The Continental Monthly, Vol. 6, No. 6, December 1864

We reached North Elba (twelve miles from Keene) about noon, and there stopped to dine at Scott's, a place widely and favorably known to travellers in that section of country. Round the plain of North Elba tower the very highest peaks of the Adirondacs; Tahawus (Marcy), Golden, McIntire, and the beautiful gateway of the Indian Pass to the south, and to the north the scarred sides of Whiteface and the bold forms of the mountains bordering the Wilmington notch. Descending the plain into the village, we came to the West Branch of the Au Sable, which rises in the Indian Pass, and flows past the former dwelling of John Brown. The little wooden tenement is in full view from the road, and stands in the midst of the clearing made by old John himself, with the aid of his sons. His grave is in the garden near the house, beside a huge rock. The place is of his own selection, and is now visited by many who, while reprehending the means taken by the gray-haired enthusiast for the accomplishment of his designs, cannot but rejoice that the final freedom of every human being within the limits of our country seems so probable a result of the present struggle. The neighbors—even those of opposing political creeds—give John Brown an excellent character for integrity and charitable deeds. His family have all left the region, and are, I believe, scattered through the great West.

Crossing the Au Sable, we soon came to the tamarac forests and whortleberry plains, so characteristic of the tract between that river and the Saranac lakes. We had left the arbor vitæ and the juniper with the Boquet range, the beech and maple with the valleys and the lower portions of the Adirondac, and now found ourselves chiefly amid birches, yellow and white, spruce firs, and interminable stretches of fantastic tamarac. The hills lower as we reach the lake region proper, and, while still picturesque, the Saranacs can boast no near mountains such as skirt Lake Placid and the two 'Ponds of the Au Bable.' Tahawus and Whiteface are indeed visible from the Saranac waters, but far away, and shorn of much of their grandeur. The lakes themselves are elevated some twelve hundred feet, perhaps, above the level of the sea, and the climate is correspondingly bracing and delightful. There are at Saranac two inns, at either of which the traveller can make himself very comfortable. At six o'clock P. M., we found ourselves at the house immediately upon the lake, and, after an excellent supper, were ready for a row upon the clear, shining water. The evening was delightful, the sun just setting, the low, wooded shores (rising beyond into higher hills) flooded with golden light, the temperature elysian, our oarsman broad browed, broad shouldered, and athletic, our boat one of the fairy craft, sharp at both ends, and light as possible, borne by guides over portages from lake to lake, and the whole scene as placidly beautiful and reposeful as the most vivid imagination could desire. War, contention, suffering, even the law, trade, politics, or any acute state of feeling, seemed incomprehensible excrescences upon the normal state of man's being, which there, indeed, appeared to be an endless floating over placid waters, with the tinkling of oars and the even song of birds for all needful sounds, and those long, low, slanting rays of golden light forever stealing through half-closed lids, and steeping the nerves and brain and tired senses in long dreams of peace and quietude—dreams without the wearisomeness of monotony or the shock of awaking.

Night, however, came at last, and with it forgetfulness; morning, too, came in due season, and with it, the daily call for active thought and exertion.

From Saranac, by means of boats, guides, and camping out, delightful excursions can be made through the lakes, the two Saranacs, Round, Long, and Racket Lakes, and the Racket River. This region has been much travelled and often described.

Our faces, however, must be turned eastward, and the following day found us again in our wagon, en route for Placid Lake. To reach this, we left the return stage about two miles west of North Elba, and walked northward two miles through open country and some beautiful woodland, until we came out upon Bennet's Pond, on whose shore stands the pleasant farmhouse where we intended to pass the night. The owner and his family were absent, but we found a smiling little handmaiden, who brought us a cooling draught, and an antique whaler, who offered to show us the way to Lake Placid and give us a row.

