Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 270, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 November 1912 — UP WIIERE NATURE DWELLS [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

UP WIIERE NATURE DWELLS

IT WOULD be superfluous to say we slept that night. Wouldn’t anybody feel like sleeping after a good, manly walk of twelve or —fifteen mattes up a hill that well deserves the. name, mountain? We had started about mid-afternoon to scale the heights preparatory to our annual “two weeks off.” ’Twas dark when we reached our chosen spot in the San Antonio canyon, and it was 9 o’clock before we hid completed all arrangements for our “good nights,” writes Alfred A. Berger in the Los Angeles Times. % By the way, did you ever sleep out under the trees with God’s vast blue canopy for your roof, and the myriads of stars twinkling and blinking at you through” the leaves, for your watch Rights? Did you ever experience a flight in the forest with sweet-scented pines perfuming thtf air, and with a gushing, gurgling, laughing brook to sing you away to dreamland? It is wonderful beyond mere description. All night long we dreamed sweet dreamß of mountains and forests and things that are grand. We pictured in our sleep the natural beauties which surrounded us. But when morning came with its darting beams of sunlight casting mysterious shadows among the towering trees, disclosing nature in that cool, dewy freshness, we took our first look upon our camping ground. The rivulet was more beautiful, even, than we had pictured it in our slumbers. It rushed and bubbled over its rocky bed, winding and twisting down the mountainside, eager to do its share toward making the mighty ocean. Just above our camp was a charming cataract, noisy and picturesque. Still further above was a rustic foot bridge, and in the background was the canyon wall with its growth of timber and underbrush, the whole blending together to make a sylvan picture that would enthuse the most unemotional. The Big Event. AIT the days and nights of our sojourn were not greatly unlike the first. We all felt happy up there in that altitude, above “the petty rounds of irritating concerns and duties.” And we learned new lessons of brotherly love from the birds and the gray squirrels that frolicked in the treetops. But the one big event of our expedition was a trip to “Old Baldy”—that ancient monument of the stfnny southwest, and loftiest peak of the San Gabriel, range. Eleven and a half thousand feet above the sea he rears his barren head, high above the line of vegetation, rendering himself richly deserving of the descriptive name he bdars. Taking provisions and blankets for a night in the wilderness, we loaded them onto a pack mule. We also appropriated a pair of donkeys—burros is the California pronunciation—to “spell” us in our unusual climb. Thus fitted out, the procession started early in the mbrning, carrying two canteens of water and sufficient weapons to protect us from such beasts . as crossed out path. Parenthetically, I would state that the weapons we used most, however, were our walking sticks, and the beasts we used them on most were the poor beasts of burden. Speaking of burros—they were all right to climb, so long as the trail was not too steep. But when it Was steep, then—did we ride? We did well to get our little, long-eared brothers along even when we walked. ' At the limit of the timber we stopped » to rest—and incidentally .to humor our “inner man” with a few munches of bread and beans—and water. Ah, did beans ever , touch the spot so exactly? Did bread ever satisfy so completely ? Was watbr ever sweeter? We had left the stream far behind now, and the canteens held our only hope of preservation until we reached the snow line. For Old Baldy is one of those peaks with eternal snow. However, that is only in the canyons facing the north. »The southern slopes are bare excepting in winter. While our “toner man” was enjoy-

Ing his beans we ourselves were greedily devouring the scenery. From our resting place we commanded a ■view of th«- entire valley below ns. extending from mountain to ocean—about fifty miles long and some thirty miles wide. There before our eyes—precisely as a map—lay the towns and cities hold the bulk of the valley’s population. There In the far comer was Redlands, with San Bernardino nestling in the lap of its parent range. Newport marked the western line of our map. In the midst were Riverside, Colton, 1 Pomona, Corona, and the several other enterprising towns —a wonderful display and a comprehensive lesson in local geography, ail from the single viewpoint. Here, too, it was to this place that we decided to return for our night’s camp. So we left our donkeys tied to trees at the edge of the forest, and started but with renewed energy to climb and climb and climb. Whew! Let’s have a draw at that canteen! It was beginning to seem like climbing now, and —whew! the air wasn’t quite as numerous as it had been down below. There, that taste of water helped some, even though we couldn’t have more than a swallow — only a gallon and a half of water to last Beven persons twenty-four hours, but then, when we struck snow, we wouldn’t have tP drink water. « „ Climbed Bome More. "And another locust came and took another grain of corn” —and we climbed, and climbed and climbed. Then we climbed some more. The “whews" came thick and fast now, and it certainly seemed like a “long time between drinks,” as the good old southern governors once complained. Then, too, I suspect the altitude was beginning to affect our more sensible tostincts, for at the very first sight of snow every last one of us made a dive for the nearest drift, regardless of parched tongues and overheated bodies, and snow pudding was the popular diet for several minutes. After a while we determined to make another dash for the top, and each taking on sufficient cargo of snowballs to last until we should reach the next drift we tugged onward. (Unlike Peary's noble crew, we had no gumdrops to stimulate our activities.) After walking fori some time, we saw another party of bold adventurers far ahead, standing in a group, taking off their Bats and saluting as though they thought they were discovering something. ’Twas Baldy! But, humph, it’s two to one that that peak knew where it was long before they reached it The numerous cards, names and handkerchief flags which we later found lodging there, testified to not less than a couple of hundred previous “discoverers.” But ah! the magnificence of the outlook! There we were, right at the top of the world —as it seemed —and every direction in which we turned unfurled a new panorama. Looking northward, we could see the snow-i mantled incline dropping down to the sandy and—at that season of the year —well-nigh waterless bed of the Mojave river. Off to the east were the thickly-tim-bered mountains of the San Bernardino range, the great Arrowhead standing out conspicuously in the foreground. Then lifting our gaze, wd plainly discerned the veteran peaks of San Bernardino and Grayback. their snow-crowned summits reflecting in hues of delicate pink the rays of the evening sun.

To the south, Mt San Jacintcfs ■lofty bluffs marked the setting of Helen Hunt Jackson’s great Indian, love story. While between our elevated station and that promontory gracefully reclined tbe picturesque valley that harbored our homes spotted In varying shades of green by Its villages, orange groves and ranches. Then to the westward we could see the rotting foothills extending down to old ocean. And there was the Pacific In all hdr mighty grandeur Our descent was comparatively rapid, and it was not long before we were at our rendezvous la the “tall timbers.”

MAKING A TRAIL UP OLD BALDY