September 23, 1862: Buckhorn Station
At Shasta City the party broke up for a time owing to sickness of several members. [Today] Professor Whitney left before daylight for San Francisco. Schmidt and Hoffmann were better, but both unable to ride.
After breakfast, leaving orders for the rest, Rémond and I started on mules for Weaverville, forty miles distant among the mountains west of Shasta. Over a mountain six miles to Whiskey, a little mining place on Clear Creek—once clear, but foul enough from mining now—then up that eight more to Towers—merely a public house, and a very pleasant one at that. This is on the great Yreka road, many heavy teams are met, and the road is dusty almost beyond endurance. The day is hot. At Towers the Weaverville road branches off. This is a toll road. It is only twenty-six or twenty-eight miles long, but this spring $38,000 was spent on it—this tells something of the country it must pass through. It was a fine road and well engineered.
We went up Crystal Creek a few miles, then over Trinity Mountains at an elevation of over three thousand feet, and then went down a ravine into the valley of Trinity River—a very picturesque road, with magnificent fir, spruce, pine, and oak trees. Some of the scenery is decidedly fine. We stopped all night at Buckhorn Station, a tavern and stage station—cold enough, heavy frost and some ice. I have only a linen coat along—decidedly too thin.