What if you could experience Yosemite free of traffic and crowds, as it was before automobiles roamed the country? This adventure will involve a horse-drawn carriage, rough dirt roads and no electronics or modern conveniences. But you get to travel with a like-minded relative to see “the most wonderful collection of waterfalls, precipitous cliffs, fantastic peaks and other scenic features anywhere in the world.”
I recently took such a journey by reading “The Pacific Coast Scenic Tour” by Henry Finck. Henry was the brother of my great grandmother Josephine Finck Nebelung and uncle to my grandfather Raymond Nebelung. Published in 1890, his book describes an epic trip he took from San Diego to Sitka, Alaska. The heirloom collected dust in family homes for three generations until my Aunt Marilyn gave it to me a while back.
Henry’s writing reveals how greatly California has changed in the last 14 decades, describing 19th Century cities that would be unrecognizable to those in them now.
Los Angeles, for example, was booming in the 1880s with 60,000 people (compared to nearly 4 million in the 2020s). Catching his interest were saloons, peach crops, and ostrich farms, which produced flumes for women’s hats. Grapes and oranges drove the local economy. Quail and rabbit hunting entertained the tourists instead of movie stars and amusement parks. “The present ambition of the Los Angeles people is to surpass all the rest of the world in as many things as possible,” he noted. Henry objected to the air, though: “Los Angeles made the mistake of not building a sewer to the sea during flush times,” he wrote, causing foul odor which “will destroy its reputation.”
In San Francisco, Henry recorded more elements still familiar today. He enjoyed Golden Gate Park, seals and sea lions, and riding cable cars up and down famously steep hills: “Cable car tobogganing parties ought to be among the most popular amusements in San Francisco.” Without judgment, Henry observed gambling, prostitution and opium dens, but didn’t hold back when critiquing alcohol prices. “Claret is so cheap by the gallon that it ought to be served free with meals,” he claimed.
Outdoor destinations which Henry explored changed less over the years, except in their number of visitors and the way people travel to reach them. Henry’s writing revealed many common experiences that we share which make me feel kinship to my great great uncle.
In Yosemite, we’ve both marveled at El Capitan, hiked on the Mist Trail until soaked, and climbed atop Sentinel Dome. Henry visited multiple scenic landmarks as I have, including Yosemite Falls, Glacier Point and Mariposa Grove.
At Lake Tahoe, Henry documented close calls with a large bear and a mountain lion, and lamented his failure to land a 30-pound trout. “Tahoe has no equal in purity and clearness,” he wrote. “Strolling along the shores of Tahoe one can enjoy a solitude as profound as if no human eye has ever before gazed on this liquid mountain mirror in a Sierra frame.” A big fish getting away has disappointed me too, but Tahoe “solitude” today sounds as likely as its lakeside casinos going bust.
“Shasta is the grandest mountain in California,” opined Henry, who hired a guide to lead him up the 14,180-foot volcano. But, “this proved impossible, owing to the deep masses of snow which carpeted the sombre forest.” He might have been intrigued to know that, a century later, the mountain would become a family favorite that would see his relatives both achieve and fall short of the summit several times.
Then as now, people of diverse backgrounds made up California’s population. When referring to Americans of Native, Chinese, Mexican and African descent, Henry used terms which most would consider slurs in our time. Without excusing this, I note that such words were common in his days and that he showed no animus to these groups. On the contrary, Henry expressed sympathy for their mistreatment and voiced support for restoring Native geographic names, such as Mount Tacoma instead of Mount Rainier.
As further evidence of Henry’s character, he dedicated his book to Wendell Garrison, a pacifist, anti-imperialist and son of abolitionist crusader Willian Garrison.
I was glad to read that, and also pleased that the outdoors held such appeal for him as it does for me. “Camping is the favorite pastime of the Californian in summer,” he declared. “Surely, when the human race cuts its wisdom teeth, it will no longer crowd into dirty, noisy, malodorous cities, but will seek health and fresh air all the year round…The man who has no love of mountains in his soul is fit for treason, stratagem and crime.”
Henry proved himself ahead of his time with these thoughts. He graduated from Harvard, authored more than two dozen books and worked for four decades as an editor and music critic before dying in 1926 at age 72. “The Pacific Coast Scenic Tour” broadened my horizons about 19th Century California and my own family history. I wish I could have met Henry, but if I did, I would have to set him straight about a few topics in Yosemite.
Henry expressed enthusiasm for tunnel trees, which I can overlook with difficulty; he didn’t himself hack through giant sequoias so stagecoaches could drive through them. Harder to forgive is his defense of tourists cutting away the big trees’ bark for souvenirs. “It would take decades of such petty vandalism to make any impression,” he wrote, sorely underestimating the size of approaching crowds.
Here’s where I draw the line, though. About 40 years before thirsty city dwellers dammed Hetch Hetchy Valley, breaking the hearts of environmentalists, Henry floated a similar idea for Yosemite Valley! “Beautiful as the present floor of the Valley is … one cannot help fancying that a Lake Yosemite would be more romantic still; and such a lake could be made by damming the Merced River below El Capitan.” Oh, Henry!