SHASTA RAMBLES 



bright expanse of Tule Lake, on your right an 

 evergreen forest, and between the two are the 

 black Lava Beds. 



When I first stood there, one bright day be 

 fore sundown, the lake was fairly blooming in 

 purple light, and was so responsive to the sky 

 in both calmness and color it seemed itself a 

 sky. No mountain shore hides its loveliness. 

 It lies wide open for many a mile, veiled in no 

 mystery but the mystery of light. The forest 

 also was flooded with sun-purple, not a spire 

 moving, and Mount Shasta was seen towering 

 above it rejoicing in the ineffable beauty of 

 the alpenglow. But neither the glorified woods 

 on the one hand, nor the lake on the other, 

 could at first hold the eye. That dark mysteri 

 ous lava plain between them compelled atten 

 tion. Here you trace yawning fissures, there 

 clusters of somber pits; now you mark where 

 the lava is bent and corrugated in swelling 

 ridges and domes, again where it breaks into a 

 rough mass of loose blocks. Tufts of grass grow 

 far apart here and there and small bushes of 

 hardy sage, but they have a singed appearance 

 and can do little to hide the blackness. Deserts 

 are charming to those who know how to see 

 them all kinds of bogs, barrens, and heathy 

 moors; but the Modoc Lava Beds have for me 

 an uncanny look. As I gazed the purple deep- 



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