My First Summer 



notions and rambles and studies were his 

 own. He is one of those remarkable Cali- 

 fornia men who have been overflowed and 

 denuded and remodeled by the excitements 

 of the gold fields, like the Sierra landscapes 

 by grinding ice, bringing the harder bosses 

 and ridges of character into relief, a tall, 

 lean, big-boned, big-hearted Irishman, edu- 

 cated for a priest in Maynooth College, 

 lots of good in him, shining out now and 

 then in this mountain light. Recognizing 

 my love of wild places, he told me one even- 

 ing that I ought to go through Bloody 

 Canon, for he was sure I should find it wild 

 enough. He had not been there himself, 

 he said, but had heard many of his mining 

 friends speak of it as the wildest of all the 

 Sierra passes. Of course I was glad to go. It 

 lies just to the east of our camp and swoops 

 down from the summit of the range to the 

 edge of the Mono desert, making a descent 

 of about four thousand feet in a distance of 

 about four miles. It was known and traveled 



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