St. Johnsbury Caledonian

From Ocean to Ocean.—No. 4.

The reader knows that the Pacific Railroad, so called, is two separate and distinct corporations—the Union Pacific, extending from the Missouri river to Ogden, on Salt Lake; and the Central Pacific, from Ogden to San Francisco. The former is a little over one thousand miles long, and the latter a little less than one thousand making the two longest railroads in this country, if not in the world.

Unlike connecting trunk lines in the east, these two Pacific railroads have nothing in common. The Union runs its cars only to Ogden, and the Pullman Palace cars run no further west than that point. In the little cooped-up station at Ogden, which is also used as a baggage room, the traveller, sick or well, must stand and wait his turn to purchase sleeping-car tickets for the remainder of his journey. If he is so fortunate as to get one of the best places on the Central's sleeping-cars, he will find it much inferior to the Pullman cars.

But if the Central is inferior to the Union in its accommodations and equipment, it surpasses it in scenery and startling wonders along its line. Soon after leaving Ogden, the road passes along the two heads of Salt Lake, which whatever its associations, is a beautiful sheet of water. Nothing of particular interest attracts the traveller until he reaches the Great American Desert, so named, which is a plain of alkali and sand and sage brush, of how many miles in extent I know not, but several hundred at least. After passing this, and when some three hundred miles west of Ogden, the railroad strikes the valley of the Humboldt river. This is a small river with the largest kind of a name. I have seen more water run down West street in our village after a smart shower than there is in the Humboldt river one hundred miles after we struck into the valley.

We are not through with sage brush yet, but it is of a smaller variety, and such as cattle eat and grow fat upon. The valley of the Humboldt is noted for its extensive grazing fields, and thousands of cattle roam over the valley without let or hindrance, and with no expense save that of herdsmen.

This valley is very wide most of the way, and skirted with mountains which would be thought very grand did not the traveller find something much more striking and grand still further on.

But in hastening along I had forgotten to speak of one of the finest points of the entire journey—the ride down the canyons in the Wahsatch range of mountains, soon after we entered Utah territory. For fifty miles the railroad follows down a deep gorge, called Canyon here, with the most rugged, bare and precipitous rocks rising many hundred feet nearly perpendicular on the north side of the gorge. This is not a single object of interest which you are whirled past in a moment, but for nearly three hours you are every moment passing fresh objects of wonder which grow in interest as you proceed. The formation of the rocks is very peculiar, and the various localities have peculiar names.

Latin. Castle Rock, Hanging Rock, Pulpit Rock, (where Brigham Young once preached to his deluded followers.) Echo canyon, Weber canyon, Devil's slide, Devil's gate, are some of the names given to the remarkable objects in this wonderful chasm.

In rushing down this canyon the passengers crowd the platforms of the cars that they may get better and more extended views, and fortunate is the tourist who has his position as we had, on the rear platform of the rear car. From half-past two until five in the afternoon did this wonderful panorama last.

The Humboldt valley scenery is interesting yet very monotonous. It is about the same thing all the day long—a wide, sere plain, skirted by a low mountain range. There is little or no cut or fill, and the rails are laid on the surface through this valley. Nevada is a great state, but it is valuable mainly for its minerals—for agricultural purposes, it seems to me one of the most worthless farms that Uncle Sam owns.

We climbed the Sierra Nevada mountains, into California, in the nighttime. When we awoke in the morning the train was running through the snow sheds which are all along the summit of this mountain range. There are now over forty miles of these sheds, and there are hardly any spaces between them, although occasionally one can get a glimpse of the grandeur from the summit of the Sierras. Besides these sheds there are numerous tunnels through the rock, the two longest being unitedly nearly three thousand feet in length. The snows fall to such a depth in these mountains that snow sheds are a necessity. They cost $10,000 per mile, and are a constant bill of expense to keep in repair.

After one is fairly over the summit, the descent is rapid. The train emerges from the snow sheds, revealing one of the grandest sights to be seen anywhere. The ride from the summit of the Sierras down into the valley of the Sacramento river, is one never to be forgotten. The deep gorges, the mountain tops, around which the rail road track winds like a huge serpent, the distant mountain views are among the constant and ever varying charms. In two or three hours the train makes a descent of five or six thousand feet from the region of perpetual snow to that of continual summer.

At nine o'clock in the morning we were in the ice and snow of the mountain tops: at two o'clock we were at Sacramento, one of the warmest and sunniest towns in the state, with green grass, and flowers blooming in the open ground. This was our entrance into California. It seemed to us then like fairy land. It has seemed ever since like a pleasant dream.

C.M.S.