Following the deaths that warm, rainy, August afternoon long ago, the Qua people at Carnelian Bay went into deep mourning. The happiness they had long known drained from them, and life became somber in all respects.

In September the Quas packed up their tents, children, and possessions and quietly returned over the Sierra Crest to their winter home in the foothills near Auburn. They were without a chief and without hope.

The winter months passed slowly. By spring when the creeks were once again full, there were many unhappy factions within the Qua camp. Some people were simply lost without Chief No-Name. The memory of Cedar Heart and her brave gave much sorrow to others. One group felt the Quas should never return to their ancestral, summer home at Carnelian Bay. Another group wished to return as normal, build a fitting monument to the Chief, and get on with life, including the election of a new chief.

After countless evenings spent in earnest discussion around smokey campfires, the Qua elders decided to appeal to the Great Spirit for guidance. So a huge ceremony was held at sunrise on a clear, spring morning. During the elaborate proceedings, the Quas, in unison, chanted an ancient prayer in which they implored the higher power to send a signal that would give them direction from the stalemate into which they had fallen because of the triple tragedy at Lover’s Leap.

Nothing happened.

A second ceremony was held four days later. And then a third ceremony. Days rolled into weeks. Anguish spread. Still no word. Then on a misty, May evening toward sundown, a rainbow appeared in the dark sky above the Sierra Range, to the east. The Quas had never before seen a rainbow. Its brilliance and size humbled them. Surely, they reasoned, this was the omen for which they had prayed.

Late into the night, in hushed tones, the elders debated on the meaning of the huge, multi-colored arch in the sky. Slowly a consensus was reached. One end of the rainbow, the eastern end, appeared to disappear behind the Sierra Crest. The elders speculated that the rainbow might be anchored in Lake Tahoe, or to one of the mountains that surround it. Indeed, as hope rose in their minds, they concluded that there was a chance the rainbow was actually a message from Chief No-Name, or Cedar Heart, or both. A thrill crept across the solemn camp—then a call to action.

As soon as the days became long, the Quas, as one people again, started the long, uphill trek toward the Crest on the trail that led them back to Carnelian Bay. Up, up they climbed—children, adults, elders, and animals—following the American River. At last they reached the Crest, crossed, and took the long descent into Palisades Tahoe to its welcoming meadow. There they rested.

The next day a heavy storm rushed across the valley from the west. In its wake, near sundown, once again, a rainbow appeared. The Quas were reverent in its presence. Every eye tracked the path of the rainbow across the sky. The eastern end was much closer to the Quas this time, and it seemed to intersect with the land just beyond end of the valley, just out of sight.

Hurriedly the Quas formed a party of younger men and women who could rush eastward along Squaw Creek to see, perhaps, the end of the rainbow, its source. Maybe they could learn the meaning of this obvious sign from the Great Spirit.

The party, breathless, reached the river that bisects the Big Gorge, the Truckee River today. It was swollen with spring run-off. There, where Squaw Creek enters the Truckee, the party stopped, every eye drawn upwards beyond the treetops. And arching across the sky was the rainbow with its end curving down toward the gorge.

The rainbow touched the earth across the river from them, on the ridge that ran up from the river. The ridge disappeared in the trees as it continued in a gentle curve northward around to the ledge from which Cedar Heart and her suitor had jumped. The rainbow seemed anchored to the gnarly ridge just across the Truckee.

The party members stood transfixed; they were afraid to move for doing so might destroy the majestic scene before them.

Slowly and silently, the rainbow faded. But its colors remained embedded in the rocks of the ridge—perhaps a tribute to the love of Cedar Heart and her brave.

The party crossed the river to be closer to the sacred ridge. They hesitantly clamored upwards. As they worked their way through the colored granite and trees, off to the north the profile of Chief No-Name came clearly into view, just below Lover’s Leap. The connection between the painted ridge and the ledge suddenly became clear. The Quas now understood the message from the Great Spirit. The circle was compete. They had come home.




Author’s Note: Painted Ridge remains today, a sign to all who come home to Palisades Tahoe and Lake Tahoe on Highway 89. Close by, down the river to the north, Chief No-Name continues his vigilance. High above Painted Ridge, to the east, is Painted Rock, which appears on modern topo maps of the North Tahoe area.





For Lost Legend #16 (Lover's Leap) and other Lost Legends, click on Tahoe Tales. 

Copyright (c) 2009 by Steven C. Brandt