. Sierra Club bulletin . more timidamong the tenderfeet until there remained only eightyintrepid Sierrans whom fire, quake, and flood could notdeter from their wanderings. Except for the one stageload of Southern Californiamembers who traveled by way of Visalia, the whole partyforgathered at Sanger in the early dawn of July 3d,and there took stage for Sequoia Lake, a few miles be-yond Millwood, where we spent our first night under theopen sky. Wednesday morning found us all ready to takethe trail, and for three days we traveled in unevent-ful fashion through still forests of fir and pine, with
. Sierra Club bulletin . more timidamong the tenderfeet until there remained only eightyintrepid Sierrans whom fire, quake, and flood could notdeter from their wanderings. Except for the one stageload of Southern Californiamembers who traveled by way of Visalia, the whole partyforgathered at Sanger in the early dawn of July 3d,and there took stage for Sequoia Lake, a few miles be-yond Millwood, where we spent our first night under theopen sky. Wednesday morning found us all ready to takethe trail, and for three days we traveled in unevent-ful fashion through still forests of fir and pine, withhere and there an open meadow or a flower-borderedstream to brighten the way. The lower trail, leadingthrough Huckleberry Valley and Long Meadow, whichwe took to avoid the snows of the higher route, thoughlonger than that by way of Horse Corral, has the advan-tage of passing through five or six small groves ofsequoias after leaving the General Grant Park. Withinthe park one looks upon the giant trees with a somewhat 5- 2. The Second Kings River Outing. 101 alien eye. They are set apart, fenced around, labeled,and made a show for the curious till half their charm islost. But as one journeys farther from accustomedways, where each new height brings a wider outlook intothe stern gray heart of the mountain country, a turn ofthe trail brings one unexpectedly into a group of thesesilent, majestic trees. It is then that a more intimatesense of their beauty possesses one, the marvel of thatlife where a thousand years are but as yesterday, andwonder, even admiration, is lost in reverence. We had heard that the Kings River was in flood, butI think few of us appreciated what that meant until wefirst caught sight of the foaming white torrent that racedthrough the canon below Cedar Grove. It was a wicked-looking, dangerous river, full of swirls and eddies andtreacherous backwaters whence some passionate, despair-ing living thing seemed to be fighting to escape. Willowbushes, borne down by t
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