Motoring in the High Sierras 



213 



This country is in striking contrast to 

 that which has been left behind. The 

 fertile valleys and well- watered fields of 

 the western base of the mountains are re- 

 placed on the east by a succession of bar- 

 ren, rocky arroyos, alkaline wastes, and 

 dry plains covered with the pungent sage- 

 brush. The descent into this desert coun- 

 try is more abrupt than the long, sweeping 

 slope that has just been ascended, and 

 it is not long before the cool mountain 

 heights are left behind and the odor of hot 

 sage begins to fill one's nostrils. Just be- 

 fore emerging onto the desert there is a 

 delightful, cool meadow known as Leav- 

 itt's Meadow which affords an ideal 

 resting-place. The Upper Walker River, 

 which meanders through its soft green 

 turf, dotted here and there with groves of 

 cottonwoods, affords ample sport for the 

 disciples of Izaak Walton. At a point just 

 below the meadow the road forks. The 

 branch to the south leads past Mono 

 Lake, down through the Owens River 

 Valley and Death Valley to join the 

 Santa Fe trail. The branch to the north 

 follows through the canyon of the Walker 

 River and, hugging close under the massive 

 wall of the Sierras, joins the great Lincoln 

 Highway at Reno. 



The canyons that cut through the east- 

 ern flank of the mountain bear mute evi- 

 dence of one of the results of the rejection 

 in 1873 of silver as a monetary standard. 

 This region was formerly settled by thriv- 

 ing silver-mining towns,whose relative de- 

 gree of importance used to be judged by 

 the number of saloons they boasted; but 

 the Demonetization Act of 1873 reduced 

 the value of silver to such an extent that 

 the mines were shut down. There were 



no other means of livelihood in these rocky 

 Sierra gorges, and the settlements were 

 consequently abandoned to the mercies 

 of winter storms and spring floods. All 

 that remains of Silver Mountain, once a 

 prosperous town of forty saloons and six 

 thousand people, is the stone jail with its 

 iron-barred windows. The forty saloons 

 undoubtedly accounted for the solid con- 

 struction of this building. To an inquiry 

 as to the present population of a one-time 

 " city " that still lingers in a dejected state, 

 the " oldest inhabitant " replied in a drawl : 

 "Wai, I reckon it's about sixty-five or 

 sixty-seven; I ain't quite sure which." 



From Reno the ascent to that wonderful 

 gem of all Sierra lakes, Tahoe, is a matter 

 of a few hours over a well-travelled route. 

 The new State road that leads for twenty- 

 five miles around the western shore offers 

 views over this magnificent body of prus- 

 sian-blue water that are unrivalled even by 

 the Axenstrasse and Lake Lucerne, or the 

 more subdued beauty of the Italian lakes. 

 The road at times follows the very shore 

 of the lake, enabling the traveller to peer 

 down through the transparent depths. At 

 times sheer rock faces descend to the 

 water's edge and the road circles upward 

 along ledges cut from the solid granite. 

 At one point the road-bed traverses the 

 face of a cliff five hundred feet above 

 Tahoe's surface and presents an outlook 

 over an island-studded inlet strongly remi- 

 niscent of its Italian sister Lake Maggiore. 

 Passing under the snow-capped mass of 

 Mount Tallac, a wide and well-graded 

 route leads down beside the rushing tor- 

 rent of the American River, out, through 

 the foot-hills, to the well-oiled boulevards 

 of the Sacramento Valley. 



