CHAPTER IV 



A NEAR VIEW OF THE HIGH SIEEKA 



EARLY one bright morning in the middle of 

 Indian summer, while the glacier meadows 

 were still crisp with frost crystals, I set out from 

 the foot of Mount Lyell, on my way down to 

 Yosemite Valley, to replenish my exhausted store 

 of bread and tea. I had spent the past summer, as 

 many preceding ones, exploring the glaciers that lie 

 on the head waters of the San Joaquin, Tuolumne, 

 Merced, and Owen's rivers; measuring and study 

 ing their movements, trends, crevasses, moraines, 

 etc., and the part they had played during the period 

 of their greater extension in the creation and de 

 velopment of the landscapes of this alpine wonder 

 land. The time for this kind of work was nearly 

 over for the year, and I began to look forward with 

 delight to the approaching winter with its wondrous 

 storms, when I would be warmly snow-bound in my 

 Yosemite cabin with plenty of bread and books; 

 but a tinge of regret came on when I considered 

 that possibly I might not see this favorite region 

 again until the next summer, excepting distant 

 views from the heights about the Yosemite walls. 

 To artists, few portions of the High Sierra are, 

 strictly speaking, picturesque. The whole massive 



