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COPYRIGHTED 1913 
 BY 
 
 EVELYN M. MEYER 
 
 
Mt. Tamalpais the Sublime 
 
 Being a Little Book 
 About a Great Subject 
 
 By 
 
 EVELYN M. METER 
 
 Portland^ Oregon 
 
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IT. TAMALPAIS! What magic 
 in the name to those who have rev- 
 eled in its ever-changing beauty! 
 It's like the Genii of the lamp of 
 Aladdin, that conjures wonderful visions! 
 What a world of wonder dreams it holds out 
 to the uninitiated ! 
 
 Twenty-six hundred feet above the sea level, 
 it stands, a sentinel outdistancing all the near 
 peaks, surveying the surrounding scenes with an 
 imperturbable calmness that rivals the Sphinx. 
 
 We reach this wonderful point of observa- 
 tion by the crookedest railway in the world. So 
 steep and forbidding are its precipitous sides 
 that winding round about the side of the moun- 
 tain for a distance of eight and one-fifth miles 
 we make an ascent of only twenty-four hun- 
 dred feet to the tavern. 
 
 This railway was the realized dream of Mr. 
 Thompson, of Chicago, who has given the 
 present generation and bequeathed to posterity 
 the most sumptuous view points in the world. 
 Various legends as to the origin of its name 
 cling to the place. Pais, the Spanish word tor 
 land — Tamal — the name of a tribe of Indians 
 
who roamed the vast mountain sides, form a 
 logical origin for Tamalpais — the land of the 
 Tamals. 
 
 A more amusing tale is that of the Mexican 
 Grandee, who in days of old owned all the vast 
 acres, near and far. He was famed for a keen 
 fondness for the great Mexican delicacy, a 
 tamale, and also for a far-reaching hospitality 
 where the principal and most famous part of 
 his hospitality consisted of a lavish dispensing 
 of his favorite tid-bit, so it was called by some 
 tamale-land — easily convertible to Tamalpais. 
 Choose which you will. See in imagination 
 the great hordes of gayly blanketed Indians, 
 wandering about, or the more epicurean Mex- 
 ican Grandee dispensing hospitality. One fact 
 remains indisputable — here is unrivaled and 
 unsurpassed beauty! 
 
 Leaving San Francisco by boat and sailing 
 on the blue and gold waters, we reach Sausalito 
 and take the train for Mill Valley, which 
 seems like a toy village nestled in the deep 
 valley surrounded by towering peaks. Impa- 
 tiently we await the steam car which carries 
 us on our circuitous travels; passing through 
 
the moist forests of the far-famed redwood, and 
 if in early summer the beauty is enhanced by 
 the riot of color on the hill sides, California 
 heather, mountain lupine, manzanita, the laurel 
 and madrona trees, all vie with one another, 
 painting the hillside with yellows and blues, 
 too vivid for description. 
 
 Traveling along altogether too rapidly, mak- 
 ing grades almost perpendicular, and turns so 
 sharp that engine and coach seem side by side, 
 we journey upward. Finally the fascinating 
 double bowknot is reached — the most interest- 
 
ing bit of double backing that can be imagined. 
 Looking down from the peak we can almost 
 imagine a huge bow-knot of ribbon on 
 the green-brown dress of some antediluvian 
 giantess. Here the less impatient travelers 
 leave us to go through Muir woods, a wonder- 
 ful grove of redwood trees of gigantic size 
 and wonderful color, donated to the people of 
 California by their patron saint of out-of- 
 doors, John Muir. 
 
 When we reach Panoramic View — we think 
 we have seen the wonder of the Gods re- 
 vealed, but greater visions await us. Reaching 
 the tavern our band of tourists, more impatient 
 for the feast of nature's beauty, than mere 
 table banquet, walk up to Observation Tower. 
 We stand speechless before a view that seems 
 to encompass the entire state. On clear days 
 one sees two hundred miles distant. 
 
 The City Hall in Oakland, the Golden 
 Gate, Cliff House, San Rafael, even the far- 
 distant Farallone Islands, all are seen with as 
 much ease as the nearby trees and shrubs. 
 
 Gazing upon this beauty of sea and moun- 
 tain, deep blue and golden brown seen no- 
 
where In such wonderful contrast and richness, 
 one seems ahiiost overwhelmed with a beauty 
 SO' prodigal in color. Wandering around the 
 peak, and finding a comfortable ledge near the 
 Impassive old Roman Gladiator we close our 
 «eyes and let the beauty of pure clear air and 
 golden sunshine filter through and through our 
 beings. Lulled by the g"entle sweetness of sum- 
 mer zephyrs, soft as the inner petal of a rose, 
 we unconsciously drift to the hazy land of 
 dreams where rich wondrous colors and fan- 
 tastical shapes try to rival the real beauties of 
 this fairy scene. But beware, while glorying 
 in the perfect satisfaction of sense and soul, 
 you have not the experience of a friend of 
 mine who, with closed eyes and relaxed body, 
 fell fast asleep and was awakened by some- 
 thing pulling on her hat which lay in her lap 
 — she awakened suddenly to see a little moun- 
 tain goat banqueting on the daisies of her sum- 
 mer hat. 
 
