In Tamal Land — A Reader’s Guide

This was the first electric line in California to be operated by the third rail system, and it has proved satisfactory in every detail. Owing to the danger of contact with the third rail, the road is fenced on both sides, and the rail is concealed at stations.

At the head of Richardson's Bay, and but a short distance from Mill Valley, is situated the North Shore Powerhouse. Here the power, which is transmitted from Colgate, over 150 miles away, is stored. Should there be any accident and stoppage to the power, electricity is generated at the Powerhouse by steam, which is always kept in readiness.

As I gazed at the three switches, each in its separate vault (in order to be kept fire-proof) it was difficult to realize that in the small wires I beheld were centered power to operate trains, illuminate and run machinery and countless other utilities.

As this, the greatest motive power in the world to-day, was long unknown except as an element of destruction, until the man came who harnessed the lightning and made it do man's work, so there are still undoubtedly other forces of nature which but await the master mind to discover their utility.

A short distance west of the Powerhouse, on a slightly elevated mound, is an old orchard whose gnarled trees have sheltered for a generation and more the yellow adobe walls of the first settler of Marin.

But the elements of nature with relentless fingers have played about this relic of the past, until but a small vestige is left to remind us of what has been.

When a grant to the Corte Madera del Presidio Rancho was given to John Read he began building his home, and in order to construct a large, commodious adobe, he erected a sawmill in the vicinity, and there the lumber for his home was whipsawed.

Thus, it is this mill, which is still standing in undisturbed repose these many years, which gave the surrounding valley its name.

Read had barely finished his adobe when he died, and the place subsequently passed into the hands of the boldest bandit of Marin.

The terror of the surrounding counties--whose very name sent a chill even to the bravest heart--was Barnardino Garcia, otherwise called "Three-fingered Jack." He possessed all the daring and bravery of a dauntless marauder, and the anecdotes of his bloody adventures form many a weird and ghostly tale when told by the flickering firelight of a winter's night, sending the listener to bed inwardly quaking, with eyes peering into dark corners.

The most widely known of his crimes was committed shortly after the raising of the Bear Flag at Sonoma, which proclaimed the Golden West to be the Republic of California.

The Bear Flag party being short of ammunition and a rumor gaining circulation to the effect that General Vallejo had a cache of powder stored on the Sotoyome Rancho near the present town of Healdsburg, it was decided to send men to procure some. Cowie and Fowler volunteered to go, although the journey was known to be a perilous one; but the need was great, and these pioneers considered it no risk.

They were warned, however, to avoid the way through Santa Rosa, and to confine their paths to the hills out of the ken of Garcia and his band.

Whether the Americans failed to heed the warning, or whether Garcia's men discovered them in the hills, will never be known. They were taken prisoners, under a pledge that their lives would be spared, but were finally murdered with great cruelty.

When Cowie and Fowler did not return to Sonoma within a reasonable time, great anxiety was felt in the little garrison.

Finally a searching party was sent out, but it soon returned with news of the murder.

The Bear Flag leaders swore revenge on the murderers, and eventually captured a number of Garcia's band, although he himself escaped. A fugitive from justice, he journeyed south, becoming lieutenant to the famous desperado, Joaquin Murietta, only to be subsequently shot in 1853 by Captain Harry Love's Rangers. His hand of three fingers was sent as a trophy to the commandant.

Thus ended the career of this bold adventurer.

Though there are many towns in Marin which command a more expansive vista, and offer by their marine situation greater diversity in out-door sports, still Mill Valley, nestling at the base of Tamalpais, has proved a delightful summer retreat and home center; for, dotted in the wooded canyons, beside the streams, or in some sunny exposure may be found many artistic dwellings which, while possessing the advantages of the country, are within easy access of the city.

The most notable among the attractive residences is the home of Mr. George T. Marsh.

Stepping within the odd wooden gate, which reminds one of the "Toriis," or sacred gates of Nikko, the stranger feels that he has indeed touched a fairy wand, and been transported to the heart of the Mikado's realm.

