File:Outing (1885) (14779330304).jpg

Identifier: outing29newy (find matches)
Title: Outing
Year: 1885 (1880s)
Authors:
Subjects: Leisure Sports Travel
Publisher: (New York : Outing Pub. Co.)
Contributing Library: Tisch Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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teand danger to a summer squall. Theboat, nevertheless, proved equal to thestrain and floundered ahead with sur-prising speed for her build. While the wind set to boiling everyfoot of the vast lake surface, the cur-taining of the mountains went on untilpeak after peak disappeared in moving,copperish folds—a glorious phantasma-goria pregnant with portent of the tem-pest. A universal downpour of strangelights, and then a rainbow leaped fromend to end of the Wasatch, spanningthe awed heads of uncovered giantswith a noble arch of perfect painting.In a blaze of heat lightning, the Oquirrhdomes stood transfigured above the dun,smoke-like clouds heaped in mountain-ous ridges up their sides. Anon, therewas hunder, and zigzag flashes hereand there rent the metallic greens andbrowns of banks piled high in the east.Puffs of cumuli, blown from the stormnucleus, let fall a few splashes of rain asthey scurried overhead, but it was evi-dent we were in no danger of a wetting. 55° OUTING FOR MARCH.
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ON THE EAST COAST OF STANSBURY. Already we witnessed the sullen with-drawal of aerial battalions. Them mountins is ketchin it,though, the boy remarked with com-placence, as he pointed to a purplecloudage drawn taut from base to top-most pinnacle where the last sunbeamshung an aureole of pale fire. The twilight was wild and thrilling—the splendid outlook of choppy sea, thestrong, warm wind, blowing us steadilyon our course, the waning glory of thesunset, and the nearer view of themountainous stretch of Antelope whichmy eyes ever and again sought, filledme with exhilaration. The Captain, whonever left the wheel, here signed to anopen space between the straggling pen-insulas of Antelope and Stansbury : We havent closed the gap yet.Thatll mean half-way cross. He kept the plunging bow headedfor Pilots Peak, a conspicuous knob ona central platform of the island ridge,which is directly on a line with thefarm where we were to drop anchor.Fremont Island stood seven miles offthe north head of

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