In the Sierra 



camp, down the long south slopes, across 

 ridges and ravines, gardens and avalanche 

 gaps, through the firs and chaparral, enjoy- 

 ing wild excitement and excess of strength, 

 and so ends a day that will never end. 



July 27. Up and away to Lake Te- 

 naya, another big day, enough for a life- 

 time. The rocks, the air, everything speak- 

 ing with audible voice or silent ; joyful, 

 wonderful, enchanting, banishing weari- 

 ness and sense of time. No longing for 

 anything now or hereafter as we go home 

 into the mountain's heart. The level sun- 

 beams are touching the fir-tops, every leaf 

 shining with dew. Am holding an easterly 

 course, the deep canon of Teriaya Creek on 

 the right hand, Mt. Hoffman on the left, 

 and the lake straight ahead about ten miles 

 distant, the summit of Mt. Hoffman about 

 three thousand feet above me, Tenaya Creek 

 four thousand feet below and separated 

 from the shallow, irregular valley, along 

 which most of the way lies, by smooth 



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