Placid Lake is a beautiful, clear sheet of water, about five miles long and two or three wide. It is divided down the centre by three islands, charmingly wooded. The surrounding mountains are high, and at the north-easterly end rises Whiteface, nearly, if not quite, 5,000 feet in height, the lower portion clad in deciduous trees, the middle in spruce, and the upper rising bare and white, with a great slide of many hundred feet extending from the top toward the lake, and marking out the steep pathway by which the ascent must be made. Bennet's Pond is about a mile and a half long, and half a mile broad. Bennet is a contraction of Benedict—Benedictus—Blessèd—and never, surely, did blue expanse of limpid crystal better merit the appellation—Lake of the Blessèd. Its shores are gently sloping, and beyond the nearer hills rise the giant summits of the highest peaks. These two sheets of water are within a quarter of a mile of each other, but have no communication, and are divided by a ridge of land, chiefly cleared, from whose top the view is as beautiful as any view from the same elevation to be obtained in America. To the north lies Lake Placid, with its shining waves, its islands, and the stately Whiteface; and to the south, the heaven-reflecting Lake of the Blessèd, crowned by the noble dome of Tahawus, and his splendid retinue, Colden, McMartin, McIntire, Wallface, Dial Mountain, Nipple Top, and Moriah. To the east and west are wooded hills, completing the panorama, and enclosing a scene as enchanting as any single one the writer ever looked upon.

The following day our host, who had meantime returned, drove us down through the Wilmington Pass to Upper Jay, and thence through Keene to the Keene Flats, a distance in all of between twenty and twenty-five miles.

The Wilmington Pass, though not so rough and rugged as its far-famed rival, the Indian Pass, is far more beautiful, and quite as majestic. The great cliffs overhanging the road, and the swift Au Sable, the fine rapids, and the fall of over a hundred feet, the noble views of Whiteface and the dark, steep peaks rising round it, all combine to render this one of the most impressive mountain chasms we have ever visited. After passing through the defile, we left the West Branch of the Au Sable, and crossed a low ridge to Upper Jay, where we again came upon the East Branch, and ploughed our way through heavy sands to Keene, where we dined, and whence the road up the valley to the Keene Flats becomes firmer and less tedious. The way was bordered by rich fields of grass and grain, potatoes in abundance, flax in pale azure flower, and acres blue with the beautiful campanula or harebell. At the inn in Keene we met our rebellious friend Spart, who, having tired of his chase, had returned to his former headquarters.

Toward the 'Flats,' five miles above Keene, the intervale grows narrower, and the bordering mountains become loftier, wilder, and correspondingly more grand. Dix's Peak towers above the southern extremity of the valley.

We passed the night at a comfortable farmhouse, there being no inn at the 'Flats,' and the following morning were driven back to Elizabethtown, with the increased store of information, health, and admiration for the Adirondac country we had amassed during our three and a half days' scouting excursion.

MOUNT TAHAWUS

The beginning of August found us once more housed under the neat roof of our farmer host at the Keene Flats, and not only Elsie and myself, but also sundry friends, drawn thither by our praise of the beauty of the land and the fineness of the air. There were the brilliant M. W. C., learned in all philosophical lore, and with feeling and imagination sufficient to furnish out half a dozen poets; the staid but energetic M. T., whose portrait in our gallery occupies, a conspicuous place in the small niche devoted to model women; the gay and witty A. I., whose blue eyes imperil so many hearts, but whose frank, keen speech quickly puts to rout all popinjays and useless danglers; also E. B. C. (our Diogenes), a faithful knight from Caissa's thoughtful train, a rapid walker and sharp thinker; and last, a merry little four-year-old, whose quaint sayings are heeded and treasured as if emanations from Delphos or Dodona. Our Orpheus had gone to Saranac.

