We left Bakersfield at seven a. m. next morning, over an excellent road, for Porterville.  Fifty miles after starting we picked up a nail and had a flat tire.  Porterville was reached at eleven o’clock.  As a side trip we were going to a camp of the San Joaquin Light & Power Company, way up on the Tule River, for the purpose of visiting a grove of big trees located in that vicinity.  As we had many miles of uphill work ahead of us, we concluded not to delay at Porterville for lunch.  We replenished our lunch basket of the day before from a grocery store, filled our tank with gasoline and sped on.  At twelve o’clock, a few miles beyond the small village of Springville, which will shortly be connected with the outside world by a railroad now in process of construction, we halted for lunch in a shady spot on one of the forks of the Tule River.

For many miles before reaching Porterville, we saw quite extensive evidence of the orange industry.  There were many groves in full bearing and miles and miles of young groves but a few years planted or just set out.

Tule River Canyon.

From Porterville to Springville, the canyon of the Tule River is quite wide.  The course of the river itself is marked by a heavy growth of timber, some quarter of a mile in width.  Orange and lemon groves have been planted in favored localities on the bench lands, here and there, but not continuously.  There is much hilly land back of the canyon proper, covered with wild oats and evidently devoted entirely to pasture.  Shortly after our noon halt we came to the power plant of the Mount Whitney Power Company.  Here they told us our journey would end twelve miles further up the stream.  From this point the canyon narrowed rapidly until it became a mere gorge.  While precipitously steep, the roadbed was good.  It ran along the left side of the canyon, going up.  At all times we had the right hand side of the canyon in plain view.  Far above us on our side, now in plain sight, now hidden by a projecting point or tall timber, was the flume of the Mount Whitney Power Company, which carried water from the river to the powerhouse we had passed.  As we ascended, we continually got nearer to this flume, which was run on a grade, and at last we passed under it.  We saw it shortly afterwards terminate at an intake in the canyon below our road.  From here on I never enjoyed a more beautiful ride.  To my mind there is nothing more attractive than a California mountain canyon and its thickly-wooded sides.  Below us, foam-covered, white, radiant with light and beauty, ran the Tule River.  In its rapid descent, confined to the bottom of the canyon, it hurtled along over water-worn boulders of great size, its swollen masses of surging waters forming here and there cascades, immense pools and miniature falls.  It kept up a loud and constant roar, not too loud, but with just enough energy to be grateful to the ear.

The Canyon—­A Bower of Beauty.