goldfields

“Monday, 25th. Went about 6 miles and found it impossible to proceed. Went back about 2 miles and encamped — dug holes in the ground to deposit such things as we could dispense with. Did not do it, discovering the Indians were watching us . . .”

“Tuesday, 26th. Went S. about 3 miles and camped in a deep ravine. It was urged by some that we should kill our horses and mules — dry what meat we could carry and start on foot to find the way out of the mountains.”

Bidwell & Co. were making very slow progress, and it must have felt like no progress at all. They feared they might wander about in the canyons for weeks until the snows caught them and they perished.

While Bidwell was off on his his detour to the grove of sequoias, the rest of the company had hired an old Indian to pilot them out of the mountains. They were sure that he had led them “into the worst place he could find” and then absconded. They suspected the Indians of wanting their horses for food, and they did not trust them.

When Bidwell caught up with his companions late on the 24th, they had abandoned 5 of the horses and mules that could no longer travel, and the Indians had turned them into meat. Now they had to consider whether it was time to kill the rest of the animals and travel on foot as lightly as possible.  They decided, for the time being, to keep their animals alive. If nothing else, they were dinner on the hoof, and at a last resort could be eaten.

Game was amazingly scarce in the Sierra Nevada. They shot a wildcat and a few crows, but never any deer. They ate acorns, but the bitter tannin in the untreated acorns made them sick. Years later Bidwell could still vividly recall how he longed for good food, especially bread.

“I was always so fond of bread that I could not imagine how any one could live without it. How the people in the Rocky Mountains [the trappers] had been able to live on meat alone was to me a mystery.

When our flour began to give out, the idea of doing without bread was painful to me, and by great economy my mess managed to eke out their flour a short time longer than the others. It was bad enough to have poor beef, but when brought to it we longed for fat beef adn though with it we might possibly live without bread. But when poor mule meat stared us in the face, we said if we could only have beef, no matter how poor, we could live.”  (1877 Dictation)

In 1896 John Bidwell wrote a letter to his friend John Muir, and gave him a statement about his discovery of the giant sequoias of the Sierra Nevada. Here is an excerpt:

“Near night I was hastening north to intersect the trail of the party going west. It was almost too dark to see a trail, when I came to an enormous fallen tree. I tried to go around the top but it was too brushy. As I passed by the butt, which seemed to tower some twenty or more feet above my head, I was obliged to hasten on and find a secluded place to spend the night, for Indian fires were seen and tracks fresh and plentiful.

I had come to the conclusion that the party had gone north (and not west), so at daylight I struck out east with all haste, but found no trail. Then I bore south till I found the camping ground where I left the party the day before. But the party had changed direction, followed an Indian path down into the deep canon, and scaled the canon wall on the south side of the Stanislaus. As I climbed along their rugged trail I found several horses and mules had given out (too weak to go farther) and been left to the mercy of the Indians who were cutting them to pieces even when standing and alive unable to run or kick. My rifle I carried cocked in my hand; but, though alone and several hours after the party had passed, the Indians made no attempt to molest me.

But to return to the big tree which I had seen. The conditions under which I saw it. The darkness that was coming on – the haste to leave as soon as I could see in the morning &c. must be my excuse for the meagre report I am able to give.

This tree was, beyond a doubt, that huge wonder of the Calaveras grove of Sequoias known as the Father of the Forest. Though I entered the grove and found a hiding place for the night near the east side I saw no standing Sequoias. . .  Besides, tho to me every thing was new and wonderful, there was at the moment no time to consider. And yet the impression that tree made upon my mind could not be forgotten.”

Annie Bidwell added a note of her own: She writes (she always referred to her husband as “the General,” here “Genl”):

” Dear Mr Muir, When Genl & my sister & I visited Calaveras grove Genl recognized many features of the locality, saying, “Yes, I was here,” and when we reached the hotel he so described the Father of the Forest to the guide that the latter replied “You have been here.” Tears filled my husband’s eyes he turned away, but in a few moments said to me, “Let us slip off alone to that tree” & without any wavering he led us to it. We were all much moved: he as the memories surging in upon him; we in sympathy with those memories. Sincerely yours A.K.B.

“Friday, 23rd. Having no more meat than would last us 3 days [they had just killed their last ox], it was necessary to use all possible exertions to kill game, which was exceedingly scarce. For this purpose I started alone, very early in the morning, to keep some distance before the Company . . .  I went about 4 miles –met the Indian who came to us last night — obtained a little provision made of acorns — got an Indian boy to pilot me to his house. [I wonder how they communicated with the Indians.] He took me down the most rugged path in all nature — arrived on the banks of a river at least 3/4 of a mile perpendicular from where I started with him — found no more provision, continued down the river . . .

The mountains, which walled in the stream, were so steep that it was with great difficulty I scaled them — having in one place come within an inch of falling from a craggy cliff down a precipice nearly a fourth of a mile perpendicular. 4 long hours I labored before I reached the summit — proceeded directly to intercept the trail of the Company. Mts. covered with the largest and tallest pines, firs, &c., thick copses of hazel &c. — travelled till dark over hills, dales, crags, rocks, &c., found no trail — lay down and slept.”

You would think that Bidwell would take someone else with him, but he doesn’t seem to have heard of the buddy system. His idea was to range around looking for game to shoot, then rejoin the Company further down the trail. Needless to say, he never found any game, and the others weren’t doing much better. In Echoes of the Past he says:

“When we killed our last ox [on the 22nd] we shot and ate crows or anything we could kill, and one man shot a wildcat. We could eat anything.”

Although he found no game, he did make a fascinating discovery.

