracted by them as instinctively as hummingbirds and bees. Even the young digger Indians have sufficient love for the brightest of those found growing on the mountains to gather them and braid them as decorations for the hare and I was glad to discover through the few Indians that could be induced to talk on the subject that they have names for the wild rose and the lily and other conspicuous flowers available as food or otherwise. Most men, however whether savage or civilized become apathetic toward all plants that have no other apparent use than the use of beauty. But fortunately one's first instinctive love of songbirds is never wholly obliterated no matter what the influences upon our lives may be. I have often been delighted to see a pure spiritual glow come into the countenances of hard businessmen and old minors when a songbird chants to alight near them. Nevertheless the little mouthful of meat that swells out of the breast of some songbirds is too often the cause of their death. Larks and robins in particular are brought to market in hundreds. But fortunately the oozle has no enemy so eager to eat his little body as to follow him into the mountain solitudes. I never knew him to be chased even by hawks. An acquaintance of mine, was out of foothill mountaineer at a pet cat, a great dozy overgrown creature about as broad-shouldered as a lynx. During the winter while the snow lay deep the mountaineer sat in his lonely cabin among the pines smoking his pipe and wearing the dull time away. Tom was his sole companion sharing his bed and sitting beside him on a stool with much the same drowsy expression of eye as his master. The good-natured bachelor was content with this hard fare of soda bread and bacon but Tom, the only creature in the world acknowledging dependence on him must needs be provided with fresh meat. Accordingly he bestowed himself to contrive squirrel traps and weighted the snowy woods with his gun making sad havoc among the few winter birds sparing neither robins, sparrow, nor tiny nuthatch and the pleasure of seeing Tom eat and grow fat was his great reward. One cold afternoon while hunting along the river bank he noticed a plain feathered little bird skipping about in the shallows and immediately raised his gun. But just then the confiding songster began to sing and after listening to his summery melody the charmed hunter turned away saying bless your little heart, I can't shoot you not even for Tom. Even so far north as icy Alaska I have found my glad singer. When I was exploring the glaciers between Mount Fairweather and a stickine river one cold day in November after trying in vain to force away through the innumerable icebergs of Sumdom Bay to the great glaciers at the head of it I was weary and baffled and sat resting in my canoe convinced at last that I would have to leave this part of my work for another year. Then I began to plan my escape to open water before the young ice which was beginning to form should shut me in. While I thus lingered drifting with the birds in the midst of these gloomy and all the terrible glacial desolation and grandeur I suddenly heard the well-known whir of an oozle's wings and looking up saw my little comforter coming straight across the ice from the shore. In a second or two he was with me flying three times round my head with a happy salute as if saying cheer up old friend you see I'm here and all's well. Then he flew back to the shore alighted on the topmost drag of a stranded iceberg and began to nod and bow as though he were on his favorite boulders in the midst of a sunny Sierra Cascade. The species is distributed all along the mountain ranges of the Pacific coast from Alaska to Mexico and east to the Rocky Mountains. Nevertheless it is as yet comparatively little known. Audubon and Wilson did not meet it. Swainson was, I believe, the first naturalist to describe a specimen from Mexico. Specimens were shortly afterward procured by Drummond near the sources of the Athabasca River between the 54th and 56th parallels and it has been collected by nearly all of the numerous exploring expeditions undertaken of late through our western states and territories for it never fails to engage the attention of naturalists in a very particular manner. Such then is our little Sinclus, beloved of everyone who is so fortunate as to know him. Tracing on strong wing every curve of the most precipitous torrents from one extremity of the Sierra to the other, not fearing to follow them through their darkest gorges and coldest snow tunnels acquainted with every waterfall echoing their divine music and throughout the whole of their beautiful lives interpreting all that we in our unbelief call terrible in the utterances of torrents and storms as only varied expressions of God's eternal love. End of chapter 13