On the opposite side of the Valley, facing Kolana,
there is a counterpart of the El Capitan that rises sheer and plain to
a height of 1800 feet, and over its massive brow flows a stream which
makes the most graceful fall I have ever seen. From the edge of the
cliff to the top of an earthquake talus it is perfectly free in the air
for a thousand feet before it is broken into cascades among talus
boulders. It is in all its glory in June, when the snow is melting fast,
but fades and vanishes toward the end of summer. The only fall I know
with which it may fairly be compared is the Yosemite Bridal Veil; but it
excels even that favorite fall both in height and airy-fairy beauty and
behavior. Lowlanders are apt to suppose that mountain streams in their
wild career over cliffs lose control of themselves and tumble in a noisy
chaos of mist and spray. On the contrary, on no part of their travels
are they more harmonious and self-controlled. Imagine yourself in Hetch
Hetchy on a sunny day in June, standing waist-deep in grass and flowers
(as I have often stood), while the great pines sway dreamily with
scarcely perceptible motion. Looking northward across the Valley you
see a plain, gray granite cliff rising abruptly out of the gardens and
groves to a height of 1800 feet, and in front of it Tueeulala's silvery
scarf burning with irised sun-fire.
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