Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 67, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 March 1916 — CALIFORNIA'S CYPRESS GROVE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

CALIFORNIA'S CYPRESS GROVE

THERE is a lone tree in Lombardy that accomplished what a million men suffered and slaved to do. It stood in the path of the great Simplon road, and at the sight of its stately grace Napoleon turned the road from a straight line, that its beauty might remain man’s heritage. It is the cypress of Somma, and stands as a monument to the greatness of one man and a lesson to those who would sacrifice beauty to the god of gain, says Mark Daniels, former superintendent of national parks, in American Forestry. That Napoleons are scarce we know, but are there so few who have not even enough of his vision to see and appreciate the glory of a magnificent forest or the eternal miracle of a. waterfall that they 2ffiUcom tinue to squander these birthrights by Indiscriminately hewing down the forests and damming up the streams? There stands not one cypress, but a grove of them, of surpassing beauty, on our western coast. True, they are not of that tall, stately variety, with formal, architectural lines; they are, on the contrary, the exact or complete reverse, for they are gnarled and twisted; but they are beautiful in their setting as anything that the eyes of man. may rest .upon. There is but a comparatively small area 'where they still grow, and they are as distinct among the other conifers of their re<ion as are the Sequoia Gigantea amongst the conifers of the Sierra Nevada. In fact, in many respects they remind one of the “big trees, as they are called; for they have a most distinct individuality which makes them stand out alone.

They are to be found only in a certain locality, and their age is much disputed. I have heard this estimated to be from 100 to 7,000 years, and there seems to be no reconciling the various contestants. ’ However, the question whether they have seen one or twenty generations of time would seem to be of small moment, in the light of the fact that they are struggling through the last few years of one generation of American tourists. But they seem to stand the storm of “oh’s” and “ah’s” with the same fortitude with which they resist the gales and blasts of that beloved seacoast on the very edge of which they spread their spiraled roots. Growing down to the actual verge of the sea, with bare branches stretched out like arms toward the land of the setting sun, the question of whether they are the vanguard of an ancient western growth or the stragglers of the great eastern forests that were cut off by the Pacific is almost always the first subject of conjecture on the part of the tourist. Picturesque Shore Line.

About 125 miles down the coast from San Francisco lies the Bay of Monterey, at the southern extremity of which the first cypress trees are to be found. These trees possess more the character of the cedar of Lebanon than they do of any variety of cypress, p ml are known to those who burden their minds with etymological detail as the cupressus marcrocarpa. From this point, which is known as the Del Monte peninsula, and which forms the southern shores of this wonderful sapphire bay, picturesque groves and occasional isolated specimens are dotted along the coast for some twenty-odd miles to Lobos point. Here, again, the old adage, “It never rains but it pours,” is borne out by Ihe rtot of exquisite beauty which confronts the observer on every side. Nature seems to have, concentrated on this locality in the development of extremes of picturesqueness and intensity of color. The shore line is broken and, jagged, with here and there a ■ stretch of itrory-colored sand beach, terminated and broken by precipitous cliffs, Against which the indigo sea hurls its pearls and sheets of water that are a pale fade green against the lemon-colored horizon and the setting sun. A motor trip along the coast line gives one the effect of a kaleidoscopic change of coloring, the rapid succession of which should ( ,vary with the speed of the motor were ft not for the unholy combination of the modern six-cylinder machine with the freedom granted the tourist by the owu-

ers of the property. As it is, however, conditions would appear to be reversed; for, with the average driver, the speed along these wonderful drives is such that the constant prayer of the tourist is that some accident may happen which will allow him sufficient time to fix upon his retina one permanent picture of the exquisite color harmonies of the sapphire bay, the ivory-colored beach line, the sil-ver-gray trunks of the trees, and the deep blue and bright yellow-green of their tops. Seventeen-Mile Drive. From the hotel at Del Monte a wonderful drive, known as the SeventeenMile drive, follows the coast line past the historic old buildings of Monterey, skirting a mission wall and along the sandy beach past homes of innumera* ble sea fowl, and plunges into a forest of pines that forms the background to the first grove of cypress trees. From there the road winds in and out amongst the spectral trunks, giving a glimpse here and there of the blue horizon and jagged points of promontories, burying itself now and then in the dark and gloomy shade where the growth is dense. About fouF miles beyond the first grove of cypress trees is the famous Midway point, which, until the advent of a fleeting exposition, was the-most photographed tourist lure on the Pacific coast. It comprises a rock promontory that projects out into the sea, with its toes lapped by the gentle waves of the Pacific, whose ardor has been tempered by the reefs and submerged rocks farther out at sea, upon whose treacherous points the coastwise traffic of this district is frequently wrecked. Upon the summit of thjs point, as if placed there by the playful hand of an imaginative painter, grows a lone cypress tree, the roots of which are almost entirely exposed to the air. The top of this tree, however, is brilliant green, and when sllhouetted against the sky of the setting sun Is indeed a sight to behold. Farther along the coast the drive widens along the shores of Pebble beach, past the homes of men whose millions are in the banks and others whose fortunes are still in their heads, to Arrowhead point, and beyond to the famous mission that marks the mouth of the Carmel valley. Beyond the point where the Carmel river empties into the sea is Lobos point, and the quaintest and most curious on this coast. At the latter-named point of interest they preserve the toothsome abalone, a sea product that is peculiarly indigenous to this locality.

THE FOREST OF CYPRESS