" the old regrets...that hold no sorrow."

Yosemite Trails

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Here to our edification, Chase takes the pulpit within the

Great Sierra Cathedral and gives us his Litany of that which

we may be acquainted with while inhabiting the

" blessed quietude. "

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" O the delight of those Sierra evenings! The blessed quietude, that

lies on you like a soft pressure and cools like a woman's hand; 

the hushed talking of the stream as it runs around the bend, or laps

and drains under sodden eaves of moss; the delicious rose of

sunset-lighted snow-peaks; the always friendly companionship

of trees; the purling soliloquy of the fire; the surprise of the first

star, and the wistful magic of the moonlight; the pleasant

ghosts that sit with you around the fire and call you by forgotten

nicknames; the old regrets that hold no sorrow; the old joys

that do; the good snow-chill of the wind drawing steadily down

the canyon; the quick undressing and turning in, and the

instant oblivion. "

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" ... and beheld Teddy racing along toward us... "

Yosemite Trails

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The endearment and devotion Chase exhibited towards

his companions, equine or human, was unmistakable.

His ' Trails ' books are rich in examples. For Chase

Nature is a veritable pageant, a parade, nothing

is to be overlooked; every presentation has its

purpose and is to be appreciated. As well for Chase,

 here is where joy is found! The scene

here is wonderfully drawn; Chase misses no detail,

and nothing is wanting. Chase knows his companions

and he brings them alive for us to see in all

their personality. One can virtually imagine this

as a scene from an early Disney classic. Read it

twice and enjoy it even more!

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"  When looking for a camp-site I usually go ahead of the animals, leading Adam by the halter-rope. This is the signal for Teddy to fall behind and hunt out titbits undisturbed, but he has a youthful horror of being left behind and lost, and generally keeps a sharp lookout to hold us in view. On this occasion he was betrayed by some agreeable morsel into allowing us to get out of his sight, and while I was tying Adam preparatory to unloading, I heard a weird, multitudinous kind of sound, and beheld Teddy racing along toward us at a swinging canter, his packs jouncing rhythmically as he came. His ears were rigid, and his excited eyes gleamed wildly about with an expression of ludicrous anxiety. The sound I heard was compounded of rattling cans, creaking harness, and the attrition of the heterogeneous articles comprised in his pack; among them, I reflected, certain liquids and semi-liquids that were not arranged for such rapid transportation. He had made half the circuit of the meadow, careening over at a fine, cutting angle as he bowled along, before he espied us, when he bore down upon us, still at a canter, came to anchor handsomely, and in a moment was chousing his consort out of the best of the pasturage. "

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**Definition for the curious!**
Chousing: to beat out; cheat; vanquish.

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This is a British edition of Yosemite Trails.

The only British edition of any of Chase's

books I have located.

" ... gullies of red or ochre earth meet and interlace... "

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Desert Trails

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One mile south of Thousand Palm Canyon Chase is " ... struck by

the Arabian look of this locality. " Yet with the painter's eye Chase

see's color, in all that his gaze takes in. Whether specifically

naming those colors or implying them in the ' coarse gravel, '

' stunted mesquite and cat-claw, ' the raven's ' morose hue, '

and ' the palm, ' Chase's description is suffused with color.

Black, blue, green red, brown and grey are conjured up as

Chase ' paints ' for us the unfolding scene. 

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" I was struck by the Arabian look of this locality. High-walled

gullies of red or ochre earth meet and interlace, their bottoms

filled with coarse gravel and boulders mixed with blue-grey

smoke-bush and stunted mesquite and cat-claw. Among

the birds, only the raven seems to tolerate this desolate spot,

and his morose hue, tragical voice, and general graveyard

air do nothing to enliven one's impression. The eye, dis-

couraged by the crudity of the scene, instinctively dwells

upon the palm whenever it is in sight, overlooking its

sameness of form for the relief of its, grace, finish and

apperance of culture. "

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" ... we plunged down the steep eastern face of the Sierra. "

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Yosemite Trails

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Here we find Chase beginning the descent down through Bloody Canyon,
which will lead him to the valley below, not far from Mono Lake.
A challenge for man, and beast. This pass has a storied history going
back hundreds of years. For more please see the attachment below.

