 To the Top of Mt. Whitney |
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by Rena Moore, 1940 [This poem was provided by Rena's daughter, Rena Smith] See USE NOTICE on Home Page. |
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And a blithesome, thrilly something, that crinkles the heart of you. Perhaps it's a morning of wonders, that holds not a single regret Just a day you would choose from all others, "For a Trip You will never Forget!" The trail begins at Hunter's Flat, and curves up to the left With snow and then a little stream, pouring from some hidden cleft. Upward, onward, for more than an hour, with many a turn in the trail And then an alpine lake is glimpsed, where beauty and charm prevail. We climb a steep and rocky ridge, then dismount for a halt In a mountain bowl, called "Outpost Camp," A spot without a fault. It nestles there among there among the pines, where willows edge the stream And cliffs look down from timberline, completing nature's scheme. The trip resumes, we climb again, past tilted shelves of stone Past Mirror Lake, reflecting clouds, a picture all it's own. Above us tower granite walls, that bring to mind a song Where hearts adream and souls unleased, we slowly ride along. Sculptured ranges spread beyond, and rear their lonely crests Of drab, impassive ruggedness, where a condor giant might nest. And boulders, imminent, barren, suggesting legends old Surrounding Consultation Lake, bringing visions manifold. We picture long-hushed neophytes, treading rocky stairs, Trudging onward through the night, dusky-robed, with flares. The trail keeps on an upward slant, we scarcely note it though, For musing, we've forgotten, just where we were to go! But, suddenly, we stop aghast, our visions flung asunder The foreground has just dripped away! We stopped and stare in wonder. Below, the canyon of the Kern, is shown us by the guide, We marvel as he tells us, and names each view with pride. Alert once more, we ride along, no dreaming veils our glances The trail climbs up the mountainside, abruptly then, it branches. One leads into the distant haze, the other one we follow, Clinging to the stony ledge, over jut and hollow. AT LAST, the SUMMIT, we stand on top, and giddily look below, Spellbound, we view the splendor, sky, the earth, and snow, Peaks, blue lakes, wilderness! Death Valley, and in between, The tumble of Panamint Mountains, Owens Lake, and spots of green. While two-thousand feet below us, lies a beautiful indigo lake With an iceberg in the center, like a frosted birthday cake! The feeling at that moment, is nothing akin to regret, And I know I am telling you truly, "IT'S A TRIP YOU WILL NEVER FORGET!" [Summer 1940]
The First to Spot Mt. Whitney  |
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Olancha | |
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Sierra Place Names | |
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George Brown, Native American Pioneer | |
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Independence |
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Wonacott Family |
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This page was last updated on
24 April 2024