of the
spray, and picturesque maples and sycamores spread a grateful shade over
a rich profusion of wild flowers that grow among the boulders, from the
edge of the pool a mile or more down the dell-like bottom of the valley,
the whole forming a charming little poem of wildness--the vestibule of
these shaggy mountain temples.

The foot of the fall is about a thousand feet above the level of the
sea, and here climbing begins. I made my way out of the valley on the
west side, followed the ridge that forms the western rim of the Eaton
Basin to the summit of one of the principal peaks, thence crossed the
middle of the basin, forcing a way over its many subordinate ridges, and
out over the eastern rim, and from first to last during three days
spent in this excursion, I had to contend with the richest, most
self-possessed and uncompromising chaparral I have ever enjoyed since
first my mountaineering began.

For a hundred feet or so the ascent was practicable only by means of
bosses of the club moss that clings to the rock. Above this the ridge
is weathered away to a slender knife-edge for a distance of two or
three hundred yards, and thence to the summit it is a bristly mane of
chaparral. Here and there small openings occur, commanding grand views
of the valley and beyond to the ocean. These are favorite outlooks and
resting places for bears, wolves, and wildcats. In the densest places I
came upon woodrat villages whose huts were from four to eight feet high,
built in the same style of architecture as those of the muskrats.

The day was nearly done. I reached the summit and I had time to make
only a hasty survey of the topography of the wild basin now outspread
maplike beneath, and to drink in the rare loveliness of the sunlight
before hastening down in search of water. Pushing through another mile
of chaparral, I emerged into one of the most beautiful parklike groves
of live oak I ever saw. The ground beneath was planted only with
aspidiums and brier roses. At the foot of the grove I came to the dry
channel of one of the tributary streams, but, following it down a short
distance, I descried a few specimens of the scarlet mimulus; and I was
assured that water was near. I found about a bucketful in a granite
bowl, but it was full of leaves and beetles, making a sort of brown
coffee that could be rendered available only by filtering it through
sand and charcoal. This I resolved to do in case the night came on
before I found b