Berkeley High School - Olla Podrida Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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(Awarded First Prize in the Prize-Story Contest.) JL OT ! hot ! hot ! and only eight o ' clock. For two weary hours we had been climbing slowly up the south side of old Mount Wilson, while the sun was putting forth every effort to convert us into reeking, broiling, sizzling specimens of the genus homo. The only sound was an occasional whew! from one of the party, or the dull thud of a walking stick across the back of little Raymond. Six o ' clock that morning had found us, Mr. Danton, Mr. Craig and myself, busily engaged in tying the few remaining pans and cups to the ropes of the pack. Perhaps it never occurred to you how much a bony little two - by - four burro is expected to carry. If there is room enough at one end for him to see, and enough at the other to offer direct communication with a stout walking stick, he will pa- tiently pick his way all day over seemingly impassable trails. Our load was not a light one: a half dozen blankets, two comforts, flour, bacon, a few potatoes, etc., for a three weeks ' hunt, three heavy rifles and a shot- gun, together with a prospector ' s outfit. Poor Raymond watched us intently, and, I suspect, wondered how much more we expected him to carry up that long, steep and dusty trail. The neck and ever prominent ears were about all that could be seen when we formed the line of march and commenced the ascent from the valley of orange and lemon groves to the summit of Mt. Wilson, seven thousand feet above the sea, and covered with immense old pines and firs. There is originality among burros as well as among men. Raymond had a few decided characteristics of his own. His musical qualities were unparalleled. He seemed to recognize the acoustic properties of the mountains, and would choose just those canyons which would respond most eagerly and retain longest and most lovingly among their rocky sides the deep resonant bass. Nor was he illiberal with his music. Every echo seemed to him an encore. Again and again we stopped our ears with our fingers, or his with our fists, as a gentle reminder that, while we appreciated highly his efforts to entertain, we would be grateful for a moment or two to converse among ourselves. Mr. Danton was a man about forty years of age, medium height and rather slender. He had spent many years roughing it as a prospector and hunter, was lithe as a cat and absolutely fearless. Craig and I were old friends of Danton and had had some little experience in the mountains; so the year before this we had planned our trip. Our destination was the headwaters of the San Gabriel, some twenty-five miles back into the mountains, and a region almost inaccessible to man. This country abounded not only in game, but also in that precious yellow metal which drew so many thousands to the Pacific slopes a half century ago. Of game a 17

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T. (s)mWM comes a rus °f thoughts to me, VV w vli ° mar i°y° us d Yt j Il s Like clouds upon a dancing- sea, + JeT I fain would drive away? And yet they shall my heart control — Our tempered joys are sweet — And truth impressed upon the soul Will make this day complete. I live again the years we ' ve spent From care and sorrow free, Are these to tell, I ask intent, Of what our lives will be? Today within the book of life We start a page most fair, And all the actions in life ' s strife Will soon be entered there. And as a prophet now I see Through many a coming year, And faces which appear to me Are those to memory dear. Some few by laurel wreaths are crowned, To most, success came slow ; But in the distant years ' tis found Each reaps what youth did sow. We cannot win in after days But what our youth has earned; Upon the stage of life, each plays The part he early learned. And so, dear classmates, I have told, In words sincere and true, That which the future will unfold So soon to me and you. But now we part. It is life ' s way. Farewell to all most dear! Yet memory will recall this day, For friends we ' ll drop a tear. E. ' 98. 16

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person could find any kind and any quantity. Bear, deer, mountain lion — in fact almost every species of large game usually found in such a region. Fast, but not least, were the grey mountain squirrels, quail and trout. Such were the happy hunting grounds towards which we were slowly toiling. The first mile from the foot of the trail was covered in a very short time, and we were congratulating ourselves on being able to reach the pines before it became so hot when Raymond, after due consideration of all sides of the question, decided ' ' not to do that day what could be put off until the next winter, when it would be too late, and took a gait that would make the average messenger boy hide his head for shame. As I was ahead with the shotgun, on the lookout for a squirrel or quail for dinner, the honors of burro driver were shared by Danton and Craig All their arguments, pleadings, threatening expressions and gentle (?) reminders with the walking stick failed to increase his speed in the least. It soon became evident that at that rate we would be baked alive before we could reach the welcome shade of the pines two thousand five hundred feet above us. Well could we think hot as we wound in and out of those canyons. Now in the deep cleft of the mountain-side where not a breath of air was stirring, then out on the ragged face of a hog-back ' ' where the sun seemed to beat even more intensely than in the canyon. How we longed for the cool, refreshing shade and the tumbling waters of the half-way place, five weary miles from the foot of the trail. Far, far beneath us we could see the glimmer of a stream as it bounded over the rocks and beneath the overhanging ferns, appearing like a gleaming silver ribbon woven in and out among the rocks and trees so far below. There was but one in the party who did not seem to take any special interest in the beautiful panorama of nature spread out below us, and that was Raymond. He seemed to be rather undecided whether to keep on at his present gait or stop altogether; but a vigorous application of the walking stick aided him wonderfully in his decision. Just at high noon the welcome sight of the running water and shade of the half-way place burst upon us, and in a few minutes we were busily engaged in removing the pack from the dripping, panting burro. An appetizing dinner of bacon, coffee and crackers was soon prepared, and it is needless to say that, after our forenoon ' s toil, we did ample justice to it. The next hour we spent in solid comfort, stretched upon our blankets and gazing at the blue-topped mountain above us. The afternoon climb was not as tiresome as that of the morning, as a greater part of it was in the shade of the pines and firs. Dusk found us at Strain ' s Camp, a half mile beyond the summit of the mountain. After a hearty supper we spread our blankets down, and, with the heavens for a roof, turned in for a good night ' s rest. Next morning we were up and had our breakfast of bacon and coffee by the time the first tints of the coming daylight streaked the eastern sky. Without waiting to wash our few tin dishes we again packed our outfit upon the burro and bade good-bye to Strain ' s Camp. The trip down the north side of Mt. Wilson was not long, but exceedingly rough, the fall of the trail being something over five thousand feet in two and a half miles. At the foot of the mountain ran the West Fork, one of the branches 18