STEEP TRAILS 



masses of down-grinding ice, pouring forth 

 streams of muddy water as measures of the 

 work they are doing in sculpturing the rocks 

 beneath them; very unlike the long, majestic 

 glaciers of Alaska that riverlike go winding 

 down the valleys through the forests to the sea. 

 These, with a few others as yet nameless, are 

 lingering remnants of once great glaciers that 

 occupied the canons now taken by the rivers, 

 and in a few centuries will, under present con 

 ditions, vanish altogether. 



The rivers of the granite south half of the 

 Sierra are outspread on the peaks in a shining 

 network of small branches, that divide again 

 and again into small dribbling, purling, oozing 

 threads drawing their sources from the snow 

 and ice of the surface. They seldom sink out 

 of sight, save here and there in moraines or 

 glaciers, or, early in the season, beneath banks 

 and bridges of snow, soon to issue again. But 

 in the north half, laden with rent and porous 

 lava, small tributary streams are rare, and the 

 rivers, flowing for a time beneath the sky of 

 rock, at length burst forth into the light in 

 generous volume from seams and caverns, 

 filtered, cool, and sparkling, as if their bondage 

 in darkness, safe from the vicissitudes of the 

 weather in their youth, were only a blessing. 



Only a very small portion of the water de- 



