| fore,
and started to climb. The ragged half-moon shone in the black sky with a fierce
white brilliance that did not dim the stars. We looked tremendously funny in the moonlight as we prowled out of camp. George had a huge red bandanna over his head sheik-fashion, with a gaudily striped stocking-cap over that, and a long untucked-in shirt billowing about his hips. I was wearing my ski jacket, parka hood gathered about my face from eyebrows to chin, and mittens. Our packs humped on our backs. In soundless tennis shoes, without saying a word or making a sound as we moved, each nursing a faint stomachache, we climbed softly through the woods. The woods were marvelous in the moonlight, bright and shadowy, the distances between the dim tree-trunks inviting us on. The rocks gleamed white as we stepped easily over their sloping sides. Below. with a nearness that slightly jarred the senses after we had climbed for 20 hours, were scattered the orange lights of the desert valley. Beyond Jay the mountain ranges in the moonlight, and around us the trees, black and stiff, and the rocks, white and shining. We were subtly pleased that we could chart our course by the Great Dipper. It was so cold we couldn't breathe deeply - it hurt our lungs and made us breathless - so we moved very slowly so as not to get winded. Neither of us had any idea how far off the summit was. We estimated, with profound conservatism, that we had about four hours more of climbing. In the moonlight before us rose a slight hump composed of great slabs of granite, heaped up one on the other. Unable to detour it easily either to the north or the south, we clambered over it. And suddenly, astoundingly, at 4:20 a.m. we were on San Jacinto peak! What one first thinks is the top never, never is, as every climber knows, yet here, hours before we even hoped for it, and we so weary, we were on the peak, shouting exultantly over the wrought-iron Sierra Club register in the starlight. We didn't bother to sign the register. Suddenly energized, we flitted down to the little plateau below the summit, peering among the moon shadows for the small hut that awaits wayfarers like us. It was a small stone building, with two double-deck wooden bunks that architecturally resembled a college sleeping. porch. We built a fire in the deep stone fireplace. George rolled up in his blanket on the bunk nearest the fire. I slipped into my sleeping-bag, and ate three pieces of rye-crisp. Despite the irritating con- George Templeton Jr., of Fontana, California, who accompanied Miss Dyar on the San Jacinto climb. |
tours of the wooden
slats, I slept soundly. The sun poured in the eastern window when I awoke a few minutes before seven, feeling rested and good. Having only a meager swallow or two of water left, we couldn't make the tea that would have tasted so good. Despite the trials of the last 24 hours, we suddenly found ourselves sitting on the edge of the bunk before the dying fire, discussing in an animated way the Santa Susanna Flake climb at Stony Point! Rolling and roping up our packs for the final time, we started the nine-mile hike down the south side. There was a |
holiday
spirit in our blood - we had climbed Snow creek. It was a glorious morning. The
air was cold, and still, and dry and clear, and immensely v-? izing. We were
quite ringed with mountains and desert that flowed and throbbed with early
morning blue. Way off to the southeast, in Imperial Valley lay the Salton sea,
a great mass of pale gold, so intensely, moltenly, blazingly gold that it
seemed to float above the blue plain, detached from the landscape and
unreal. At 8:30, ravenous, we sat cross-legged in the dusty trail, and breakfasted on a tin of sardines. The sardines, cuddled in mustard, were tangy, ambrosial, and ice cold. The trail down the south side is excellent. It was a luxury to climb-weary muscles simply to walk through woods and meadows, But the nine miles were long. From 8,000-foot elevation down to Idyllwild was an inch of dry snow. It was odd-climbing up to timberline and down to snow. Near Idyllwild we began to meet a few clean, neat, washed, combed individuals coming up the trail. They were the first people we had seen in two days. and we felt alien. We doubtless looked it, too, frowsy and dirty as we were, judging from their stares. When we reached the little rutted road, we gleefully collapsed in the sunshine to wait for the car that was to pick us up. All at once, we were terribly hungry. Visions of malted milks floated in the air, and candy bars, and big triangles of chocolate cake. Some people near-by began to lay out a great hamper of picnic lunch, We couldn't bear it. Tired as we were, far as we'd come, we staggered up, shrugged into our packs, and limped down the road. Shortly our friend arrived, and in high spirits we drove out of the mountains. In the nearest town we gorged on hamburgers and chocolate milkshakes; and all the way home we consumed slabs of frosted cake left in our commissary. We had one more tale to tell of Snow creek. |
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