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our left, half hidden in the
small school-
woods, is

house, showing that hiding away somewhere in these wilds there are children enough for a school district. We cross the river and ascend the south fork under the dense shade of the redwoods, past the remains of numerous campfires, and finally begin another long climb which is to take us over a divide to the main Sur river. At the summit a road forks to the right, leading down to the Point Sur light house. The light house is on an interesting promontory rising nearly four hundred feet and almost surrounded by the ocean. It is climbed by the means of a stairway, beside which there is an inclined railway for hauling up wood and supplies.

A Spanish grant is located about the mouth of the Sur river. The greed of the Spaniards leading them to this almost inaccessible spot is rather surprising. It is still almost in a state of nature, but

The

roamed over by thousands of cattle. ranch buildings consist of old sheds and tumble-down adobes peopled with geese, chickens, hogs, calves, and Mexicans of all ages and conditions.

For a distance of eight miles before entering the ocean the Sur river flows parallel with the coast with a high ridge between. The valley is filled with poplars and redwoods, and the road winding through these and along the stream offers many scenes of great beauty. At last the valley narrows, and the stream, turning abruptly to the east, is seen to issue through a precipitous gorge from the higher mountains beyond. The road winds up the mountains, leaving the stream just below the gorge, and finally on the top of the ridge we draw up at Post's postoffice. This is a typical mountain ranch and postoffice. The neighbors gather in at

each mail and read and discuss the latest

news.

The public road ends here, and for the steep and narrow trails before us only the most sure-footed animals can be used. The mountain-trained animals themselves sometimes come to grief where the trails are not kept in repair, accidents being not uncommon. The packs must be arranged with care and made up as narrow as possible; for there are places on the trail, in cuts along precipices, where the animal is liable to be crowded off if badly loaded. Our trail begins at an altitude of about one thousand feet on the slope of the mountains, and after winding in and out of the shallow ravines for two miles, we all at once emerge on the open mountain slope and there bursts upon our view one of the grandest scenes imaginable. Away below, so far in fact that we

can but faintly hear the ascending roar of the breakers, sparkles the blue ocean. So precipitous is the descent that from certain places a bowlder if once started will never stop until the water is reached. The gently circling coast is seen to extend away to the south for twenty-five miles. From it rises the steep mountains thickly furrowed with deep cañons, all of which we shall be obliged to cross.

An uncertain factor that must be taken into account when making this trip is the fog. It rarely rises to an elevation greater than eight hundred or a thousand feet, but as a large part of the trail lies above that altitude, it does not seriously interfere. There is no better place to get thoroughly lost than to be caught in this fog, because of the numerous branching cattle trails running everywhere. On my reaching the point mentioned on my first trip into this region, dense fog lay below on the ocean and a most beautiful sight it presented as we looked down on the ever-changing mantle.

SETTLER'S CABIN OVERLOOKING BIG CANON

Billow upon billow, the depressions mottled with shadow, seemed slowly rolling in from the infinity beyond. Drifting with the faint breeze, it hugged snugly against the mountains and most enchanting was the effect produced as we stood there upon the mountain side in the bright sunlight with the clean cut fog-lines marking every cañon and indentation in the mountain contour.

If one is in a hurry Slate's sulphur springs can be reached from Post's in a day, but it is better to take time over these trails; for we are either descending into the cañons or climbing out nearly all the time. In its windings the trail almost doubles the direct distance, but there is no monotony. From the warm mountain slopes with the far reaching views the trail winds into the cañons, past cliffs and precipices, to the cool shady depths of redwood, ferns, and running water. These contrasts are as striking as they are acceptable, and the oft recurring chance for a moment's rest and a drink of the purest mountain water is sel

dom slighted. Every few miles we pass a little ranch on the mountain side or in the shelter of a protecting cañon, and we cannot but wonder how a living is ever made. Many places are deserted, but others are most inviting and cause one to long for a whole summer's stay. The mountains rising above, the majestic redwoods creeping up the cañons, and the wide sweep below to ocean and ocean cliffs, cannot soon be forgotten. On the prosaic side it is a wonder at times how the land can be cultivated and everything kept from rolling down the mountains. Sleds are the only vehicles used, and by grading trails they are fairly serviceable. Stevens's cañon is the largest and most picturesque one to be crossed before getting to Slate's. After an almost interminable winding in and out of the cañons, being in sight of the ocean the greater part of the time although 600 to 1500 feet above it, we at last descend along a good trail to Slate's warm sulphur springs. Here is a narrow, picturesque

mesa extending along the ocean between the cliffs and the mountains. Hot sulphur springs issue in great numbers from the cliffs for nearly a quarter of a mile. The first trout stream south of the Sur river comes dashing down a rocky cañon close to the springs, and just before entering the ocean makes a picturesque fall.

