to choose a good sleeping place before falling into line for dinner. The 

 cooks and pack-train have arrived some hours before us, and we soon 

 find our own dunnage in the pile of big brown bags that look like huge 

 sausages. It is a moment's work to clear a level spot, throw down our 

 sleeping bags, then take a good wash in an icy stream and dash for the 

 line that is forming and marching up, cup in hand, towards the huge pots 

 of steaming soup which several of the girls have volunteered to serve. 



The cooks bring on sliced corned beef, stewed tomatoes and mac- 

 caroni in quick succession. This followed by a dessert of tea, pilot bread, 

 and stewed fruit completes a typical camp dinner whilst on the march. 



We are stirring with the dawn, for this day's march takes us to the 

 permanent camp in the flower-spangled Tuolumne Meadows. Our nooning 

 is spent on the shores of Lake Tenaya, whose rock bowl is carved out, 

 and its lofty sides beautifully polished by an ancient glacier. Here, we 

 are joined by some enthusiastic scientific "hikers" who have come hither 

 via the summit of Mt. Hoffman, 11,000 feet in elevation. They make our 

 eyes bulge by their descriptions of the rare views from this dominant 

 peak, but our legs ache upon hearing of the tall hiking they have done to 

 obtain this pleasure. The afternoon's march carries us through a region 

 of wonderful, glaciated domes. 



An eight-mile walk along a gradual ascent brings us to the splendid 

 meadows, which lie in the Upper Tuolumne Canyon at 8,500 feet elevation. 

 Here the camp is established with all the comforts of home; tents, cooking- 

 stoves and serving tables from which are apportioned such unheard of 

 delicacies as pickles, olives and even cake and pie. But this is not what 

 we "came out for to see," and after a day or two of rest small parties 

 are formed to climb the surrounding snow peaks, Mt. Dana, Mt. Conness 

 and Mt. Lyell, all about 13,000 feet high, and the last one boasting a con- 

 siderable glacier on its flank. Others enjoy the splendid trout fishing in the 

 river, or the big catches at Lake Tioga, whilst the less adventurous spirits 

 pay frequent visits to the neighboring soda springs. 



Another great peak, loftier and more alpine in aspect than any of 

 those above named. Is Mt. Ritter. This fine mountain is without the 

 Tuolumne Basin, and lies at the head of one of the branches of the San 

 Joaquin River, a long day's march over the divide from our camp. Two 

 of the party had decided to scale it in advance of those who might choose 

 to follow, and we prepared to "knapsack it" thither In strict accordance 

 with Mr. Stewart E. White's ideas of "going light." 



John Muir's account of his ascent of Mt. Ritter made our success 

 doubtful, but where others had dared, we were not to be deterred, sure 

 of our reward in the magnificent view of the San Joaquin Basin and Its 

 surrounding peaks. So while the hoar-frost still whitened the meadow we 

 shouldered our knapsacks and tramped off to climb the eastern wall of 

 the Tuolumne Canyon. The sun was high when we crossed the snowy 

 pass and struck down into Rush Creek Basin, a desolate valley of melting 

 snowbanks and myriads of little streams. Night found us gazing delight- 

 edly at the sunset-dyed reflection of Mt. Ritter in "The Thousand Island 

 Lake." 



By the morning starlight, we arose and toyed with a delicate break- 

 fast of flapjacks, bacon and coffee, then packed our only loaf of bread with 

 some chocolate and prunes for luncheon, and shouldered the camera and its 

 belongings. 



Our route lay up a long snowfield sloping gently to the side of the 

 main glacier, and over it we made good progress, for its surface was hard, 

 but not ice-coated. Further up, when in the deep shadow of the mountain, 

 the snowfields were dangerously steep and slippery, and steps had to be 

 cut across them. Here our advance was slow. It was now long after sun- 

 rise, but we were still in the deep shade, and continued on up the glacier 

 with little difficulty, the warm air having gradually melted its icy surface. 



When we reached the saddle between Banner and Ritter we emerged 

 Into the blinding sunlight, and from there up the steep neve field that lay 



