| Abstract: | The river twisted and shrank above the beaver ponds. It neared a mountain. It was small and quiet here, full of snake-bends, oxbows and small cutthroat trout. It entered a grove of virgin Sitka spruce, and the hoof cut-trail entered in beside it. … The grove was like a vast lodge, barked pillars rising to a high mosaic of green and black and sky. A watery light filtered down, as if through stained glass. In the center of the lodge was a hollow, bordered by sword ferns and fallen logs. In the bottom of the hollow was a broad, rocky bowl eerily paved with mosshaired, head-sized stones. Among the stones was a quiet spring. And from the spring brimmed the water, old and clean and untiring. I had reached the source of the Tamanawis. |