“Just at dark I came to an enormous fallen tree and tried to go around the top, but the place was too brushy, so I went around the butt, which seemed to me to be about twenty or twenty-five feet above my head. This I suppose to have been one of the fallen trees in the Calaveras Grove of Sequoia gigantea or mammoth trees, as I have since been there, and to my own satisfaction identified the lay of the land and the tree. Hence I concluded that I must have been the first white man who ever saw the Sequoia gigantea, of which I told Fremont when he came to California in 1844.” (Echoes of the Past)

The Father of the Forest, the tree where John Bidwell sheltered in 1841.

Bidwell always considered himself the first white man to lay eyes on the giant sequoias, and many years later he proudly showed Annie the grove where he had spent a cold and sleepless night. But he was not actually the first. That honor goes to Joseph Walker and two others who came across them while exploring the Sierras for Bonneville in 1834.

“Wednesday, 21st. Our route today was much better than expected, though in any other place than the mountains it would be considered horrible. Capt. B. with his 7 or 8 overtook us, but we heard nothing of J. John. Distance about 10 miles, could see no prospect of a termination to the mts., mts., mountains!”

Surrounded by mountains, and unable to proceed down the steep and rocky canyon, the party traveled along the ridge between the Middle and North Forks of the Stanislaus River.  The landscape was “recently burned over” by forest fires. This desolate terrain offered no game and almost no grass for the horses, the mules, and their one remaining ox.

In his 1877 Dictation, Bidwell describes how Bartleson’s group, who had tried to get down the canyon, spent all day retracing their steps, although the distance was no more than half a mile. “At one place it took all of the men either pushing or pulling to help each mule back up again, and for the whole distance the loads had to be carried on the backs of the men.”

Tough going indeed, and no way to know how long it would last.

“Tuesday, 19th. Descending along the stream,we found several oak scrubs which confirmed us in the hope that we were on the waters of the Pacific. But the route became exceedingly difficult–the stream had swelled to a river–could not approach it–could only hear it roaring among the rocks. Having come about 12 miles a horrid precipice bid us stop — we obeyed and encamped.

Those who went to explore the route had not time to come to any conclusion where we could pass. We had descended reapidly all day; the mts. were still mantled with forests of towering pines. The roaring winds and the hollow murmuring of the dashing waters conveyed int he darkness of the night the most solemn and impressive ideas of solitude.

To a person fond of the retiring life, this, thought I, would be a perfect terrestrial Paradise, but it was not so to us, when we knew that winter was at hand, and the Capt. Walker (the mountaineer) had been lost in these very mountains 22 days before he could extricate himself.”

According to Michael Gillis, Bidwell & Co. were following Clark’s Fork to where it converged with the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus River. As they continued down the Middle Fork, they found the terrain extremely rough, rocky, and thickly covered with pine and brush. It was tough going.

Joseph Walker was a famous mountain man and explorer who had guided Bonneville’s party through the Sierras in 1833 and was with Fremont on his exploring trips during the 1840’s. Fremont named the Walker River and Walker Lake after him. Bidwell had probably read about him in Washington Irving’s popular account of the Bonneville expedition. Spending 22 days wandering around the Sierra Nevada as winter came on was certainly not anything that he wanted to do. The sooner they got out the better.

“Monday, 18th. Having ascended a about half a mile, a frightful prospect opened before us–naked mountains whose summits still retained the snows perhaps of a thousand years, for it had withstood the heat of a long dry summer, and ceased to melt for the season. The winds roared–but in the deep dark gulfs which yawned on every side, profound solitude seemed to reign. We would along among the peaks in such a manner as to avoid most of the mountains which we had expected to climb–struck a small stream descending toward the W., on which we encamped, having come 15 miles.”

The “small stream” that they camped by was Clark’s Fork, which flows into the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus River. They didn’t know how far they had to go yet, but at lest they were headed downstream.

Michael J. Gillis traced this journey in his article for the Overland Journal entitled “The 1841 Trans-Sierra Route of the Bidwell-Bartleson Party.” On the 18th he says that the group was climbing up Golden Canyon, and crested the Sierra Nevada at an elevation of 9,425 feet.

“In only four days, thanks to good weather, good luck and some savvy scouting, the Bidwell-Bartleson Party had made its way to the west side of the Sierra Nevada. One of the most daunting portions of the travelers’ trip now lay behind them. Unfortunately, their joy at successfully locating a pass over the summit was quickly tempered by the sobering panorama that now lay before them. Snowcapped mountains were visible in every direction. Many days of difficult traveling were still ahead.”

“Sunday, 17th. This morning we set forth into the rolling mountains; in many places it was so steep that all were obliged to take it on foot. Part of the day we traveled through valleys between peaks, where the way was quite level . . . Encamped on the side of the mountains, so elevated that the ice remained all day in the streams–but we had not yet arrived at the summit. Killed another ox on this evening–made 12 miles.”

Following the Walker River, the Bidwell-Bartleson Party entered the Sierras at Antelope Valley. They faced the challenge of crossing a daunting range of snow-capped mountains and steep canyons. Could they do it?

On the day before Bidwell had written: “This evening the Company was convened for the purpose of deciding by vote whether we should go back to the lake and take a path which we saw leading to the N.W., or undertake to climb the mountains. We had no more provision than would last us to the lake–nearly all were unanimous against turning back.”

No one wanted to go back to the desert. They were already on short rations, down to their last one or two oxen, but the mountains at least promised water and the possibility of game. The desert had nothing to offer but sand, heat, and starvation. So the decision was made; they would tackle the mountains. On the 17th they started up into the mountains, hoping to break through to California.