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Page 28 text:
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Campins on t }t dtusJgian (liber AST summer a part}- of four, of whom I was one, de- ncided to spend several weeks camping in the Russian River country. To me the region was almost a fe?v ' a incognita ; but I had heard it praised for its pictur- esque beauty and spoken of as an ideal place for a summer outing. When I had felt its charm, I was ready to say, like the Queen of Sheba, that the half had not been told. Our destination was Guernewood Park, a point on the Russian River, thirty miles beyond Santa Rosa. Two of our party having preceded me and, the third being detained, I made the journey from San Francisco alone; nevertheless, the beaut} ' of the country through which I passed made the trip a de- lightful one. For some distance the train wound among softly rounded hills, golden brown in the summer sunshine and thickly studded with spreading live-oaks. Then the hills gave place to a level, cultivated country, where soft-eyed cows were grazing in the meadows, and fruit hung thick on orchard boughs, and wide fields of hop vines swung their tendrils in the breeze, and in the haz} ' dis- tance the quiet mountains lifted themselves against the sk}- . Through one flourishing town after another we sped — San Rafael, Petaluma, and last of all, Santa Rosa. Be3 ond Santa Rosa the valley grew narrower ; the mountain walls began to close in upon us ; and soon we were following the course of a clear stream which loitered quietly along through grassy meadows. This was my introduction to the Russian River. A little farther, and we were winding with many a sharp curve through a wooded mountain canyon, in some places just wide enough for the river and the railway ; in others opening to show fleeting glimpses, up narrow side valleys, of a meadow or a hop field or a patch of corn, all dotted with the scarred and black- ened stumps of ancient redwoods.
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Page 29 text:
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We were now Hearing our destination. In half an liour or there- abouts the conductor called Guernewood Park, and with a num- ber of others I alighted from the train to find myself in a beautiful grove of young redwoods. A throng of people had gathered to see the train come in or to greet new arrivals ; but nowhere was there any sign of a house or other building. All around us rose the stately ranks of trees, with here and there, through the boughs, the glim- mer of a white tent. I had scarcel} more than time to draw one delighted breath at the beauty and wildness of it all when I was pounced upon by the Boy of our party and carried off in great glee to our camp. In and out we wound among the trees, until my guide said, Here we are ; and lifting a curtain that hung between two great redwood stumps, I entered our summer home, and after due greeting looked about me. On every side rose clusters of tall, slender young redwoods, en- circling, as is the habit of these trees, the stumps of their mighty ancestors, fallen before the lumberman ' s ax. Over the greater part of the camp, their interlacing branches made a sunlit canopy; but in the middle was an open space, roofed only by the blue dome of the sky, whence, at mid-day, streamed down a flood of w armth and light. Gay Chinese lanterns were swinging from the boughs; hammocks and rustic chairs invited one to rest; and three white tents in the background gave assurance of comfortable sleeeping accommodations. But the most beautiful spot in the camp was a point of land lying bej ' ond the circle of tents and overlooking the river. Here one could lie in the shade of great trees, and see, thirty or forty feet below, the little stream, rippling and flashing between its steep, wooded banks, and hear the water lapping softly against the sides of the boat that lay tied at the landing. All this was our own domain, and it was but one of many such scattered through the park, each shut in from the prying gaze of out- siders by a high burlap screen. The grove in which the camps were located occupies the top of a long, narrow liluff between the river and the mountains, and is everywhere surrounded b} ' scenes of quiet and peaceful, and yet majestic beauty. The landscape has none of the rugged grandeur that often characterizes mountain scenery. There are no awful precipices, no sky-splitting peaks; but the mountains with their softly curving outlines wear a gentle and benignant aspect. Nature in a kindly mood has covered over all the seams and scars in their mighty sides, and made them beautiful with verdure. Here the stately redwoods stand in solemn, unbroken ranks from base to summit, and etch their black branches against the sky. There the brighter green of bay tree and maple, or the brilliant red trunk and glossy foliage of the madrona mingle wdth and lighten the solemn grandeur of the redwoods. Occasionally there are great bare patches, where a few blackened trunks and scarred and leafless boughs tell of the tempests of fire that from time to time have swept through the woodland; but except for these, the mountain sides seem to be an almost unbroken forest, and the deep, reposeful
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