Liquid streams, spanned by fantastic miniature bridges on whose banks dwarf shrubs of various kind abound; fish ponds and islands; quaint metal lamps beside the roadway on their low posts, that are unique by daylight and when lit add all the witchery and charm of the floral isle; these and numerous other features of the Orient come unexpectedly upon the enchanted visitor, until he forgets the busy commercial activity of the outer world, and is in fancy again wandering in the grand old dreamy groves of Miyajima.

Another spot deserving the attention of the visitor is the quaint Club-House of the Out-Door Art Club. This Club has been organized by the ladies of Mill Valley for the purpose of preserving the natural beauties of the town and vicinity and staying, if possible, the hand of those primitive beings who, with ruthless vandalism, cut down and otherwise destroy the most prized of our rural possessions, our noble trees.

Much credit is due these energetic ladies in their worthy endeavor to teach those who have "eyes that see not" the wondrous beauties of Nature.

Besides its own unique features, the chief attraction which draws to this little burg tourists and travelers from all parts, as by a magnet, is the fact that it is the starting point of the Mill Valley and Mt. Tamalpais Scenic Railway.

Leaving the station, the mountain train winds through redwood groves, beside streams and pools, passing on its route the Hotel Blithedale, founded many years ago by Dr. Cushing as a sanitarium, so propitious to health is this sheltered, sunny exposure.

The train is operated by a steam-traction engine which combines the ordinary cog system with an additional contrivance appropriate for turning curves. As the train gradually climbs in its serpentine route, and chaparral takes the place of redwood, the country below begins to unfold; towns appear in miniature, and hills which on close approach have distinct characteristics now merge into one another, forming an unbroken mass which stretches west to the Pacific, on whose sapphire bosom may frequently be seen the dim outline of the Farallon Islands, while to the southward Point San Pedro and the City are visible, and San Francisco Bay with intricate windings can be seen to join San Pablo and Suisun bays on the east.

It requires many trips to fully appreciate and comprehend the marvelous diversity of views spread before one, while the variety of superb effects to be witnessed from this mountain cannot be found in a single visit.

To watch the wonderful radiance of sunrise when Apollo mounts in his chariot of fire above the Berkeley hills, or to see a billowy floor of fog, outspread before one, obscuring the lower world and leaving naught save this mountain peak unwrapped by the fog-mantle; and then to witness the pale light of the moon marking a silver pathway on the Bay, and casting grotesque shadows on the landscape; and these are but a few of the beauties garnered here.

The road which is known as "the crookedest in the world," turns innumerable sharp curves, finally twisting into a double bow-knot and, extricating itself, continues winding its way up, stopping a few moments at West Point, where passengers for Bolinas take the stage.

Arriving at the railroad's destination, the Tavern, the passengers alight to luncheon in its well-appointed dining-room, or lounge on the spacious veranda, enjoying at ease the superb views revealed below.

But if the traveller be something of a pedestrian he will take the zigzag, cleated steps which lead from the Tavern to the top.

Here the San Francisco Examiner's Marine Observatory is located, whose telescope is said to sight ships seventy miles at sea.

But this is not the only walk on the Mountain. Many trails wind about its sides disclosing shady nooks, a delightful cool spring and countless other surprises, which are easily reached owing to the guidance of artistic little signs which appear at short distances apart, while location rods are placed at intervals on the path circling the Mountain, enabling the visitor to find the various points of interest without any difficulty.

A few hundred feet from the Tavern is located a Government Weather Bureau, and in its proximity is to be placed the seismograph now being made in Strasburg, Germany, by order of the Weather Bureau Department in Washington. The instrument is said to be on a more elaborate plan than any in this country except the one in Washington, D. C., of which this will be a counterpart. Some time is required for its completion, so, presumably it will not be installed and ready to receive earthquakes until early next year.

Descending the mountain on the train to West Point, we alighted and after lunching at the Inn, mounted the stage which was bound for Bolinas.

The air on these mountain slopes is most exhilarating, and as we sped along down the gradually descending roadway, the breath of azaleas was wafted on the breeze from the canyons, while at each bend of the road the salt zephyrs from the Ocean became more perceptible.

Leaving the Monarch of Marin we soon came in sight of the white sand-spit with Dipsea, the new resort on the beach, and the glorious Pacific stretching thousands of miles beyond the horizon.

