The Western United States Part 9

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 52.--SCENE ON GREAT SALT LAKE]

Although decreasing in area so rapidly, Great Salt Lake is still the largest body of water in the western part of the United States, and the largest salt lake within its boundaries. It has a length of seventy miles and a maximum width of nearly fifty miles.

Desolate, indeed, must have appeared the surroundings of the lake, with its salt-incrusted borders, as the Mormon emigrants gained the summit of the Wasatch Range and looked out over the vast expanse to the west. But as the slopes at the foot of the mountains seemed capable of producing food for their support, they stopped and made their homes there. Now in this same region, after half a century, one can ride for many miles through as beautiful and highly cultivated a country as the sun ever looked down upon. In the early days the barren plains were broken only by mountains almost as barren, which rose from them like the islands from the surface of the Great Salt Lake. The only pleasing prospect was toward the east, where stood the steep and rugged Wasatch Range, with its snow-capped peaks.

From its deep canons issued large streams of pure, cold water, which flowed undisturbed across the brush-covered slopes, then unbroken by irrigating ditches, and at last were lost in the salt lake.

One might think that streams of water apparently so pure would at last freshen the lake, but in reality they are carrying along invisible particles of mineral matter which add to its saltness day by day. The dry air steals away the water from the lake as fast as it runs in, but cannot take the minerals which it holds in solution.

Great Salt Lake is still considered very large, but at one time it was ten times its present size, while still longer ago there was no lake at all. Without a basin there can be no lake, and at that far-away time, as we have already learned, the Great Basin did not exist, and the streams, if there were any, ran away to the ocean without hindrance.

When the Great Basin was formed by a breaking and bending of the crust of the earth, many a stream lost its connection with the ocean and went to work filling up the smaller basins, thus giving rise to the lakes which have already been described. The largest of these bodies of water, and in some respects the most interesting, is Great Salt Lake.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 53.--OLD Sh.o.r.e LINE OF LAKE BONNEVILLE

Foot of the Wasatch Range]

This lake, lying close to the lofty Wasatch Range, received so much water from numerous streams during the Glacial period that it slowly spread over thousands of square miles, overrunning the desert valleys and making islands of the scattered mountain ranges.

It extended from north to south across Utah, into southern Idaho and almost to the Arizona line, until this body of water, which arose from so small beginnings, had become a veritable inland sea, three hundred miles long, one hundred miles wide, and one thousand feet deep.

By the time the lake had covered an area of twenty thousand square miles the lowest point in the rim of the basin was reached and the overflow began. No map will tell you where the outlet was, for no river exists there now. If you could explore the sh.o.r.e lines of this ancient lake, which has been called Bonneville after the noted trapper, you would find two low spots in the mountains which hem the waters in, one upon the south, facing the Colorado River, the other on the north toward the Snake River. The one on the north happened to be a little lower, so that the break occurred there.

First as a little, trickling stream, then as a mighty, surging river, the water poured northward down the valley of a small stream, widening and deepening it until, pa.s.sing the spot where now the town of Pocatello stands, it joined the Snake River.

This old outlet is now known as Red Rock Pa.s.s, and it forms an easy route for the Oregon Short Line from Salt Lake City to the plains of southern Idaho. The old river-bed is marked by marshes and fertile farms.

With an outlet established, Lake Bonneville could rise no higher, and its waves began the formation of a well-defined terrace or beach, just as waves are sure to do along every sh.o.r.e. The level of the water could not remain permanently at the same height, for the rocks at the outlet were being worn away by the large volume of water which flowed over them. In the course of years the level of the lake was lowered four hundred feet. The sinking was not uniform, but took place by stages, while at each period of rest the waves made a new beach line. The lake during all this time must have been a beautiful sheet of fresh water filled with fish.

Its sh.o.r.es, also, must have been much richer in vegetation than they are now.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 54.--RED ROCK Pa.s.s, SOUTHERN IDAHO

Outlet of Lake Bonneville]

The water remained for a long time at the level of four hundred feet below its highest stage. This fact is evident from the width of the wave-cut terrace, which is the most prominent of all those that mark the old levels along the sides of the mountains. Finally, for some reason the climate began to change, the streams supplied less water to the lake, and the evaporation from its surface became greater because the air was drier. As a result the lake was lowered to such an extent that it lost its outlet. The mighty river flowing down through Red Rock Canon grew smaller and at last dried up altogether.

In this manner the lake was again cut off from the ocean, as it had been during its earlier history. The waters still continued to recede, but not at a uniform rate. During periods of greater rain its level remained stationary, so that the waves added new terraces to those already formed.

