The river is too cold for bathing here in the mountains because of the snow-water of which it is composed.

About ten miles south of Fry's lies Castle Rock, a remarkable and most picturesque mountain of white granite, bare for a thousand feet below its pinnacled summit, which you see as you drive past it on the stage.
Fry's lies in a deep canon, with a singular, almost precipitous, mountain opposite the house, which terminates in a sharp ridge at the top, one of those "knife-edge" ridges of which Professor Whitney and Clarence King often speak in their descriptions of Sierra scenery.

If you are a mountain climber, you have here an opportunity for an adventure, and an excellent guide in Mr.Fry, who told me that this ridge is sharp enough to straddle, and that on the other side is an almost precipitous descent, with a fine lake in the distance.

If you wish to hunt deer or bear, you will find in Fry an expert and experienced hunter.

He has a tame doe, which, I was told, is better than a dog to mark game on a hunt, its sharp ears and nose detecting the presence of game at a great distance.