If one asks where to go, a bewildering group of trips and pleasures appears.  But there come forth speedily from out the number a few of unsurpassed allurement.  These are a ski trip from Tallac to Fallen Leaf Lake to see the breakers and the spray driven by a rising gale against the rock-bound shore, and, when the lake has grown quieter, a boat ride to Fallen Leaf Lodge beneath the frowning parapets of Mount Tallac.  Next a ski trip up the Glen to the buried hostelry at Glen Alpine, where one enters by way of a dormer window but is received to a cheerful fire and with royal hospitality.

Then under the skillful guidance of the keeper, a day’s climb up the southern face of Mount Tallac for an unrivalled panoramic view from its summit and a speedy but safe glissade back to the hostelry far, far below.

And if the legs be not too stiff from the glissade, a climb over the southern wall of the Glen to Desolation Valley and Pyramid Peak, whence can be seen the long gorge of the Rubicon.  The thousand lakes that dot this region present no barrier to one’s progress, for they are frozen over and lie buried deep beneath the snow that falls here in an abundance hardly exceeded elsewhere in the Tahoe region.

A close rival of these is the climb from Rubicon Park up the stately range in its rear to visit the mountain hemlock, the graceful queen of the high mountain, and to gaze across the chasm at the twin crags beyond.

And peer of them all, though requiring but little exertion, is a trip to Brockway to enjoy the unrivalled view of the “Land’s End” of the Lake and catch the colors of the pansies that are still in bloom in a niche of the old sea wall.  If one possess the artist’s mood, he will add thereto a boat ride round State Line Point in the lazy swell of the evening sea beneath the silent pine-clad cliffs, while the moon, as beautiful as any summer moon, rides overhead.  Only the carpet of snow and the film of ice that gathers from the spray upon the boat keeps one alive to the reality that the season is winter.

Finally a rowing trip along the western shore of the Lake with stops at pleasure en route.  One can have weather to suit his taste, for the waters on this shore are safe in storm, and the barometer and the sky will give full warning long before the weather attains the danger point.  The man who loves the breath of the storm and the glow of excitement will loose his boat from Tallac when the clouds swing down the canyon and speed forth borne, as it were, on the wings of the waves toward the distant foot of the Lake—­past the black water wall where the waves of Emerald Bay sweep into Tahoe, through the frothy waters where the wind shifts and whips around Rubicon Point, over the white caps of Meek’s Bay until by skillful maneuvering the jutting cape is weathered and quieter water is found in McKinney Bay.  Full time there is, with the wind astern, to reach the river’s mouth at Tahoe City, but the voyager who loves the woodland will tarry for a night in the dense fir forest of Blackwood, while his boat rides safely moored to the limb of a prostrate tree.