Alighting from the stage we embarked in a steam-launch which glided rapidly across the Bolinas Lagoon. Steep, massive hills encircle the Lagoon on the right, while on the left, becoming more apparent at each glide of the launch, lies Bolinas, the town, and our destination.

Owing to its small size and remote location we expected the usual hardships which accrue from a country hotel and its numerous incongruities; imagine our surprise therefore, when arriving at this little town, which is a stranger as yet to railroads, to find a cozy hostelry awaiting us.

Though unpretentious in appearance, the Flag Staff Inn proved as orderly and neat as any of its English prototypes. Whether it was due to the landlord's being a Briton or not, I can not say, but there was undoubtedly an English atmosphere about the place, and if honest Mrs. Lupin or Mark Tapley had issued from the porch to welcome us, I should not have been in the least surprised.

West of the little settlement of Bolinas a neck of land extends for a mile and a half out into the Ocean, the top forming a mesa. Owing to the fogs abounding in this region, it is green almost the entire year and makes splendid grazing, as in fact does all the land in the vicinity.

At the end of the mesa, some oil prospecting was being done, and at the time of our visit there was one shaft sunk. Although there are numerous deposits of oil to be found in and about these cliffs, the output thus far has not exceeded a barrel a day. Yet who can tell what rich veins may lie beneath this mesa.

On Duxbury Reef, a succession of small rocks extending farther out into the ocean, there is said to be found at low tide gas escaping from the rocks, which, being ignited occasionally by fishermen, does not become extinguished until the tide rises.

At the other extremity of the town is to me the most interesting section of Bolinas, for it was here that the first settlement was made. The name Bolinas--then spelled Baulinas--is believed by some to signify stormy and untamed, while others accredit it to be the name of an Indian girl.

Which is correct may never be ascertained. Either is probable; owing to its situation "stormy" may well apply, and as the Tamal Indians formerly inhabited this region, and in fact spread over the entire County, the last theory is equally feasible. To my mind they are both correct, for might it not have been named for an Indian maiden called Bolinas, whose nature was as stormy and untamed as the tempests which often surge about these headlands?

This Rancho Bolinas first belonged to Rafael Garcia, who disposed of the grant to his brother-in-law, Gregorio Briones, of whom tradition says there were few so honest, upright and brave as this dignified son of Spain, who died respected and beloved by all who knew him.

It was in the days before the "Gringo" came, when peace and plenty reigned throughout this land, and hospitality was proverbial to every household, that Gregorio Briones settled in Bolinas.

To be a skillful horseman and expert vaquero was all that was then required, for as cattle could live and thrive all the year round on the hills, there was no necessity for making hay for winter feed, or building stables for winter shelter; therefore, with little labor requisite, the natural consequence was the easy, careless life led by the Californians. Thus their spare energies were devoted to horse-racing, dancing, gambling, and kindred amusements.

Horses roamed the hills untethered and a caballero's first occupation in the morning was to catch a horse, saddle and bridle it, and either use or keep it tied up at his door during the day, ready for use at any moment, as both young and old rarely went from one house to another, no matter how short the distance, except on horseback.

As to the riders themselves, there were probably no better horsemen in the world than the native Californians.

On a fair spring morning in the month of May, 1850, a single horse, with two riders, might have been seen threading its way up the steep mountain trail leading from Bolinas to San Rafael. The bright, girlish face of the first rider peered wistfully from beneath the soft folds of her mantilla, while the young caballero, on the crupper behind, whispered to her in those sweet, melodious tones unheard save from a liquid Spanish tongue. Of the purport of their whispers we can but judge, for on arriving at the Mission they were greeted by a joyous peal of wedding bells.

The groom was Francisco Sebrean, the bride the beautiful Senorita Maria Briones, daughter of the pioneer. This was the first marriage in Bolinas and the celebration which followed their return to the Rancho was the most notable ever witnessed in that region. Dancing, feasting, music and gayety continued until the gray dawn appeared to touch the surrounding hilltops and proclaim the approach of another day.

