High Places of the South 



53 



parts of the lake and gave to the surface a ruddy tinge, as if 

 the water were reflecting a sunset sky. 



There is no trail from Dry Lake to the top of San Gorgonio 

 — only a trace, where someone in the years gone by once 

 passed, leaving behind him an occasional "duck" to guide those 

 who might come after. Most of the way is rough, and much 

 of it so steep that when we tried to stand erect we literally 

 found ourselves staring the slope in the face. The slope, too, 

 was in such a mobile condition that we seemed to slip back- 

 ward two steps for each one we took forward. But persever- 

 ance finally landed us on that long bare ridge which has given 

 the mountain the familiar name of "Grayback." Some say the 

 name came from the color of the ridge, which even from far 

 away always looks cold and gray. Others say it was the shape 

 of the ridge — fancied by some to resemble a certain plebeian 

 insect of ill-repute — that suggested the homely name. As for 

 me, I am poetical enough to pin my faith to the former propo- 

 sition. But I do not like the use of the name at all. The good 

 old saintly one of San Gorgonio, given by the Spanish a century 

 and a half ago, is of a dignity which carries with it a respect 

 and reverence more in accord with the spirit in which all true 

 mountain-lovers approach the eternal hills. 



While I am talking on the use of names, let me put in a plea 

 for old San Antonio also. Let us discourage the use of "Old 

 Baldy," by which this mountain is apt to be called by the gen- 

 eral run of persons. 



To return to the Sierra Club on San Gorgonio. We descend- 

 ed the mountain by the Vivian Trail, as the Government route 

 to the summit is called. The lower end of this trail is in Mill 

 Creek Cafion, some three miles above Forest Home. Nearly all 

 of the crowd were caught in one of those summer thunder- 

 storms which now and then break around these high mountains 

 of the south. They were thoroughly drenched by the tremen- 

 dous downpour that lasted for a good part of an hour. When 

 the storm passed and the sky had cleared again, the top of San 

 Gorgonio was a dazzling white, as we viewed it from Forest 

 Home, eight or ten miles away in an air-line. While the club 

 members were getting a terrific drenching on the downward 

 trail, it had been snowing on the summit of the mountain ! 



