A Tramp Through the High Sierras. 
On a bright morning in May we boarded the 
lumber train at the West Side Lumber Com¬ 
pany’s station in Tuolumne for a tramp through 
the pine forest, to explore, sketch and fish in 
the northern section of the Yosemite National 
Park. Thirty-five miles up the canon of the 
Tuolumne River, where the road follows the 
river up to Camp Sixteen, we were met by our 
old friend Harry Mathewson, that pioneer guide 
of the sierras, and packed our provisions on a 
horse that was waiting for us for our tramp 
of twenty-two miles through the forest to Lake 
Eleanor, a clear and magnificent little body of 
ling over a mossy bed, lined with ferns. We 
filled our canteens, went on up the well-worn 
trail and over a ridge, arriving at Rozasco’s, 
where we stopped, ate our lunch and rested 
our pack horses. 
Traveling on, we wound up the trail, and after 
four hours came to the Cherry River, a larger 
stream, tumbling and foaming between giant 
granite boulders. After crossing the bridge, 
the trail passes up at the left and we found 
ourselves at the entrance of the Yosemite Na¬ 
tional Park, where we noticed the Government 
marker, a stake driven in the ground having a 
copper top with the name “Yosemite National 
Park” appearing in raised letters. 
nice mess of trout, which I brought to camp 
and fried them with bacon, made coffee and 
had dinner, Mr. Mathewson preferring to go 
over and stop for the night with his old friend 
Ivibbie. 
The sun soon set, night hawks swooped down, 
with their peculiar whir, the stars began to 
peep out from the blue canopy of heaven, and 
I made a good camp-fire, rolled up in my 
blankets and was soon lost in sleep. 
In the morning I was up bright and early and 
caught another nice mess of rainbow trout at 
the riffle. The birds whistled their songs of 
joy from the treetops, and after breakfast I 
went with my water colors and made a sketch 
water, situated in the northwestern corner of 
the National Park. 
The trail wound up the side of a thickly 
wooded mountain, and the solitude was only 
broken occasionally by the tapping of a wood¬ 
pecker or the whir of a covey of mountain 
quail and grouse. The air was crisp and brac¬ 
ing and fragrant with the perfume of the great 
variety of flowers growing on the mountain¬ 
side, among them the Mariposa lily, Indian 
paintbrush, buttercups, daisies, shooting stars, 
and wild columbine. Now and then a humming 
bird would flit across our path, gathering honey 
from the wild honeysuckle. 
Tramping up the first four miles, we went 
down a steep trail and arrived at Hull Creek, 
whose sparkling cold water flows through the 
canon, then we climbed a hard trail through 
pines of larger growth, the ground being thickly 
covered with ferns while tree trunks lay across 
the trail in several places. 
Our next point of interest was the Clavey 
River, where we found an ice cold spring trick- 
Climbing up the trail again several miles, we 
descended to the outlet of Lake Eleanor, a clear 
trout stream, flowing to the west. Through a 
gate we entered the tract of land on the north¬ 
ern side of the lake recently purchased by the 
City of San Francisco. The tract is thickly 
wooded, and walking through a field of ferns, 
we crossed a stream and stopped at the cabin 
of Mr. Kibbie, built of shakes. Mr. Kibbie is 
eighty-four years of age and has resided here 
for the past thirty years, Kibbie Lake being 
named after him. He has a boat on the lake, 
made from an old log, which he uses for trout 
fishing. He is an expert trout fisherman, catch¬ 
ing the limit in a -short time. Mr. Kibbie was 
also a great hunter in early days, and many 
are the bear and deer that have fallen at the 
crack of his rifle. 
At Eleanor outlet I had my blankets and pro¬ 
visions thrown off at the side of the stream in 
a grove of pine trees and made camp for the 
night. Then, after putting my rod together, I 
went up the stream to the riffle and caught a 
of the lake. I camped for four days at this 
point, making trips in the vicinity, and then 
moved camp two miles up to the head of Lake 
Eleanor, where the outpost of soldiers is sta¬ 
tioned, Corporal Thompson and his three as¬ 
sistants making our stay very pleasant. They 
had a canvas boat on the lake which we used 
with much success for trolling, getting good 
messes of cut-throat and rainbow trout with a 
°/o spoon. A small brass spoon is the best 
at this season, early morning being the best 
time for fishing. The trout are very gamy and 
full of life, making several jumps clear of the 
water before reaching the creel. The water is 
four to six feet deep around the edge of the lake 
and clear as crystal. The water lilies were in 
bloom and wild azalias made the air sweet with 
their perfume. Many trout could be seen swim¬ 
ming around among the lily stems. 
From this place a six-mile tramp up a steep 
trail in a southeasterly direction brings you to 
the Hetch Hetchy Valley. At the south Old 
Kolano rises from the grass-covered meadow 