Stopping at the home of the only remaining daughter of Don Briones, now a dignified, delightful, old lady, with the charming manners and graces of a true descendant of old Spain, we procured directions and soon found the oldest house in Bolinas. Although this was not the first built there, it is the oldest standing, and was occupied by the Briones family, Don Gregorio dying many years ago, while his wife, the Senora Briones, lived there until 1903, reaching her one hundred and seventh birthday--which goes to prove that it is the simple, natural life which begets old age.

If one is a good pedestrian and has a desire to get acquainted with nature untamed "without her hair combed" he should take the Lone Tree Trail leading from Bolinas over the hills, through the canyons and along the ridges back to the starting point, Mill Valley.

In a little "Steep Ravine" amid the high hills, and but a short distance from the Ocean and Bolinas, stands the solitary cabin of the man who by the magic of his brush first awoke the outer world to a realization of the beauties and possibilities of this region.

With the hand of a master, Thad Welch caught the rare effects abounding here, which have delighted and won the admiration of all nature-lovers, and linked his name inseparably with Marin. While at present residing in another portion of the County, the cabin which he formerly occupied here is in a state of neglect, but while his little abode may perish, his pictures will live and be cherished in the ages yet to come.

Some distance from the Steep Ravine the trail descends an abrupt, wooded hillside, at the foot of which lies the Redwood Canyon. For this forest of giant redwoods, comprising six hundred acres, negotiations were pending toward making it a national reserve, but the efforts proved unsuccessful. Though of smaller dimensions than the Calaveras Big Trees, these redwoods gain by beauty of situation what they lack in size.

The Canyon runs diagonally with the sea coast and has its rise in one of Tamalpais' western ribs, from which a railroad similar to the Mount Tamalpais Railway is under course of construction, connecting the Mountain with the Canyon.

Its present owners, Messrs. Kent & Cushing, intend to erect a hotel at the terminus of the new road, and the building, on which it is said will be expended some fifty or sixty thousand dollars, will be a fully equipped, sumptuous modern hostelry.

It is to be hoped that the march of civilization, which so often leaves nature's handiwork crushed, broken and even obliterated, will spare this grand, majestic forest in which beauty now reigns supreme.

Bending low over the little stream which winds through this canyon huge sprays of azaleas filled the air with their delicate perfume; on the banks lacy wood warriors and the hardy sword-ferns mingled in graceful profusion, while the flickering sunlight filtering aslant through the tree tops fell on the transparent hazel leaves lending a soft, green glint to a neighboring pool which rippled every now and then by the action of numerous trout catching flies on its surface.

Wandering beneath these perennial columns, these huge monoliths of whose birth there is no record, one feels as if treading the grandest of cathedral aisles, and that in truth "The groves were God's first temples" and "Solitude is the veritable audience chamber of the Creator."

No echo follows our footsteps on the soft needles and oxalis and save for the murmuring of the little stream and the occasional calling of a mourning dove in the tree tops above there is no sound. Here, alone in these solitudes, the higher self--the soul--strikes off its shackles, and expands to the very infinitude of things, through nature to the Infinite.

Near the southeastern shores of Marin lies the largest and most picturesque of the three islands which adorn San Francisco Bay. Though lawfully a portion of Marin County, Angel Island, separated from the mainland by Raccoon Straits, besides being set aside as a Government reserve, is therefore seldom classed with the County, and usually ranks with her sister islands, Alcatraz and Yerba Buena.

But a sketch of Marin, however cursory, would be incomplete without her southern isle, for besides the United States Barracks, situated on the western part of the Island, there is located in a northern cove the Federal quarantine station, that most necessary adjunct of San Francisco, which prevents contagion by quenching the pestilence often brought to our shores from the Orient and South American ports.

Besides its present significance the Island has another and far older claim on our attention.

In the summer of 1775, Juan de Ayala, a lieutenant of the Royal Spanish Navy, was given a commission from Junipero Serra and Bucareli, the Mexican Viceroy, to proceed to "the arm of the sea" lying north of Monterey, which had been twice viewed by the padres from the land, to ascertain if it were a canal or bay, and make a survey of it.

Pursuant to these instructions Ayala cautiously crept up the Coast and on the ninth day sighted the narrow passage which is now known the world over as the Golden Gate.