above
us was the mountain road by which we had just come down. Tourists were
dropped at various camps, and we drove on to Camp Curry, the last
stopping point of the stage. The Yosemite Valley is somewhat like a
blind alley. It has but one entrance on the level of the Valley floor.
As you drive to the farther end of the Valley, you become aware that you
are approaching nearer and nearer to mountain walls, and ere long you
are literally against a barrier, all the way from a thousand to three or
four thousand feet in height. Anyone who would leave the Yosemite by
other than the entrance on the Valley level at its one end must climb.
Camp Curry has the great advantage of being located in the closed end of
the valley and thus very near to many of the mountain trails. Its
proprietor and landlord has built up Camp Curry to be the big,
cosmopolitan, happy, democratic settlement that it now is. The food in
the dining pavilion is plain but well cooked, and abundantly served in
family fashion. The little tents with their two single beds are very
comfortable. The camp fire at night, around which almost the entire camp
assembles in that intimacy and yet detachment, which belongs to those
who dream before a camp fire, is the heart of the camp life, where Mr.
Curry gives nightly a family talk on trees, rocks, flowers, and trails.
Hot water is a plentiful luxury at Camp Curry, and the host often says,
"Camp Curry is on the water wagon, but it is a hot water wagon."

[Illustration: 1. Driving Home the Cows. 2. Meeting in the Great
American Desert. 3. Bridal Veil from Artist's Point, Yosemite Valley.]

"A year ago," says Mr. Curry, "we put up 10,000 lunches--that meant
20,000 wooden plates, and some 50,000 pieces of white tissue paper. You
can see how necessary it is to burn or bury your luncheon papers when
you have eaten your lunch on the trails, or in the forests."

Never in any other place in the United States have I heard so much talk
of tramps and trails as at Camp Curry in the Yosemite Valley. Most
Americans seem to be too indolent or too unused to walking to have the
enthusiasm of the trampers and the mountain climbers whom one meets in
Europe. But I felt that I was back in the atmosphere of the Tyrol and
of Switzerland when I reached Camp Curry and saw the people starting off
in the morning for long days of walking and climbing. "I arrived at Camp
Curry late in the afternoon just as the people were coming from their
day's walk