SHASTA RAMBLES 



caves. The sun shines freely into its mouth, 

 and graceful bunches of grass and eriogonums 

 and sage grow about it, doing what they can 

 toward its redemption from degrading associ- 

 ations and making it beautiful. 



Where the lava meets the lake there are some 

 fine curving bays, beautifully embroidered 

 with rushes and polygonums, a favorite resort 

 of waterfowl. On our return, keeping close 

 along shore, we caused a noisy plashing and 

 beating of wings among cranes and geese. The 

 ducks, less wary, kept their places, merely 

 swimming in and out through openings in the 

 rushes, rippling the glassy water, and raising 

 spangles in their wake. The countenance of 

 the lava-beds became less and less forbidding. 

 Tufts of pale grasses, relieved on the jet rocks, 

 looked like ornaments on a mantel, thick- 

 furred mats of emerald mosses appeared in 

 damp spots next the shore, and I noticed one 

 tuft of small ferns. From year to year in the 

 kindly weather the beds are thus gathering 

 beauty — beauty for ashes. 



Returning to Sheep Rock and following the 

 old emigrant road, one is soon back again be- 

 neath the snows and shadows of Shasta, and 

 the Ash Creek and McCloud Glaciers come 

 into view on the east side of the mountain. 

 They are broad, rugged, crevassed cloudlike 

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