As the lake had no outlet and was decreasing in volume, the water became salty, for the minerals brought by the streams could no longer be carried away. The fish either died or pa.s.sed up into the purer waters of the inflowing streams.

The water of the present lake is so salt that in every four quarts there is one quart of salt, and the preparation of this commodity by a process of evaporating the water in ponds has become an important industry. The water is the strongest kind of brine and it is impossible for a bather to sink in it. One floats about upon it almost as lightly as wood does upon ordinary water. After bathing it is necessary to wash in fresh water to remove the salt from the body.

The dry bed of the former Lake Bonneville stretches far to the south and west of the present lake, and forms one of the most barren and arid regions in the United States. It is sometimes called the Great American Desert.

Why is the lake receding now? Some people think that the climate is growing still more arid, and that the lake will eventually disappear.

Others think that its shrinkage is the result of irrigation, for a large part of the water from the streams which supply it is now taken out and turned upon the land. There is still another reason which may account for the low water. The lake is known to rise and fall during a series of wet and dry years. When first mapped, in the middle of the last century, it was about as low as it is now. Then it gradually rose for a number of years and lately has again been falling.

The story of Great Salt Lake has been much more complicated than the statement given above, but this is sufficient for our purpose.

Irrigation has made a garden spot of a large part of the old bed of Lake Bonneville, but much of the beauty and attractiveness of this region would be lost if the present lake should give place to a bed of glistening salt. Let us hope that it will remain as it is.

THE SKAGIT RIVER

The Skagit is not one of the great rivers of the world, for very little of its course lies outside the boundaries of a single state.

It is, however, none the less interesting. Few rivers with a length of only one hundred and fifty miles present so great a variety of instructive features. We shall certainly learn more from a study of the Skagit than from many a better known and more pretentious river.

Innumerable torrents, fed by the glaciers of the Cascade Range, pour down the rocky slopes and lose themselves in the wooded canons below. The canon streams, of much greater size, flow less impetuously over gentler slopes, and are frequently blocked by boulders and logs. These streams unite in one broad, deep river, which moves on quietly to its resting-place in Puget Sound. Its name, Skagit, is of Indian origin and means _wild cat_.

By following the Skagit River and a tributary stream, one can go from the bare and snowy summit of the Cascade Range down through dense forests, and come out at last upon a magnificent delta, where a fertile plain is slowly but steadily encroaching upon the waters of the sound. What contrasting scenes are presented along the few short miles of the course of the river! A trip from its source to its mouth will be worth all the trouble it involves, although the trail is often disagreeably wet and sometimes dangerous.

There is no grander scenery in the United States than that of the Cascade Range; nor are there more dense forests than those found upon its western slope. The range is hidden in almost perpetual clouds and storms, and they are fortunate who can reach its summit upon a pleasant day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 55.--SUMMIT OF THE CASCADE RANGE, NEAR THE HEAD OF THE SKAGIT RIVER]

The forests of fir and hemlock have gained a foothold nearly to the summit of the range. Upon the little benches and in the protected nooks the trees grow thriftily, and dense groves are found up to an elevation of nearly five thousand feet; but upon the more exposed and rocky slopes stunted trunks show the effect of a constant struggle with the rocks and winds. Upon other slopes, too high for the trees to grow, there are low shrubs and arctic mosses; but above all rise precipitous crags and peaks, utterly bare except for the glaciers nestling among them.

Under the shade of the upland forests the moss is damp and the wood wet, so that it is difficult to make a comfortable camp or to build a fire. But these discomforts are not worthy of consideration in view of the inspiration which one gains by the outlook from some commanding point upon the summit of the mountain range.

All about are jagged, splintered peaks. Upon every gentle slope there rests, within some alcove, a glistening ma.s.s of snow and ice. A score of these glaciers are in sight. They are supplied in winter by the drifting snows, and yield in summer, from their lower extremities, streams of ice-cold water. A mult.i.tude of streams raise a gentle murmur, broken occasionally by a dull roar as some glacier, in its slow descent, breaks upon the edge of a precipice and its fragments fall into the canon below.

From a position upon the summit above the point where the Skagit trail crosses the mountains may be seen a little lake, on the surface of which remains some of last winter's ice not yet melted by the August sun. If the climate were a little colder, the basin would be occupied by a glacier instead of a lake. All about the lake there are steep, rocky slopes, more or less completely covered with low arctic plants and stunted, storm-beaten hemlocks. From among the trees at the foot of the lake rises the roof of a miner's log cabin, and a few hundred feet beyond a small, dark opening in the face of a cliff shows where the miner is running a tunnel in his search for gold.

