The 1913 Outing to the Kings River Canon 



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THE 1913 OUTING TO THE KINGS RIVER CANON 



By Lena Martha Redington 



Our special train of Pullmans left Oakland early in the af- 

 ternoon of July 2d. The next morning the Southern Cali- 

 fornia contingent had been attached to our train at Mojave and 

 10 o'clock found us at Owenyo, a desert station on the east 

 side of the Sierra. Here the sleepers were abandoned for a 

 strange little train of mixed composition — freight cars, old- 

 time plush-seated coaches, cabooses, anything that could be 

 used to hasten our progress to the land of mountain peaks. As 

 we looked back upon the suit-cases, destined for shipment to 

 the point where we would next see our civilized clothes, a 

 month hence, it was as if the station of Owenyo consisted of 

 a city block of baggage, red-tagged. For an hour we travelled 

 on the newly improvised train through a sage-brush country 

 where the wonderful sky, the soft green of the vegetation, and 

 the dull yellow of the sand seemed to release the spirit from 

 worldly cares and suggest the freedom of the unconventional 

 days to come. On the west rose the snow-streaked heights and 

 pinnacles of Mt. Whitney. Next in the succession of peaks 

 came Mt. Williamson, a complete reversal of Whitney's slopes, 

 for it is precipitous on the west, and sloping on the east. This 

 promenade of peaks ended at Citrus, or Kearsarge, as it is now 

 called, where another motley array of vehicles was awaiting. 

 This time there had been gathered, from far and near, con- 

 veyances propelled by horse-power, mule-power and gasoline- 

 power, and into them we scrambled to be whirled through sand 

 and sagebrush to Independence. 



This interesting old mining town deserves more than a pass- 

 ing word. Far from railroads, it is unspoiled by close associa- 

 tion with modern civilization. But, material beings that we 

 are, not until we had settled the lunching question did we have 

 time even to listen to the all-Indian band playing patriotic 

 tunes ; for this was July 3d. One would have attributed the 

 general scheme of color and festivity to Uncle Sam were it not 

 that wide festoons of evergreen spelled the words, "Welcome 



