Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1890-11-01
MOUNT SHASTA.
A Description Of 1t in Joaquin Willer's
Mos. Picturesque Style.


Mos. Picturesque style.
AS lone as God, and white as Il winter
moon, Mount Shasta starts up sudden
and solitary from the heart of the great
black forests of northern California,
writes Joaquin Miller in "My Own
Story.
You would hardly call Mount Shasta a
part of the Sicrras; you would say rather
that it is the great white tower of some
ancient and eternal wall, with nearly all
of the white walls overthrown.
1t has no rival. There is not even
snow crowned subject in sight of its
dominion. A shining pyramid in mail of
everlasting frosts andice, the sailor some
times, in a day of singular clearness,
catches glimpses of it from the sea, a
hundred miles away to the vest and it
may lie seen from the dome of the capi-
tol, $40 miles distant. The immigrant
coming from the east beholds the snowy,
solitary pillar from afar out on the arid
sage bush plains, and lifts his hands in
silence as in answer to sign.
Column upon column of storm
stained tamarack, strong, tossing pines
and warlike looking frs have rallied
her. They stand with their backs
against this mountain, frowning down
dark browed and confronting the face
of tie Saxon They defy the advance
OF civilization into their ranks. What
if these dark and splendid columns, 100
miles in depth, should be the last to go
down in America! What if it should be
the old guard gathered here, marshaled
around their emperor i'll plumes and
armor that may die, but not surrender!
Ascend this mountain, stand against
the snow above the upper belt of pines,
and take a glance below. Toward the
sea nothing but the black and unbroken
forest Mountains, it is true, dip and
divide and break the monotony as the
waves break up the sea; yet it is still the
sea, still the unbroken forest, black and
magnificent. To the south the landscape
sinks and declines gradually, but still
maintains its columns of dark plumed
grenadiers, till the Sacramento Valley IS
reached nearly hundred miles away.
Silver rivers run here, the sweetest in
the world. They wind and wind among
the rocks and messy roots, with Cali
fornia lilies, and the yew with scarlet
berries dripping in the water, and trout
idling in the eddies and cool places by
the basketfu On the east the forest
still keeps up unbroken rank till the
Pitt River Valley is reached, and even
there it surrounds the valley and locks it
up tight in its black embrace. To the
north, it is true, Shasta Valley makes
quite a dimple in the sable sea- and men
plow there and Mexicans drive their
mules or herd their mustang ponies on
the open plain. But the valley is linn
tied. surrounded by the forest, confined
and imprisoned.
Looking intently down among the
black aud rolling hills, 40 miles away to
the west, and here and there you see
haze of cloud or smoke hung up above
the trees; or, driven by the wind that is
coming from the sea, it may drag and
creep along as if tangled i'll the tops.
These are mining camps. Men are
there, down in these dreadful canyons,
out of the sight of the sun, swallowed up,
buried in the impenetrable gloom of the
forest toiling for gold. Each one of these
camps is world itself History, ro-
nance, tragedy, poetry, in every one of
them. They are connected together, and
reach the outer world only by narrow
little pack trail, stretching through the
timber, stringing round the mountains,
barely wide enough to admit the foot
men and little Mexican mules, with their
apparajos, to pass in single file.
But now the natives of these forests.
l lived with them for years. You do
not see the smoke of their wigwams
through the trees. They do not smite
the mountain rocks for gold, nor fell the
pines. nor roll up the waters and ruin
them for the fishermen. All this mag
nificent forest is their estate. The great
spirit made this mountain first of all,
and gave it to them, they say, and they
have possessed it ever since. They pre-
serve the forest, keep out the fires, for
it is the park of their deer.