Starting the engine again we circle around the point and come immediately into another charming circlet of views.  Between Meek’s Bay and Rubicon Point is another little recess in the lakeshore, Grecian Bay, a good second to the one I have just described.  Here we particularly notice the effect of the many varieties of trees, their dark trunks, branches and foliage set out almost in silhouette against the pure color of the Lake below.  These elevated stretches of road are a constant joy and delight.  They afford us glad surprises every few moments in such views of the Lake as we could not otherwise obtain.

Crossing Lonely Gulch, watched over by the serene pure loveliness of the snowy peaks above, a good climb up a steep stretch of road brings us to the shoulder of Rubicon Point.  Winding in and out, twining and twisting around and around, we reach Rubicon Park, from which place we get a perfect view of the whole Lake from one end to the other.

To-day there are a score or more of fishermen out in their little boats, and strange to say, all of them near enough to be seen, are fishing in a patch of deep blue.  The water there must be deeper than elsewhere, for there is where they invariably get their best catches.

In marked contrast to the blue is a great finger of emerald thrust out from a nearby point, as if in warning not to dare pass its mysterious border.

Now we come to the wild and rugged scenery.  We are hemmed in on the right by towering crags and walls of massive gray rock.  Shattered and seamed, scarred and disintegrated, they look as though earthquake and lightning shock and the storms of a thousand years had battled with them.  They give a new touch of grandeur and almost awesome sublimity to the scene.

For a mile or two we play at hide and seek with the Lake.  It seems as though we were in the hands of a wizard.  “Now you see it, now you don’t.”  Query:  “Where is the Lake?” Mountains, snowbanks, granite walls, trees galore, creeks flashing their white crests dashing down their stony courses toward the Lake, but only now and then do we catch fleeting glimpses of it.  All at once it bursts full and clear again upon our enraptured vision, but only to give us a full taste of its supernal beauty before we are whirled around a curve where the eye rests upon nothing but the rugged majesty of the Sierras.  Change and contrast, the picturesque, beautiful, delicate and exquisite in close touch and harmonious relationship with the majestic and the sublime.  Travel the whole world over and nothing surpassing this can be found.