Take such a trip as I enjoyed to Hell Hole on the Rubicon, but take more time for it than I could give; cross the range to the Yosemite, and thus link the two sublimest parts of the Sierras in your memory; follow the old trails that used to echo to the voices of pioneers from Michigan Bluff, Last Chance, Hayden Hill, etc.; go out with one of the Forest Rangers and get a glimpse into his wonderful life of activity, independence and solitude.

Thus you will come in contact with larger conceptions, fuller ideas, deeper sympathies, higher aspirations than is possible where you follow the ordinary routine of the ordinary, mediocre, self-contented man.

Thank God for the spark of discontent, of ambition, of aspiration, of desire to see beyond, to know more, to climb higher, to solve the mysteries, to abolish the unknown.
Then, if you dare the perils and joys of winter, get Bob Watson, or some other expert on snow-shoes to go with you over Tahoe's wild wastes of snow.

Emulate Snow-shoe Thompson, a short sketch of whose life and adventures will be found in my book, _Heroes of California_, and henceforth the days and nights of spring, summer, fall and winter will never seem quite the same to you.
Merely as a sample, the balance of this chapter is devoted to the trip made in the fall of 1913 with Watson from Tahoe Tavern.
* * * * * TO HELLHOLE AND THE RUBICON RIVER I certainly think I can conjecture with accuracy the way it received its name.

The trails in and out were first made and used by the wild animals--bear, deer, antelope, mountain lions, etc., then by the first Americans--the Indians, and at last, by the white man.