The roots of these monarchs of the forest had twined themselves around rocks of every size and shape, some of them massive bowlders, but when the storm came, the purchase, or leverage of the tall trees was so great that these heavy rock-masses were pulled out of place and lifted up as the trees crashed over to their fall.
Now we came to a stretch of perfect virgin forest.

No ax, no saw, no log chutes, no wagons, no dragging of logs, no sign of the hand of man.

Nature was the only woodsman, with her storms and winds, her snows and rains, to soften the soil and uproot her growing sons and daughters.

There was confusion in places, even rude chaos, but in and through and above it all a cleanness, a sweetness, a purity, a grandeur, harmony, glory, beauty and majesty--all of which disappear when destroying man comes upon the scene.
About five miles up, we left the Rubicon and struck up toward Barker Creek.

Here was another of the great, tempting granite basins, full of clear cool water.