I first discovered this charming lake in the autumn of 1872, while on my
way to the glaciers at the head of the river. It was rejoicing then in
its gayest colors, untrodden, hidden in the glorious wildness like
unmined gold. Year after year I walked its shores without discovering
any other trace of humanity than the remains of an Indian camp-fire, and
the thigh-bones of a deer that had been broken to get at the marrow. It
lies out of the regular ways of Indians, who love to hunt in more
accessible fields adjacent to trails. Their knowledge of deer-haunts had
probably enticed them here some hunger-time when they wished to make
sure of a feast; for hunting in this lake-hollow is like hunting in a
fenced park. I had told the beauty of Shadow Lake only to a few friends,
fearing it might come to be trampled and "improved" like Yosemite. On my
last visit, as I was sauntering along the shore on the strip of sand
between the water and sod, reading the tracks of the wild animals that
live here, I was startled by a human track, which I at once saw belonged
to some shepherd; for each step was turned out 35 deg. or 40 deg. from the
general course pursued, and was also run over in an uncertain sprawling
fashion at the heel, while a row of round dots on the right indicated
the staff that shepherds carry.
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