Near here there came into sight a granite ridge between the Rubicon and Five Lake Creek.  This grows higher until it becomes quite a mountain, between Five Lake Creek and Barker Creek.  On the right McKinstry Peak (7918 feet) towered up, with its double top, leading the eye along a ridge of red granite rock to Red Peak.

About three miles up the canyon we found a number of rocky basins in the course of the Rubicon with water, eight, ten and more feet deep in them, temptingly suggesting a plunge.  I didn’t need much tempting, and as quickly as I could disrobe I had plunged in.  What a cold, invigorating shock it was.  There’s nothing like such a plunge for thoroughly arousing one and sending the blood quickly coursing through his veins.

Nearby were great beds of brake-ferns, four and five feet high, groves of immense alders, sugar pines, some of which were fully eight feet through and the trunks of which were honeycombed with woodpecker holes.  I saw and heard several woodpeckers at work.  They had red top-knots, and the noise they made echoed through the woods more as if a sledge hammer had struck the tree than the bill of a bird.  How they climb up the trunk of the trees, holding on in a mysterious fashion and moving head up or down, as they desire, with jerky little pulls, bobbing their heads as if emphasizing some remarks they were making to themselves.

And what ideal spots for camping-out we passed, shady trees, nearby meadows, to give abundant feed for the horses, the pure waters of the Rubicon close by, with scenery, trees, flowers, animals, birds—­all the glory of nature—­surrounding one with objects of delight, interest and study.

One large area was strewn with hundreds of thousands of the big long cones of the sugar pine.  When one wishes to pack and ship home specimens of these and other cones, it is well to soak them in water.  They then close up and carry safely, opening up as before, as they dry out.

Then we passed some giant “wind falls,” mainly spruces.  The roots of these monarchs of the forest had twined themselves around rocks of every size and shape, some of them massive bowlders, but when the storm came, the purchase, or leverage of the tall trees was so great that these heavy rock-masses were pulled out of place and lifted up as the trees crashed over to their fall.

Now we came to a stretch of perfect virgin forest.  No ax, no saw, no log chutes, no wagons, no dragging of logs, no sign of the hand of man.  Nature was the only woodsman, with her storms and winds, her snows and rains, to soften the soil and uproot her growing sons and daughters.  There was confusion in places, even rude chaos, but in and through and above it all a cleanness, a sweetness, a purity, a grandeur, harmony, glory, beauty and majesty—­all of which disappear when destroying man comes upon the scene.

About five miles up, we left the Rubicon and struck up toward Barker Creek.  Here was another of the great, tempting granite basins, full of clear cool water.  We also passed patches of belated scarlet larkspur, shooting stars, and glaring golden-rod.