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Steep Trails-Part8_John Muir(1838-1914)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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memorable first of May, we arose and began to struggle homeward. Our



frozentrousers could scarcely be made to bend at the knee, and we

waded the snow with difficulty. The summit ridge was fortunately



wind-swept and nearly bare, so we were not compelled to lift our feet

high, and on reaching the long home slopes laden with loose snow we



made rapid progress, sliding and shuffling and pitching headlong, our

feebleness accelerating rather than diminishing our speed. When we



had descended some three thousand feet the sunshine warmed our backs

and we began to revive. At 10 a.m. we reached the timber and were



safe.

Half an hour later we heard Sisson shouting down among the firs,



coming with horses to take us to the hotel. After breaking a trail

through the snow as far as possible he had tied his animals and walked



up. We had been so long without food that we cared but little about

eating, but we eagerly drank the coffee he prepared for us. Our feet



were frozen, and thawing them was painful, and had to be done very

slowly by keeping them buried in soft snow for several hours, which



avoided permanent damage. Five thousand feet below the summit we

found only three inches of new snow, and at the base of the mountain



only a slight shower of rain had fallen, showing how local our storm

had been, notwithstanding its terrific fury. Our feet were wrapped in



sacking, and we were soon mounted and on our way down into the thick

sunshine--"God's Country," as Sisson calls the Chaparral Zone. In two



hours' ride the last snowbank was left behind. Violets appeared along

the edges of the trail, and the chaparral was coming into bloom, with



young lilies and larkspurs about the open places in rich profusion.

How beautiful seemed the golden sunbeams streaming through the woods



between the warm brown boles of the cedars and pines! All my friends

among the birds and plants seemed like OLD friends, and we felt like



speaking to every one of them as we passed, as if we had been a long

time away in some far, strange country.



In the afternoon we reached Strawberry Valley and fell asleep. Next

morning we seemed to have risen from the dead. My bedroom was flooded



with sunshine, and from the window I saw the great white Shasta cone

clad in forests and clouds and bearing them loftily in the sky.



Everything seemed full and radiant with the freshness and beauty and

enthusiasm of youth. Sisson's children came in with flowers and



covered my bed, and the storm on the mountaintop banished like a

dream.



V

Shasta Rambles and Modoc Memories



Arctic beauty and desolation, with their blessings and dangers, all

may be found here, to test the endurance and skill of adventurous



climbers; but far better than climbing the mountain is going around

its warm, fertile base, enjoying its bounties like a bee circling



around a bank of flowers. The distance is about a hundred miles, and

will take some of the time we hear so much about--a week or two--but



the benefits will compensate for any number of weeks. Perhaps the

profession of doing good may be full, but every body should be kind at



least to himself. Take a course of good water and air, and in the

eternal youth of Nature you may renew your own. Go quietly, alone; no



harm will befall you. Some have strange, morbid fears as soon as they

find themselves with Nature, even in the kindest and wildest of her



solitudes, like very sick children afraid of their mother--as if God

were dead and the devil were king.



One may make the trip on horseback, or in a carriage, even; for a good

level road may be found all the way round, by Shasta Valley, Sheep



Rock, Elk Flat, Huckleberry Valley, Squaw Valley, following for a

considerableportion of the way the old Emigrant Road, which lies



along the east disk of the mountain, and is deeply worn by the wagons

of the early gold-seekers, many of whom chose this northern route as



perhaps being safer and easier, the pass here being only about six

thousand feet above sea level. But it is far better to go afoot.



Then you are free to make wide waverings and zigzags away from the

roads to visit the great fountainstreams of the rivers, the glaciers



also, and the wildest retreats in the primeval forests, where the best

plants and animals dwell, and where many a flower-bell will ring



against your knees, and friendly trees will reach out their fronded

branches and touch you as you pass. One blanket will be enough to



carry, or you may forego the pleasure and burden altogether, as wood




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