The Ip20 Outing 



139 



caulis pines and a rocky shore; the blackness of encompassing 

 mountains, shutting out the stars; then the revelation of our new 

 surroundings by the dawn — ours was a wonderful introduction to a 

 region that, under some conditions, is almost forbidding in its grim 

 austerity. The strong gale of that first night there persisted all next 

 day, adding much to the difficulties of the various climbs. The sec- 

 ond morning we were aroused by a patter of hail. Glorious clouds 

 masked the mountains, or, breaking, colored the lake with flame. 

 From the outlet the long canon vista below was hidden in shifting 

 veils of fog. Climbing was out of the question, so we returned to 

 Colby Meadow, finding the pack-train ready to start across Muir 

 Pass to cache provisions on the Kings River side of the divide. 



With a storm in progress, the result of this attempt to cross a lit- 

 tle-known pass of 12,059 feet, said to be still deep in snow, was anx- 

 iously awaited by us all. Nor was apprehension entirely allayed by 

 the successful return of the train that evening, for the uncertain 

 weather still persisted. Daybreak brought a sharp rain that might 

 mean a blizzard on the pass. But we could not delay the start. Our 

 commissary was as bare as Mother Hubbard's, and, once breakfast 

 was finished, the lunches in our bandanas were the only provisions 

 left on our side of the pass. 



So, from the friendly meadow with its golden stream and shelter- 

 ing groves of tamarack pines we journeyed up into the austere gran- 

 deur about Evolution Lake ; past Sapphire Lake and the stately pyra- 

 mid of Spencer; across the rock-strewn, snowy river valley at the 

 base of Mount Huxley, where Hop-o'-my-Thumb willows, barely an 

 inch high, were the sturdiest growing things; past Wanda Lake, 

 half-filled with ice, lying close under the black Goddard Divide, 

 and up the last barren rise to the pass. Clouds filled the sky but did 

 not obscure the mountains. On the contrary, under their luminous 

 glory the peaks loomed darker, higher, more majestic than when seen 

 in sunshine. The usual vivid color of High Sierra altitudes was re- 

 placed by almost startling effects of black and white. 



Lowering as the weather had looked at dawn, the day proved to 

 be ideal for our crossing. A five-minute flurry of snow and hail on 

 the pass was all the storm quota of the day. The snow was hard, 

 giving excellent footing, and where a small pack-train a few days 

 before had wallowed helplessly up to the saddle-girths our animals 

 passed safely with scarcely a flounder. We felt that we made history 



