Farther on, where the rocks descend to the sea level, we roam the beach and gather sea shells, starfish, and sea urchins; and by a shallow pool we stop to watch the scarlet fringes of the sea anemones, waving back and forth with the action of the tide.  Barnacles cover the top of every rock that the tide reaches, and the long, blackish, snakelike seaweed is strewn along the beach.

We watch the tide come creeping in, each succeeding wave running a little farther up the beach and driving us back with relentless energy from its rightful possessions.

The sun sinks down in golden splendor behind the ocean’s rim, leaving a track of molten gold that tips as with a halo the edges of the dancing waves.  We turn our faces homeward, with a last, lingering look at the majestic expanse of blue rolling waters, and ever in our ears sounds the ceaseless moaning of the ocean.

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Muir Woods

June, to me, is one of the most fascinating months in California—­if any of them can be set apart and called more perfect than another—­for June is a month of moods.

If you are an Easterner you would abandon your proposed picnic party, upon rising in the morning, for fear of rain, and, being a tenderfoot, you would be justified, for the clouds—­or, more properly speaking, the high fog—­give every indication of a shower.  But an old Californian would tell you to take no thought of appearances, and to leave your umbrella and raincoat at home, for this is one of nature’s “bluffs”; by ten o’clock the sun will be shining brightly, and the fog dispersed under its warm rays.

Then pack your lunch basket, don your khaki suit, and strike out on the trail, while the dew still twinkles on the grass blades like cut diamonds, and the birds are singing their Te Deum to the morning sun.

It was on just such a day that we set out on a trip to Muir Woods and the giant sequoias, one of the most beautiful spots in the State.  From Mill Valley the climb is a steep one, passing the picturesque ruins of an old mill erected in 1843.  We come to a sort of corduroy path, where some enterprising landowner has placed logs across the trail, with the object of facilitating travel.  It is not a very decided improvement on nature, however, for the steps are too far apart for comfort.

Summer cottages are scattered along the trail, perched on the hillside, and placed in the most advantageous position to gain a view of the bay, or on slightly higher ground, where they peek over the tops of the trees into the valley below.

After a stiff climb we reach the top of the last range of hills and begin our descent into the valley, where Muir Woods nestles between the hills at the foot of Mount Tamalpais, in the beautiful Sequoia Canon.  We look away to the right and can see the heavy clouds envelop the summit of the mountain, but the highest stands above the clouds, and the sun touches its stately crest with golden splendor.