THE BEE-PASTUBES 373 



of "the dry year." This range, containing most of 

 the characteristic features of the other ranges just 

 mentioned, overlooks the Los Angeles vineyards 

 and orange groves from the north, and is more 

 rigidly inaccessible in the ordinary meaning of the 

 word than any other that I ever attempted to 

 penetrate. The slopes are exceptionally steep 

 and insecure to the foot, and they are covered with 

 thorny bushes from five to ten feet high. With 

 the exception of little spots not visible in general 

 views, the entire surface is covered with them, 

 massed in close hedge growth, sweeping gracefully 

 down into every gorge and hollow, and swelling 

 over every ridge and summit in shaggy, ungovern 

 able exuberance, offering more honey to the acre 

 for half the year than the most crowded clover- 

 field. But when beheld from the open San Gabriel 

 Valley, beaten with dry sunshine, all that was seen 

 of the range seemed to wear a forbidding aspect. 

 From base to summit all seemed gray, barren, 

 silent, its glorious chaparral appearing like dry 

 moss creeping over its dull, wrinkled ridges and 

 hollows. 



Setting out from Pasadena, I reached the foot of 

 the range about sundown; and being weary and 

 heated with my walk across the shadeless valley, 

 concluded to camp for the night. After resting a 

 few moments, I began to look about among the 

 flood-boulders of Eaton Creek for a camp-ground, 

 when I came upon a strange, dark-looking man 

 who had been chopping cord-wood. He seemed 

 surprised at seeing me, so I sat down with him on 

 the live-oak* log he had been cutting, and made 