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"We halted to cinch up saddles and packs as securely as might be before beginning the four-thousand-foot descent of Bloody Cañon. Then with a final backward look to the west we plunged down the steep eastern face of the Sierra. A few hundred yards below we encountered a considerable snow-field. The snow, softened by the midsummer sun, was treacherous and annoying, and it was with difficulty that we prevailed upon the animals to commit their precious bones to the uncertain footing. Several times they all, Pet excepted, made a concerted bolt back up the trail, and for a time the welkin rang with sounds of battle, castigatory drummings upon equine ribs, and all the confusion of a general melee. At last they went floundering and staggering across, sinking to the hocks in the rotten snow-ice. A quarter-mile brought us to another but smaller snow-field. This we skirted; and escaped catastrophe thereby, for it turned out to be hollow beneath. The water running from the upper snow had cut its way under this bank, leaving it a mere shell from wall to wall of the cañon. In its present softened condition it would certainly not have supported the weight of the loaded animals.

Just below lay a charming little lake, blue as heaven, and swept ever and anon with handfuls of wind that sent delightful gleams and shudders over it. It bears the inscrutable designation of Sardine Lake. I hailed Bodie with an inquiry as to the reason for the name, and received his illuminating reply in one word, “Canned.” I learned later that years ago an ill-fated mule bearing a cargo of the delicacy consigned to a merchant in some mining-camp of the Walker River region had fallen off the trail, and after a series of spectacular revolutions had vanished in the icy waters. "

Sardine Lake, August 2019, much as

Chase may have first seen it,

( and the mule! )

photo: j. develyn

In the upper course of the cañon the walls rise precipitously. It is in fact a gorge rather than a cañon, and it is easy to guess how it came by its name in the days when great bands of cattle were driven across the Sierra by this route, lacerating themselves as they scrambled among the jagged rock-débris through which the so-called trail is laid. When one recalls the behavior of a herd of excited cattle driven along an ordinary highway, and then imagines the scene of action transferred to this fearfully steep defile, filled with shattered rock and narrowing at the top to a mere cleft, with yelling vaqueros urging the bewildered and terrified beasts into a panic, it becomes a marvel that any of the animals should arrive at the head of the pass alive and unmaimed. The bones that still lie strewn up and down the trail testify to the fate of many a victim of Bloody Cañon. "

In Bloody Canyon, looking NW

towards Mono Pass,

August 2019.

photo by: j develyn

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( *** for the fascinating history of Blood Canyon: )
https://www.yosemite.ca.us/library/yosemite_nature_notes/47/3/mono_pass_bloody_canyon.html

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Coast Trails

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Once again the meticulous chronicler, in two paragraphs, captures

his goings on, not missing a beat and capturing the atmosphere

in splendid form. His ironic comment, ' hearty blessings ' re-

grading the old gentleman, after getting lost; his capturing the

mood of his tired mount Anton in all its mischievousness;

and his roguish description of the harvester crew circulating

through the saloon is amusing, and spot on. Please, take it

all in!

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" The inland heat was rather trying, and I determined to make for Moss Landing, on the coast, a few miles away. Following the directions of an old man whose confident manner imposed on me, I left Castroville on the right, and turned into a road that seemed to lead directly there. After following it for a couple of miles, Anton pretty tired and eying every barn and gateway with anxiety, the road came to an end, and a wide slough, quite impassable, barred the way.

 With hearty blessings on that old gentleman we returned to Castroville, and took the main road, arriving at the village of Moss Landing long after dark. It took my utmost arguments to persuade the hotel-keeper to get me supper of bread, beef, and tepid coffee. The place had just been thrown into excitement by the arrival of a harvester crew of eighteen or twenty men, who kept up a sort of stage procession as they circulated through the saloon. Fraternal squads passed in hurriedly, to emerge in two or three minutes with impressive wiping of lips. A few moments sufficed to change the composition of the groups, and they lurched in again with a fresh access of thirst. "

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