CHAPTER IX
Saucer Meadow to Yuba Gap

The Emigrant Basin was the site of just one of the many famous wagon train trails we were to cross, or follow. Unlike others, this one was protected by wilderness, and the mountains, lakes, meadows were the same as when our fellow traveler's had seen them in the 1850's. It was easy to hear the crack of the driver's whips, the creak of a leather harness, echoing down from the basin's walls. There was no traffic noise to drown them out.

No trace of the passing was still visible, except one broken wagon wheel, and one very hard to find, unmarked, grave. We did know the emigrants' story, however, through the placenames on the map. In Yosemite, everything had been named for dignitaries. In the Emigrant Basin less patronizing people had simply seen a grizzly at Grizzly Meadow; a brown bear climbing a pass; a black bear at a lake of that name. Deadman Lake told another story.


South of Sonora Pass we met up with Jedediah Smith 142 years after he had passed by on his way to a fur trappers' rendezvous in Wyoming. Another old friend from the Mojave, Colonel Fremont, also had spent many days scouting this area for an easy east to west route. Perhaps both camped, as we did at tiny Saucer Meadow, for it was one of the few servings of grass on a white tablecloth of granite. Anyhow, it was interesting to speculate on this possibility as we sat watching the flickering flames of our campfire that evening.

This was how we, all together, made up our favorite song of the whole trip:

I'm a ten horse power, four-hoof drive,
Non-polluting, time machine.
Riding along, dreaming of the past,
living on bacon and beans.

Using this as a refrain, it was easy to add a multitude of verses, some good, some bad, but always fun.