174 



Sierra Club Bulletin 



had been ravaged by a terrible tornado since the club camped 

 there in 1912 and splendid trees were everywhere lying prone. 

 The knapsackers returned, thrilled by the rare beauty of the 

 upper Kern-Kaweah, and, animated by their glowing descrip- 

 tion, many decided to explore for themselves. It seemed as if 

 some whim of creative force had hidden in this remote canon 

 at least one perfect form of every kind of mountain scenery, as 

 a reward for those who persevere. 



On Wednesday morning two hundred left for the Crabtree 

 Meadows base camp to ascend Mount Whitney the following 

 day. One hundred and seventy-five reached the summit, the 

 largest party of mountaineers ever registered there. Those of 

 us who remained below anxiously watched the angry clouds 

 pile up in the direction of Mount Whitney on Thursday. A 

 dark sky threatened rain, but only a f^w scattered drops fell at 

 noon; the clouds soon dispersed, and these spatters were the 

 only shower of the trip. 



A long, steep pull out of Junction Meadows to the ridge, 

 although exhilarating, brought with it a certain sorrow that here 

 we must part with our many-mooded companion, the Kern. We 

 consoled ourselves with the ever-changing panorama as we 

 struggled on and up toward the crest. A glorious prospect was 

 here presented. Peaks of the High Sierra, especially Mount 

 Whitney, seemed broad, gently sloping masses, while Red Spur 

 and the Kaweahs, now seen from the north, looked unapproach- 

 able and awe-inspiring. The Whitney climbers straggled across 

 the upland meadows, each group content at times to nestle 

 down among protecting rocks and scan the marvelous beauty 

 radiating on all sides. 



A desultory content had entered into the so Ills of most of us, 

 with Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the United States, 

 conquered ; but at the Tyndall Creek camp those insatiable ones 

 who must explore found Mount Tyndall and Mount Williamson 

 challenging them to their best efforts. In the evening at the 

 camp-fire all of us scrambled up Williamson's chimney, blis- 

 tered our hands on the hot rocks, and pulled ourselves through 

 the small "window" to the apex — vicariously. 



Off early in the gray of Sunday morning, the crisp coldness of 

 the air most stimulating, we were conscious that this day was 



