23 chapters
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23 chapters
AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER
AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER
Chronicles of a Stroller in New England from July to December BY FRANK BOLLES WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY The Riverside Press Cambridge COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY FRANK BOLLES COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED...
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Invitation
Invitation
To drink the wine of mountain air Beside the Bearcamp Water. Whittier , Among the Hills ....
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A THUNDERSTORM IN THE FOREST.
A THUNDERSTORM IN THE FOREST.
During nearly the whole of the forenoon of July 3, 1892, a soft rain had been falling. It had begun in the night to the discomfiture of the whippoorwills, but not to the extinguishment of their voices. It continued until nearly noon, when the wind shifted from east to west, patches of blue sky appeared, and ever and anon gleams of sunlight fell upon the distant forest across the lake, or slid slowly over the tree-tops on the side of Chocorua. Bird voices grew stronger with the promise of fair we
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THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAIN
THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAIN
Floating upon the clear waters of Chocorua Lake in the latter part of a warm July afternoon, and looking northward, I see the coolness of night beginning to grow in the heart of the mountain. At first there is but a slender dark line marking a deep ravine, through which a brook flows; then the shadow widens until a great hollow in the mountain’s side is filled with shade. As the sun sinks the shadow reaches higher and higher upon the wooded flanks of the two spurs which hold the hollow between t
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A LONELY LAKE.
A LONELY LAKE.
Six witheringly hot days had been followed by one so cool and clear, so full of rushing Arctic air, that all nature sparkled as on an autumn morning. About sunset on the evening of this cool day,—July 17,—the pale blue sky in the north was suddenly barred by ascending rays of quivering white light. Chocorua, lying dark and still against the cold sky, seemed to be the centre of the aurora. As it grew dark I watched to see the heavens glow with the electric flame, but hour after hour passed with o
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FOLLOWING A LOST TRAIL.
FOLLOWING A LOST TRAIL.
Of the many roads which start northward from Bearcamp Water, every one is either warded off by the Sandwich range into the Saco or into the Pemigewasset valley, or else smothered in the dark forest-clad ravines between the mountain ridges. From Conway on the east to Campton and Thornton on the west, there is no rift in the mountain wall through which travel flows. There was a time, however, before the Civil War, when near the middle of the great barrier the human current found an outlet southwar
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A NIGHT ALONE ON CHOCORUA.
A NIGHT ALONE ON CHOCORUA.
The 10th of August ranked, by the family thermometer, as next to the hottest day of the summer. It was a marked day in my calendar,—marked long in advance for a night alone on the narrow rock which forms the tip of Chocorua’s peak. It was chosen on account of the display of meteors which, in case of a clear sky, always makes that night attractive for a vigil. On August 10, 1891, I counted two hundred and fifty meteors between sunset and eleven o’clock P. M. As I watched the sky, and saw the grea
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BRINGING HOME THE BEAR.
BRINGING HOME THE BEAR.
The horn of Chocorua rose into a sky full of threatening colors and shadows. Its own coloring was sinister, its outlines vague, its height apparently greater than usual. Low, growling thunder came from its ledges and ravines. The forest at its feet, which ended at my door, was silent; no whisper swept through its waiting leaves. In the west as in the north, cloud masses were boiling up into the sky, covering the blue with white, gray, and black, through which now and then shot a ray of gold from
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THE DEAD TREE’S DAY.
THE DEAD TREE’S DAY.
It is the theory that there are always plenty of hens to be bought in a New England farming town; but as a matter of fact, in the month of July, 1892, the country north of Bearcamp presented such a dearth of hens that, after traveling miles in my efforts to buy some, I returned to my own neighborhood and hired a contingent for the season. The transaction was unique, but, on the whole, mutually satisfactory. It had one drawback. When one owns fowls, the accumulation of family wrath against the ro
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MIGRATION.
MIGRATION.
For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, · · · · · · · Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put on a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new. The quaint story of Noah’s gathering the animals into the ark is always linked in my mind with the Pied Piper, and with that strange turn in the tide of bird life which is called migration. The marvelous music which charmed the rats and children of Hamelin town must have been used by Noah to call his creatures into the ark of safet
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TRAPPING GNOMES.
TRAPPING GNOMES.
When the harvest moon is large and the nights clear, I love to spend an evening hour or two under the great oak-trees on the shore of my lonely lake. The soft mists creep across the water, bats flit back and forth squeaking, the whippoorwills call to each other that the time for migration is near at hand, and sometimes the voices of the barred owls wake weird echoes in the lake’s curves. Sitting motionless in the black shadow, I am unseen and unsuspected by the night creatures round me. Many fee
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OLD SHAG.
OLD SHAG.
Old Shag, Toadback, or Paugus Mountain stands in the Sandwich range between Chocorua on the east and Passaconaway on the west. It is better armed against attack by mountain climbers than any of its neighbors, and this in spite of the fact that in elevation it is the lowest of the range. Its defenses consist of numerous radiating ridges covered with dense growths of spruce and crossed by belts of “harricane,” miles of cliffs so forbidding as to repel any but determined assault, and ravines choked
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MY HEART’S IN THE HIGHLANDS.
MY HEART’S IN THE HIGHLANDS.
