igh shoulder to our
blankets and provisions, which we had left in the morning in a tree at
the foot of the gorge. I remember Mr. Clark remarking that if he had
his choice that night between provisions and blankets he would choose
his blankets.

The next morning in about an hour we had crossed over the ridge through
which the gorge is cut, reached our provisions, made tea, and had a good
breakfast. As soon as we had returned to Yosemite I obtained fresh
provisions, pushed off alone up to the head of Yosemite Creek basin,
entered the canyon by a side canyon, and completed the exploration up to
the Tuolumne Meadows.

It was on this first trip from Hetch Hetchy to the upper cataracts that
I had convincing proofs of Mr. Clark's daring and skill as mountaineer,
particularly in fording torrents, and in forcing his way through thick
chaparral. I found it somewhat difficult to keep up with him in dense,
tangled brush, though in jumping on boulder taluses and slippery
cobble-beds I had no difficulty in leaving him behind.

After I had discovered the glaciers on Mount Lyell and Mount McClure,
Mr. Clark kindly made a second excursion with me to assist in
establishing a line of stakes across the McClure glacier to measure its
rate of flow. On this trip we also climbed Mount Lyell together, when
the snow which covered the glacier was melted into upleaning, icy blades
which were extremely difficult to cross, not being strong enough to
support our weight, nor wide enough apart to enable us to stride across
each blade as it was met. Here again I, being lighter, had no difficulty
in keeping ahead of him. While resting after wearisome staggering and
falling he stared at the marvelous ranks of leaning blades, and said, "I
think I have traveled all sorts of trails and canyons, through all kinds
of brush and snow, but this gets me."

Mr. Clark at my urgent request joined my small party on a trip to the
Kings River yosemite by way of the high mountains, most of the way
without a trail. He joined us at the Mariposa Big Tree grove and
intended to go all the way, but finding that, on account of the
difficulties encountered, the time required was much greater than he
expected, he turned back near the head of the north fork of the Kings
River.

In cooking his mess of oatmeal porridge and making tea, his pot was
always the first to boil, and I used to wonder why, with all his skill
in scrambling through brush in the easiest way, and preparing