Our purpose was to visit the Au Sable Ponds, with the waterfalls in their neighborhood, and to ascend Mount Tahawus; but alas! for weather! The haze settled down so thickly that the nearest hills were undistinguishable. A violent thunder storm came, but brought no relief. Desperate, we thought we might at least see the ponds and the falls, and early one hazy morning started off with strong wagon, stout horses, and careful driver. The distance to the Lower Pond is seven miles—three excellent, and four so execrable that nearly all our party preferred walking to the jolting over rocks and stumps and ploughing through rich, deep forest mould, dignified by the name of driving. This is a new road, just opened, and the intention is, we believe, to work it into better shape as rapidly as possible. The intervale ceases at the end of the first three miles, where the road leaves the Au Sable and winds up a hill to the last clearing, whence the view to the blasted, riven sides of Mount Moriah, towering opposite, is wonderfully grand. Thousands of acres of bare rock, scarred and lined, and apparently nearly perpendicular, form the western slope of that gaunt giant. The road soon after passes the cabin of one of the oldest pioneers of the region, crosses Gill Brook, on which are some charming cascades, and, through a noble forest of beech, basswood, maple, birch, and some evergreens, finds its way to the lofty shores of the Lower Pond. Arrived there, the haze was thicker than ever, giving to view only the sparkling waters at our feet, and the nearest mountains, whose craggy sides overhang the lake. To cap the climax, a fishing party had carried off both boats, so that a nearer acquaintance with the Lower Pond was impossible, and the Upper could not be seen at all—these ponds forming no exception to the general Adirondac rule, that any sheet of water navigable for boats requires no road upon its bank. And indeed, a road round this Lower Pond would be a considerable undertaking, the shores are so steep and high, the rocks often rising perpendicularly from the water. Crossing the great dam at the outlet, our guide led us through tangled patches of magnificent wild raspberries, 'through brake and through briar,' to the opening of a narrow gorge through which poured a small stream. Climbing up over the rocks and bowlders, we soon reached the end of the chasm, where we were enchanted by the spectacle of the most fairy-like and peculiar waterfall we had ever beheld. The Cascade Brook here falls over a precipice of about 150 feet. The little stream at this point makes a right-angled turn, and thus is built up an opposing wall of equal height. The chasm is so deep and narrow, that the water, descending in a silvery veil, seems flowing from the clouds. A heavy fringe of trees bordering the top, adds to the mystery and the apparent elevation. The campanula, as is usual with this delicate blossom, hangs out its blue bella and slender foliage from every jutting cornice and earth-filled cranny. Below, the water has worn away a series of steep, narrow steps, and comes leaping and foaming down, as if a magic wand had touched the rocks, and at each touch a springing fountain had gushed forth.

On our way back to the 'Flats,' we went a mile off the main road, to visit another fall on Roaring Brook. The precipice here is some 250 feet in height. A great slide has bared the rock for many yards on either side of the fall, which has worn deep grooves for its passage, and clings to the face of the mountain, as if it feared to lose itself amid the savagery of the surrounding desolation. Here, as in all the neighboring region, are plainly visible the terrible effects of the great freshet of October 1st, 1856. We were told that, in the vicinity of this fall, neither the heavy rain nor the rushing waters could for a time be heard, only the rattling and battering of stones, as if the Titans had again taken to pelting the poor earth with whatever of rock and bowlder they could lay their hands upon. The State dam at the outlet of the lower Au Sable broke down, and the freed lake rushed out through the valley, over the meadows, carrying away bridges, dams, mills, houses, and whole fields of earth, with their crops. The Au Sable River rose three feet in fifteen minutes, and many persons perished before aid could reach them. Bowlders, rocks, trees, stumps, and timber were whirled along by the boiling flood. Bowlders of six feet in diameter were afterward found lying twenty feet above the bed of a brook where trout had been caught before the freshet. They had been brought down stream some forty rods, and piled one above another. The effects of the rise were felt all the way to the mouth of the river, the high stone bridge at Keeseville being the only one on the whole course left standing, and that, to this day, bearing a stone inscription marking the almost incredible height to which the water rose on that eventful first of October. The inhabitants of the region sued the State for damages; but as the dam had been constructed in consequence of a petition of sundry of those inhabitants, for the purpose of running logs down the river at all seasons, the court decided that the State was not responsible for the consequences. John's Brook, which flows into the Au Sable near the farmhouse at which we stayed, bears wild marks of this desolating freshet; indeed, one can scarcely credit the fact that the pretty little stream and smoothly purling river could ever have met in such desperate conflict as is evidenced by the scars and rifts still existing near their confluence.

