I 
POUNDED A.D.I873 
Vol. LXXXVIII 
JANUARY, 1918 
No. 1 
TRAVERSING THE GOLDEN TROUT COUNTRY 
WITHOUT A GUIDE AND AIDED ONLY BY DATA OBTAINED FROM GOVERNMENT MAPS, 
TWO INDEPENDENT YOUNG WOMEN SEEK THE GOLDEN TROUT IN ITS NATIVE HAUNTS 
ul 
Z 
By MINNIE LOUISE LANGHORST 
OW my sister Katie 
and I, each still in 
our teens, made our 
way into Kern Can¬ 
yon of California 
without the services 
of a guide, and with¬ 
out outside help, is 
quite another story. 
There is not room 
here to tell about the 
books we read, trying 
to get some informa¬ 
tion about this country, the maps 
we pored over and the fun we had 
in assembling an outfit. It is suffi¬ 
cient to mention the route we took 
and our mode of travel in pene¬ 
trating this seldom visited wonder¬ 
land. There was nothing very ex¬ 
citing connected with the first stage 
of this journey, but it might be men¬ 
tioned that we were probably the 
first of our sex to attempt the trip, 
unaccompanied by men. 
We left San Francisco early ir t 
July, filled with some uneasiness 
over the reports that the high Sier¬ 
ras were inaccessible on account of 
deep snows and high water, but de¬ 
termined to make the ascent of 
Mount Whitney and explore that 
part of Tulare County where the 
golden trout are to be found, a trip 
that we had long planned. At 
Springville we secured two safe 
mules, Jack and Becky, were intro¬ 
duced to the mysteries of the dia¬ 
mond hitch, purchased our supplies 
and made our way safely into the 
heart of the Kern Canyon, guided 
by the Government quadrangle maps 
we had brought with us, and occa¬ 
sionally receiving, directions from 
some friendly forest ranger. 
We chose the Nelson trail to 
cross the first range of mountains, 
but found on the way out that the 
Ilossack trail, a few miles north of here, 
is superior to this one in that it is much 
cleaner, more direct and the grade to the 
specimens. These were not scrawny and 
they did not stoop but marched up and 
down the mountains like columns of sol¬ 
diers—tall and bold. Yet they had a care¬ 
less look about them, too, as though their 
coats were unbuttoned and they might have 
lost their caps. Then there were the Big 
Trees a little further on, the oldest and 
largest living things in the world. They 
must have been the generals, for they were 
much fewer in number than the pines and 
had an air of grandeur about them that 
compelled respect. I can see them now, 
their tiny cones glistening in the 
sunlight like golden epaulets. 
We took our time in traveling and 
three days were consumed in mak¬ 
ing the trip of forty-five miles by 
trail to Kern Lake, a journey that 
some packers make in less than half 
that time. On the way we stopped to 
fish in a tributary of the Little Kern 
River and spent considerable time in 
devising an apparatus to keep Jack’s 
pack from slipping forward, which 
we finally perfected with the aid of 
a barley sack and a small rope. We 
were not well acquainted with the 
mysterious diamond hitch. 
I will never forget the reception 
we met with at Camp Lewis, a 
couple of miles above Kern Lake. 
Just as we were pulling into camp, 
dusty and rather tired, since one of 
us always had to walk, a packer with 
a train of burros was leaving, and 
through ignorance of the prevailing 
custom we took the upper side of 
the trail. 
“Don’t you guys know enough to 
leave a pack train have the upper 
trail in a place like this,” roared the 
packer, when he had rounded up his 
burros from the hillside; “you must 
have been born in the city.” 
He rid himself of a lot of cutting 
remarks and advice about travel in 
the mountains before he discovered 
that we were girls, for we were dressed 
like men, with riding breeches, army shirts 
and high boots. Then he could not make 
summit more even. The former is trav¬ 
eled the most, however, as there is a camp 
and a store at the Nelson ranch and this 
place is made headquarters by many for 
the trip to the high mountains be¬ 
yond—the backbone of the continent. 
Leaving Springville we were struck by 
the appearance of the hills, all being 
rounded off symmetrically, with little 
round trees on top that looked like school 
girls in shining green frocks stooping 
down to keep their dresses well around 
their ankles. Then farther on we came 
Falls on Golden Trout Creek 
to the pines, scrawny ones at first, looking 
like mutilated trees in pictures of the bat¬ 
tlefields in France, and then the perfect 
