II 



A GEOLOGIST'S WINTER WALK 1 



AFTER reaching Turlock, I sped afoot over 

 the stubble fields and through miles of brown 

 hemizonia and purple erigeron, to Hopeton, 

 conscious of little more than that the town 

 was behind and beneath me, and the moun- 

 tains above and before me; on through the 

 oaks and chaparral of the foothills to Coulter- 

 ville; and then ascended the first great moun- 

 tain step upon which grows the sugar pine. 

 Here I slackened pace, for I drank the spicy, 

 resiny wind, and beneath the arms of this noble 

 tree I felt that I was safely home. Never did 

 pine trees seem so dear. How sweet was their 

 breath and their song, and how grandly they 

 winnowed the sky! I tingled my fingers among 

 their tassels, and rustled my feet among their 

 brown needles and burrs, and was exhilarated 

 and joyful beyond all I can write. 



When I reached Yosemite, all the rocks 

 seemed talkative, and more telling and lovable 

 than ever. They are dear friends, and seemed 

 to have warm blood gushing through their 



1 An excerpt from a letter to a friend, written in 1873. 

 [Editor.] 



19 



