The record-union., 1898-02-14
A TRIP INTO SKETCH-LAND.

written for the Record-Union by Elwyn
Irving Hoffman,
The Postmaster at French Corral TOTO
me that there were a lot of INDIANS
mining at Climnins' Point, near Rice
Crossing, on the North Yuba. so next
morning, with pencil and camera. Artlse
Dixon and l started out afoot for a
trip into sketch-land. The distance
was said to be three miles, and | was
told to follow the road which crawleo
up the mountain, made a DIG peiiu
around a spur Of It, and then, Win
many crooks and turns, wound uoW II
to the river. But with the usual siiiaft
ness Of guides, refused to follow gooo
advice, and lead my friend stralsht
over the mountain, designing 10 MAKE
q short cut and reach the fupa
quicker and easier Alas! as soon as )" {
had passed over the crest we louhu
ourselves in a mess of thick brush, sup
perry rocks. deep canyons, ana, WORST
of all, thickets of belligerent poison
oak! If there was one thing, more imam
another, that the artist dreaded 1t was
poison-oak. For days he had been
bathing his face with a concoction OF
Yerba d'Aso tea and salt 1--WE had
taken a little hunt soon after our ar
rival in the hills). and he was not yet
fully cured But there was no help
for il. The enemy was before him, and
to reach the river he must fight his
way through its ranks. So We went
on, the artist following in the steps Of
his guide (of whom he probably had a
very i'll opinion, though he kindly re-
Trained from saying so) until at last
We stumbled down a steep hillside ana
literally fell into the-road! Yes. IT
was the road, and we We're still hal1-
mile from the river. So much for short
cuts" and astute guides!
The river lay below us-we had come
down to a point where we could look
directly upon it--a narrow stream OF
muddy water rushing along over the
rocky floor of a deep gorge. Just be-
meath US 1t made a sharp bend, in the
hollow Of which was broad bar" OF
gray gravel. This was Climmins' Point,
and as We looked down we could see
the rude brush wind breaks Of the In
dams and hear the shrill cries OF
the pickaninnies as they played
In the sand There was trail lead
ing from our feet down to the river,
and a brush dam across the river, but
we were not sure we could cross there,
so followed the road to the ford, and
then went up the river to the cable.
Under this slender wire we crossed, in
a rude car that did some exciting gym
nastics in the way of rocking and
swinging, and then we came down the
trail on the other side. We talked to
a bare-legged Celestial who was smok-
III 1iv in littla dark lint. we
watched some other Cinnamon sluicing
by the river edge, and the artist took
some snapshots of them; and we
bought some big red tomatoes of still
another Chinaman, who had a garden
and a little store near at hand. Then
we went on down the river, passed the
ford, and climbed up to where there
was an old blacksmith shop. Here it
was that we met Clark of the Oregon
House, at blue plums, and listened to
the story of the Admiral of Airships. .
After resting some time we went
on down the river to the point. There
were several wind-breaks or brush
shanties, and as it was about noon
most of the Indians were under them
eating their dinners. There was ne
gro in the outfit. and as we came by
we observed that he was rapidly de-
molishing huge slices Of watermelon.
(Henry Potts had bought out Clark S
entire load the night before) The negro
told US afterwards, with much regret,
that he was Just a-wishin' dat you
gemmen would look oyah dat way when
he was eatin' dat melon, so I could ask
yo' to hab some; but yo' went by wild
out lookin'," I, at least, looked square
~ at the old scamp as we passed. We
at our own lunch under a tree close
to Potts cabin, through the little win
dow of which he watched us for awhile
then restlessly paced up and down, and
finally picked up his ak and disap-
peared down the river. Henry Potts
came up from work as we finished