Far below, and heading close under the sharp crest of the range, are densely wooded canons. The fair weather is pa.s.sing, and it is necessary to find the trail and descend. Clouds are sweeping across the ridges and peaks, and soon the whole summit will be covered by them.

From a point a little east of the summit the clouds present a grand sight at the gathering of a storm. Higher and higher they pile upon the ocean face of the mountains. At the bottom they are dark and threatening, but the thunder-heads above can be seen bathed in the bright sunlight. For a time the clouds hang upon the summit as if stopped by some invisible barrier; perhaps they are loath to pa.s.s into the drier air of the eastern slope. But finally they move on, and rain or snow soon envelops the whole landscape.

The trail descends rapidly for four thousand feet to Cascade River, a tributary of the Skagit. It is a steep and slippery way, and in many places it is not safe to ride the horses. The sub-arctic climate of the summit is left behind, and one is soon surrounded by dense and luxuriant vegetation. Such a change as this, in a short distance, shows how greatly elevation affects climate and plant growth.

Upon every hand there is the sound of rushing water. From the cliffs ribbon-like cascades are falling. The rivulets unite in one stream, which roars and tumbles down the canon over logs and boulders. The trail crosses and recrosses the torrent until the water becomes too deep for fording, and then it leads one to a rude bridge made of two logs with split planks laid across them.

As the canon widens, the trail leads farther from the river and through dense forests. The woods are so silent that they become oppressive, and the air is damp, for the sunlight is almost excluded.

The tall trees, fir, hemlock, and spruce, with now and then a cedar, stand close together. Shrubs of many kinds are crowded among them, while mosses and ferns cover the ground. The fallen trunks are wrapped in moss, and young trees are growing upon them, drawing their nourishment from the decaying tissues. In the more open spots grow the salal bushes with their purple berries, the yellow salmon berries, and the blue-black huckleberries.

It is difficult to get an idea of the density of a Washington forest, or of the character of the streams, unless one has actually taken a trip through the region. If one wishes to escape the forest by following the streams, he will find the path blocked by fallen trees.

It is necessary continually to climb over or under obstructions, and the traveller is fortunate if he does not fall into the cold water. Upon the banks it is even worse; one must struggle through dense p.r.i.c.kly bushes and ferns, and be tripped every few rods.

Though the forest may appear at first to offer an easier way, it will soon be found that creeping and crawling through the undergrowth of bushes and young trees is exceedingly tiresome, and one will gladly return to the muddy trail, thankful for its guidance.

The mountains become less precipitous and the canon widens to a valley, until at last the trail comes out at a clearing where the Cascade River joins the Skagit. At this point, known as Marble Mountain, there is a ferry, also a store and several other buildings.

The cleared fields seem a relief after many miles of dense forest, but such openings are infrequent, for few settlers have yet pushed far into the forests of the Skagit valley. To make a clearing of any size, tear out the stumps, and prepare the land for cultivation, requires many years of hard labor.

How silently and yet with what momentum the river sweeps on! The water is clear in summer, but in winter it must be very muddy, for the Skagit is building one of the largest deltas upon Puget Sound.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FIG. 56.--SKAGIT RIVER IN ITS MIDDLE COURSE]

At Marble Mountain the traveller may, if he wishes, leave his horses, hire an Indian canoe, and float down the river to the nearest railroad station. The ride in the cedar canoe, with an Indian at the stern carefully guiding it past snags and boulders, is one of the pleasantest portions of the trip. The winding river is followed for nearly fifty miles. There is mile after mile of silent forest, the solitude broken only here and there by camps of Indians who are spending the summer by the river, fishing and picking huckleberries. Now and then a call comes from one of these camps, and in spite of the danger of being swamped by the swift current, the canoe is turned toward the sh.o.r.e, but the stop is only for a moment.

At last a new railroad grade comes in sight, with gangs of men at work. The valley of the Skagit contains one of the finest bodies of timber in Washington, and the railroad is being built for the purpose of reaching this timber. There is little other inducement for the building of a railroad; for beside a few summer visitors, the only inhabitants are the scattered prospectors and miners.

We enter the train at a little town in the woods and are soon speeding down the valley toward the mouth of the river. Clearings appear in the forest, and at last the view opens out over extensive meadows which stretch away, almost as level as a floor, to the waters of the sound. Here and there the meadows are broken by forest trees or irregular groups of farm buildings. Rich lands form the delta of the Skagit River. The value of these natural meadows was quickly recognized by the early settlers, for not only was the land exceedingly fertile, but it did not have to be cleared in order to be transformed into productive grain-fields.