No matter how tightly the body may be chained to the wheel of daily duties, the spirit is free, if it so pleases, to cancel space and to bear itself away from noise and vexation into the secret places of the mountains. Well it is for him who labors early and late at the desk, if his soul can thus spread its wings and soar to deep forests, clear lakes, and rugged mountain peaks, drawing from memory, imagination, and sweet forecast, something to inspire itself to patient action, and something to s
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THE VINTAGE OF THE LEAVES.
THE VINTAGE OF THE LEAVES.
Friday, October 21, was observed by Harvard University as a holiday,—Columbus, while hunting for something else, having on that day, four hundred years ago, rediscovered America for the Europeans. On the same day, four hundred years ago, the Americans discovered Columbus, a weary and worn mariner, nearing the shore in a small and feebly-rigged ship. At that time America was much more of a boon to the explorer than he seemed likely to be to the continent. I left Cambridge about the time the sun r
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CHOCORUA IN NOVEMBER.
CHOCORUA IN NOVEMBER.
In Cambridge, Saturday, the 5th of November, began its daylight in a driving snowstorm. The long, dry, sunny month of October was, as the farmers had prophesied, to be followed by a real old-fashioned, early and hard New England winter. By ten o’clock the warm sun and brisk northwest wind had dissipated the snow, and bad-weather prophets were silent. Not for long, however, for at noon the ground was again white, and as I crossed West Boston Bridge on my way to the train, the Back Bay was swept b
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AMONG THE WIND-SWEPT LAKES.
AMONG THE WIND-SWEPT LAKES.
The first thing which I saw as I opened my eyes Monday morning was the tip of Passaconaway’s pyramid, rosy with the sun’s earliest rays, and hanging like a great pink moon between the soft gray of a hazy sky and the cold gray of the misty forests. It was a soft morning with a southerly wind and a cloudy sky, yet with a chill in the air which hinted of snow. As the damp wind swept across the snow-covered peak of Chocorua, its moisture was condensed, and from the rock, trailing away northeastward
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’LECTION DAY, ’92.
’LECTION DAY, ’92.
Tuesday, the 8th of November, 1892, belongs to history now, but when it began it was only an ordinary ’lection day. Floods of night rain had washed the high peaks clear of snow, and at dawn the golden clouds swept eastward, and the fairest of November days began its course. All the horses and all the men turned their noses towards the wooden town-house in Tamworth village; and by nine o’clock long lines of wagons streamed under the two campaign flags, across the bridge over rushing Paugus River,
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A WINTRY WILDERNESS.
A WINTRY WILDERNESS.
North of the Sandwich Mountains, inclosed by a circle of sombre peaks, there once lay a beautiful lake. Centuries ago its outflowing stream, now called Swift River, cut so deeply between the spurs of Chocorua and Bear mountains that the greater part of the lake drained away into the Saco at Conway, leaving its level bed a fair and rich-soiled intervale. By the road upon which the lake went out man in time came in, and founded in the bosom of the spruce-grown mountains a small but comparatively p
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CLIMBING BEAR MOUNTAIN IN THE SNOW.
CLIMBING BEAR MOUNTAIN IN THE SNOW.
Monday, December 21. The moon ate up the clouds during the night, and at dawn the only remnants of what the evening before had looked like a storm were the cloud-caps upon Tripyramid and Kancamagus, and a band of mist across Church’s Pond at the western end of the intervale. We were dressing about seven o’clock when our host came to our door, saying, “If you want to see a fox, come quickly.” I ran into the east room and caught a last glimpse of Reynard trotting briskly over the snow towards the
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IN THE PAUGUS WOODS.
IN THE PAUGUS WOODS.
Just opposite our house, which stood on the north side of the road, facing south towards Paugus, was a black forest of spruces. Into this we plunged on Tuesday morning, not knowing what might lie within. The silence of the gloom was broken by the sound of falling bits of ice and drops of melting snow. Bird notes, too, could be heard, and now and then a red squirrel chattered. The trunks of the trees stood closely together, and thousands of small dead branches radiated from the trunks and interla
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AT THE FOOT OF PASSACONAWAY.
AT THE FOOT OF PASSACONAWAY.
Wednesday, December 23, dawned under a damp sky. Tripyramid kept on his nightcap, and patches of mist clung to the dark precipice of Passaconaway. The mountains looked higher and more threatening than on previous days, and they seemed closer to us than when the sun shone. A whisper of falling drops and settling snow ruffled the morning calm. Nevertheless, patches of blue sky showed in the west, and once or twice a silvery spot in the clouds suggested the sun’s burning through. We went first to s
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CHRISTMAS AT SABBA DAY FALLS.
CHRISTMAS AT SABBA DAY FALLS.
Christmas Day was warm, cloudy at best, densely foggy at worst. Soon after breakfast we were swinging westward up the valley road, determined to find Sabba Day Falls or perish in the attempt. As we passed the crossbill feeding-ground no birds were in sight, but a moment later, high in the air, we heard bird voices. Looking skyward, we saw a flock of from one to two hundred birds whirling round and round, like ashes drawn upwards over a fire. They were at a very great height, and were gradually r
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DOWN THE TORRENT’S PATHWAY.
DOWN THE TORRENT’S PATHWAY.
Saturday, December 26, our last day in the intervale, was the least pleasant of our visit. At eight A. M. fog covered the mountains, the forests, and everything, in fact, save a few acres of deep straw-colored field on which only a few soiled patches of snow remained. The engine came in promptly, but found no cars loaded, and went back to Bartlett without freight. About nine o’clock the millmen came home and said there were no logs at the saw-mill, the Frenchmen having been drunk on Christmas. T
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