So far the trail has been a comparatively good one as mountain trails go, but now we have reached a section which is very little traveled, and for the next fifteen miles through the roughest and wildest portion of the mountains we have to pick out the little used horse trail from those made by the cattle which run almost everywhere. Over this portion a guide is almost absolutely necessary, particularly if it happens to be a foggy day; for then a stranger is sure to get lost. From Slate's springs the rough trail ascends nearly a thousand feet to get around the head of some immense cliffs leading down to the ocean. After zigzagging up and down where it is so steep that a loaded animal makes very slow progress, past precipices below which lie the bleach

ing bones of cattle that have fallen off the trail, and through cool cañions where the moss hangs in long festoons, we reach Dolan's place, a little cattle ranch.

For a long distance we skirt the ocean, cross another cañon, and then wind up the mountain side for two miles over a steep trail, until, crossing a spur of the mountains at an elevation of a thousand feet, we are confronted by a deep gorge. This is Big cañon, or Cañon Diablo, as it is otherwise known, and is the wildest and deepest of any along these mountains. The stream heads in two branches near the summit of the range, which has here an elevation of over four thousand feet though not more than three miles from the ocean in a straight line. The numerous springs on this slope of mountains unite to form two roaring streams, which come together about half a mile from the ocean and pass through an almost precipitous gorge. Cool, dashing trout streams these are, with a large volume of water in the dryest part of the year. The cañons are thickly studded with giant redwoods for several miles, and towards

their upper parts picturesque falls occur. Three fourths of a mile up the left hand fork is a warm sulphur spring, the properties of which have never yet been tested. Not only are the streams filled with trout, but quail abound in prodigious numbers and deer are frequently met. As we begin to descend from the north into the cañon we come upon a charming view from where stands an abandoned settler's cabin. The leaning shake building, broken fence, the encircling redwoods, and the vista southward into the cañon, up which drifts an occasional shred of fog, and the rocky summit beyond, form a beautiful picture.

Several hours of hard climbing are required to cross the cañon; for to avoid the precipitous lower portion, the trail passes above the point of union of the two streams and we are really obliged to cross two cañons. A long steep climb through giant ferns and up a long smooth ridge brings us up to an elevation of two thousand feet and among the pines which cover the upper stretches of the mountains.

Cattle trails lead everywhere and at the time of our first trip into this region a whole day was spent vainly trying to pass Cañon Diablo with our horses. After following up every trail but the right one, all seeming to end in the brush, we finally left our animals and climbed down and up the almost precipitous walls of the cañon some distance below where we afterward discovered that the trail crossed.

From our height of two thousand feet we are far removed in one sense from the ocean although it lies at our very feet. The moist breeze is gone and we have instead the dry piny air of the mountains. With the ocean cut from view one could easily believe himself miles away, in the very heart of the mountains. Trails lead everywhere, and it is after much delay and experimentation that we find one which will take us across the next cañon. Two ways are open to us, either to descend a thousand feet and then climb up as much again, or go higher up around the head of the cañon, in the latter case traveling among the pines for a number of miles.

It was my fortune once to stand on the summit of the range at the head of the south fork of Cañon Diablo just as the sun was setting. We were crossing from the head of San Antonio river to Mill creek, and

owing to the toilsome and rugged ascent from the east, had not reached the summit as early as we should have in order to gain a camping place before dark on the ocean slope where grass and water could be obtained.

From the divide the ocean view was almost indescribable; the pine-covered ridges fading away downward in the growing haze, the somber shadows of the cañon recesses, and away below, seeming far in the smoky light, the shimmering sea, in which the sun. was just sinking, all taken together presented a picture not often seen. To the east of us lay the sources of the deep and more barren cañon leading down to the Arroyo Seco and the San Antonio. Hastening to descend before darkness came on, we noticed scattering potatoes along the trail, and soon came upon a man leading a horse with a pack on his back. The pack would not stay in place and the precious potatoes had been scattered. Stopping a moment to help him arrange the load, we pushed on. The poor fellow had, we learned, invested in a school section on the summit of these mountains and had been up to look at it, but had lost one horse over a cliff and was thoroughly disgusted.

Darkness came on, but with the rising moon we were able to keep the trail. We at last reached the rocky depths of a cañon, but found no grass, so stumbling along the rough trail on the densely shaded mountain side, we had a magnificent view of the depths of Cañon Diablo and the opposite mountain side, which were partly lighted by the moonlight. Leaving the woods finally and skirting the precipitous walls of one of the forks of Mill creek, we followed down one of the gently sloping pine ridges already referred to and about ten o'clock came upon the ranch of a Portuguese, where we obtained water and hay for the horses.

Winding around the mountains in the direction of Mill Creek cañon, on the following day we came out all at once to a little bench of level land where was situated a small building resembling a schoolhouse. We could hardly believe it until the ringing bell and the eight or ten trooping children made it certain that even here in the wilderness, apparently outside of all signs of civilization, the State's educational system had reached. The wonder was where the homes of the children could be.