Across the Sierra Nevada on Skis 



293 



No reliable information could be obtained, even by telephoning 

 to Placerville, concerning the places along the road which were 

 occupied, so that it seemed best to go prepared to make the trip 

 entirely in the open and independent of either shelter or supplies 

 of provisions. 



All Saturday morning en route to Sacramento, the Crystal Range 

 and Pyramid Peak had stood up clear and inspiring above the dark 

 mass of the forested western slopes. Not a cloud appeared, and the 

 outlines were sharp and clean-cut as only a touch of north wind can 

 make them. It was possible to pick out the pass and the route over 

 which the Placerville road works its way to the Tahoe Basin; and 

 the intervening ridges, seen in perspective, looked deceivingly short 

 and easy. It was perfectly evident that the weather was all arranged 

 to make the trip an entire success — at least so it seemed at the time. 



From Sacramento to Placerville the journey was continued in the 

 commodious Pierce-Arrow stage, the terminus being reached at one 

 o'clock. Mr. Richardson, of the stage line, agreed to furnish auto 

 transportation up the road at the rate of fifty cents a mile as far as 

 a machine could go. This seemed somewhat excessive at the time, 

 but, considering the condition of the road as we found it, its mud 

 and snow, holes and bumps, I am inclined to think it was not. At 

 two o'clock we pulled out of Placerville, passed the Pacific House at 

 about four, and reached the bottom of the American River Canon 

 not far from Kyburz at about half-past four. It was impossible to 

 drive farther on account of the snow, so the auto was abandoned 

 for skis at this point. Twilight was already settling over the deep 

 canon as I shouldered my pack and started on, and by quarter-past 

 five it was evidently time to make camp. In fact it was past time, 

 for night shut in so rapidly that much of the preparation for camp 

 had to be done hurriedly and in the dark. However, a grove of pine, 

 cedar, and fir on a level bench a few rods above the road made an 

 attractive camp-site, and the fly was set up, a thick bed of fir boughs 

 prepared under it, and at its mouth a crackling fire backlogged and 

 platformed with the green butt-lengths of the small fir trees felled 

 for bed-brush. By six o'clock supper was cooking, while the stars 

 were blinking frostily above the black silhouettes of the forest trees. 

 The wood supply was not of the best, for no really large dry timber 

 could be located before dark, and the dead lower branches of the 

 trees of my grove, while plentiful, were too small to make a lasting 



