24 



Sierra Club Bulletin. 



But we could not hold the obdurate hours, and morning found 

 us started on our last "hike," down, down, down along the 

 course of Cottonwood Creek. Down from the lakes, down from 

 the mountains, out of the storm-twisted, weathered trees into 

 the forests of pine — into a lovely, winding canon, a wild canon, 

 but unmistakably of the foothills, wooded with live oaks and 

 willows, cottonwoods and birch. It became warmer; glimpses 

 of the desert showed between the hills. Still downward ! By 

 noon we had dropped fully six thousand feet. We lunched 

 where it was warm and sage-brushy, but we found a cool 

 spot beside the stream, which still romped along and sang to 

 us of the mountains. After a long rest we reluctantly took up 

 the last lap of the trail and our reluctance was confirmed when 

 we came upon a wagon road with chickens scratching in the 

 dust, sure signs of civilization. Still the canon walls stretched 

 skyward around us. They became more and more barren of 

 trees, ceased most abruptly, and we were on the desert. 



We expected to find camp near at hand, but on and on we 

 trudged through the gravelly sand without reaching it. The 

 pack-trains came up, passed us, and trailed off over little 

 hillocks in the distance. Owens Lake, which at first had seemed 

 so near, withdrew farther and farther as we went. At last 

 the road dipped down into the dry bed of the stream — the pitiful 

 remnant of the joyous thing that we had seen at its birth the 

 day before. We beheld a miscellaneous collection of suit- 

 cases and telescope baskets standing ill at ease upon the desert, 

 and tailored coats and skirts and trousers airing from every 

 limb of every tree. Our last tramp ended in a burst of laughter. 



The afternoon light grew warm and glowing, and died away 

 and the long, soft shadows of the mountains crept out over 

 the desert as we gathered at the commissary for our dinner. 



We were encamped a few hundred feet from the railroad 

 track. Morning saw beds rolled and dunnage packed for the 

 last time; the breakfast line filed past the commissary counter 

 and soon the Sierra Club special came puffing down the track, 

 and all that was left of the 1912 Outing were memories of the 

 high and silent places, of starry nights and drowsy noons be- 

 side the running waters, of forests and flower gardens and 

 gaunt enduring rock, new strength for old ideals, new ideals 

 to try our strength. 



