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Little Rivers [20]

By Root 2494 0
and then we had the mountain fairly before

us. Not that we could see anything of it, for the woods still shut

us in, but the path became very steep, and we knew that it was a

straight climb; not up and down and round about did this most

uncompromising trail proceed, but right up, in a direct line for

the summit.



Now this side of Ampersand is steeper than any Gothic roof I have

ever seen, and withal very much encumbered with rocks and ledges

and fallen trees. There were places where we had to haul ourselves

up by roots and branches, and places where we had to go down on our

hands and knees to crawl under logs. It was breathless work, but

not at all dangerous or difficult. Every step forward was also a

step upward; and as we stopped to rest for a moment, we could see

already glimpses of the lake below us. But at these I did not much

care to look, for I think it is a pity to spoil the surprise of a

grand view by taking little snatches of it beforehand. It is

better to keep one's face set to the mountain, and then, coming out

from the dark forest upon the very summit, feel the splendour of

the outlook flash upon one like a revelation.



The character of the woods through which we were now passing was

entirely different from those of the lower levels. On these steep

places the birch and maple will not grow, or at least they occur

but sparsely. The higher slopes and sharp ridges of the mountains

are always covered with soft-wood timber. Spruce and hemlock and

balsam strike their roots among the rocks, and find a hidden

nourishment. They stand close together; thickets of small trees

spring up among the large ones; from year to year the great trunks

are falling one across another, and the undergrowth is thickening

around them, until a spruce forest seems to be almost impassable.

The constant rain of needles and the crumbling of the fallen trees

form a rich, brown mould, into which the foot sinks noiselessly.

Wonderful beds of moss, many feet in thickness, and softer than

feathers, cover the rocks and roots. There are shadows never

broken by the sun, and dark, cool springs of icy water hidden away

in the crevices. You feel a sense of antiquity here which you can

never feel among the maples and birches. Longfellow was right when

he filled his forest primeval with "murmuring pines and hemlocks."



The higher one climbs, the darker and gloomier and more rugged the

vegetation becomes. The pine-trees soon cease to follow you; the

hemlocks disappear, and the balsams can go no farther. Only the

hardy spruce keeps on bravely, rough and stunted, with branches

matted together and pressed down flat by the weight of the winter's

snow, until finally, somewhere about the level of four thousand

feet above the sea, even this bold climber gives out, and the

weather-beaten rocks of the summit are clad only with mosses and

Alpine plants.



Thus it is with mountains, as perhaps with men, a mark of superior

dignity to be naturally bald.



Ampersand, falling short by a thousand feet of the needful height,

cannot claim this distinction. But what Nature has denied, human

labour has supplied. Under the direction of the Adirondack Survey,

some years ago, several acres of trees were cut from the summit;

and when we emerged, after the last sharp scramble, upon the very

crest of the mountain, we were not shut in by a dense thicket, but

stood upon a bare ridge of granite in the centre of a ragged

clearing.



I shut my eyes for a moment, drew a few long breaths of the

glorious breeze, and then looked out upon a wonder and a delight

beyond description.



A soft, dazzling splendour filled the air. Snowy banks and drifts

of cloud were floating slowly over a wide and wondrous land. Vast

sweeps of forest, shining waters, mountains near and far, the

deepest green and the palest blue, changing colours and glancing

lights, and all so silent, so strange,
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