 Good seeker of life's beauties tarry here 
 long enough to joy in the twilight time, when 
 all nature is hushed and attuned to perfect 
 harmony — the call of the California quail, the 
 
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crickets of good cheer and the vesper twitter- 
 ings of numberless mother birds singing the 
 wee ones to rest. 
 
 The night winds will call to you and the 
 low sinking sun sends his last beams, from his 
 hiding- place in the restless waves of the Pacific, 
 to tell you of a tomorrow. The deep folds of 
 the mountain are violet and lavender filled, the 
 western sky is gold and crimson and the little 
 fleecy clouds are yellow and gold and silver 
 lined. 
 
 In all this peace it is hard to think that far 
 away cities are filled with the restless searchers 
 for just the peace we feel. Perhaps a kind fate 
 has sent you here when the new moon rises 
 above the Pacific, a slender bow, like a thread 
 of silver with a frail reflection of misty light 
 in the waves. 
 
 Soon the little lights appear in the bay 
 cities and San Francisco, like a vast field of 
 white daisies. Mill Valley, far below us, seems 
 with its deep woodsy background and dainty 
 twinkling lights a huge illuminated Christ- 
 mas tree. An occasional steamer plies its way 
 through the outstretched arms of the Golden 
 
Gate. Its outlines are shadowy and ghostlike 
 and the little lights of the ship seem like lost 
 stars fallen from the sky. The long ever- 
 moving shafts of light that reach out from the 
 near lighthouses on the bay island and the far 
 away Farallone Islands seem like protective 
 hands reaching to guide the incoming boats. 
 
 Night claims it all! Ridges and precipices 
 grow indistinct. The lights grow more inten- 
 sive, the stars more piercing and scintillating. 
 Night winds tell you that a greater glory awaits 
 you with the rising sun. 
 
 Rich is the compensation to the early riser 
 here! Look to the east and see the sun in 
 his golden chariot rise from behind the foot- 
 hills. How faint the reflected light, then 
 richer and fuller he pours his life-giving light, 
 touching each point and ridge with gold — the 
 bay. Mill Valley — the far distant reservoirs 
 — the near ridges, the very place we stand ! 
 All flooded with light. The ocean is a sea of 
 molten gold — the hills are opalescent mirrors 
 of reflected light — the trees are aflame — we 
 feel in a small way, yet in a great way, for 
 it's the greatest we are capable of feeling — 
 
the same supreme joy the Diety felt when He 
 
 said : **Let there be h'ght and there was light." 
 
 "Day! 
 Faster and more fast 
 O'er night's brim, day boils at last: 
 Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim 
 Where spurting and suppressed it lay. 
 For not a froth-flake touched the rim 
 Of yonder gap in the solid gray of the eastern 
 
 cloud, an hour away; 
 But forth one wavelet, then another curled, 
 Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed, 
 Rose, reddened, and its seething breast 
 Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed 
 
 the world." 
 
 We are loth to leave it all, the many won- 
 derful view points, its varicolored mountains, 
 the steep declivities, the redwood grove, famous 
 for picnics and haunts of book-loving souls — 
 the dozen and one enticing paths that beckon 
 us hither and yon over the mountain sides. 
 
 We succumb to temptation, we tarry another 
 night to see it all again. Never was the path 
 of the transgressor more beautiful, for Mother 
 Nature in her wisdom well knows the same 
 visions should not be repeated, so from old 
 Neptune's faraway home pours in a rolling, 
 rollicking fog. 
 
 19 
 
Ever)^ depression on the mountain-side is 
 filled with legion upon legion of fathomless 
 fog clouds. The entire tavern and far-reach- 
 ing landscape is a vast encampment of shadowy 
 soldier)'. It is as if one stood on the shore of 
 a fathomless far-reaching, never-ending sea of 
 mist that encompasses and encircles the entire 
 globe. When fair Luna shines far in the 
 starry heavens trying to pierce the fast ac- 
 cumulating billows of fog, it changes it all 
 to a sea of irridescent silver. 
 
 The hour arrives for the departure of the 
 gravity car, we all board it and leave the com- 
 panionable twinkling lights of the tavern and 
 plunge deep into the fog waves. We take a 
 leap into the unknown but the little car sped 
 swiftly on its journey through fog-land and 
 we had soon left all the beauty behind and 
 were again human beings in a very human 
 world — not gods and goddesses wandering 
 through Elysium. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 017 169 199