THE BEE-PASTUEES 377 



poem of wildness, the last of a series extending 

 down the flowery slopes of Mount San Antonio 

 through the rugged, foam-beaten bosses of the 

 main Eaton Canon. 



From the base of the fall I followed the ridge that 

 forms the western rim of the Eaton basin to the 

 summit of one of the principal peaks, which is 

 about 5000 feet above sea-level. Then, turning 

 eastward, I crossed the middle of the basin, forcing 

 a way over its many subordinate ridges and across 

 its eastern rim, having to contend almost every 

 where with the floweriest and most impenetrable 

 growth of honey-bushes I had ever encountered 

 since first my mountaineering began. Most of the 

 Shasta chaparral is leafy nearly to the ground ; 

 here the main stems are naked for three or four 

 feet, and interspiked with dead twigs, forming a 

 stiff chevaux defrise through which even the bears 

 make their way with difficulty. I was compelled 

 to creep for miles on all fours, and in following the 

 bear-trails often found tufts of hair on the bushes 

 where they had forced themselves through. 



For 100 feet or so above the fall the ascent was 

 made possible only by tough cushions of club-moss 

 that clung to the rock. Above this the ridge wea 

 thers away to a thin knife-blade for a few hundred 

 yards, and thence to the summit of the range it car 

 ries a bristly mane of chaparral. Here and there 

 small openings occur on rocky places, commanding 

 fine views across the cultivated valley to the ocean. 

 These I found by the tracks were favorite outlooks 

 and resting-places for the wild animals bears, 

 wolves, foxes, wildcats, etc. which abound here, 