This John's Brook, by the way, is the shortest route up Mount Tahawus, the entire distance from the 'Flats' being only ten miles. As the greater number of visitors, however, desire to see the Au Sable Ponds en passant, no path has been 'bushed out,' and that mode of ascent is practicable only for hunters or woodsmen familiar with the region.

At length a 'wind blew out of the north, chilling and killing' that terrible haze, and rendering the prospect of a distant view at least possible. Tahawus loomed up before the mind's eye clear and majestic. Such an invitation being irresistible, the little party were soon ready for their journey, said party consisting of Elsie, E. B. C., and Lucy D., with three guides—an old pioneer, short, slight, weather-beaten, and sun-browned, a younger aspirant for scouting honors, tall, handsome, and athletic, and a novice, making his first ascent of the kingly mountain, but offering a pair of broad shoulders that promised to do good service in the bearing of the necessary packs. Each guide carried his own axe, blanket, and provisions, and, in addition, his share of our united baggage, which consisted of a thick Mexican blanket, four shawls, two heavy and two lighter, a woollen cap, a water-proof cloak with hood, one overcoat, two loaves of bread, a small piece of salt pork, a little can of butter, two or three pounds of maple sugar, a little bag of cornmeal, two pounds of crackers, the same quantity of chocolate, some tea, a small tin pail, a frying pan, three tin saucers, three knives, forks, and spoons. A pint of brandy and the same of whiskey were carried in flasks to meet emergencies of cold or weariness, and a canteen for water was also taken to serve as a pitcher, and to bear that refreshing element to heights where no springs could be hoped for. It will be seen that we had reduced our appliances to the smallest quantity compatible with proper warmth and nourishment, and the possibility of being detained out several days, perhaps, by stress of weather. We had at first thought india-rubber blankets indispensable, but having been advised against their use as conducive to rheumatism, and, besides, finding them difficult to procure, we started without, and certainly never missed them. The garments worn on such an excursion should, as far as practicable, all be woollen, and the shoes moderately thick, but not too heavy. A light umbrella will be found a useful addition in case of sudden rain or very hot sun. Each person will carry such toilet arrangements as he or she may deem necessary, only let them be as light as possible, every ounce on such a tramp soon becoming a matter of serious consequence.

We left the farmhouse at half past six in the morning, and drove in the wagon as far as the road was good, three miles, namely, to the last cabin on the way to the Au Sable Ponds. There our guides shouldered their packs, and our party was increased by the addition of 'Uncle David,' another ancient pioneer, who was to row us up the Lower Pond in a large Albany-built boat kept by him for that purpose. He talks of building a moderate-sized tenement at the lower end of the lake, for the accommodation of travellers. I doubt not it would be well patronized.

Now, our Diogenes does not use the lantern of his wit so much to seek out a thoroughly honest man, as to discover the honesty and good will pertaining to each individual specimen of the genus homo. The consequence is a series of pleasant results, people usually showing him whatever of good may be in them, and esteeming him proportionately. As Uncle David was discussing the amount of furniture required for his intended caravansary, he paused to ask if feather beds would be thought a necessity. Diogenes replied that 'every goose needing feathers could bring them on his own back,' which shaft took immensely, as proved by the loud guffaws and low chuckles that echoed through the beautiful forest whose branches shaded us from the August sun. His reputation as a wit of the first water was firmly established, and every pun and jest thereafter succeeding was crowned by the halo of this first success.

The four miles to the Pond were speedily and gayly accomplished, and there we took boat to cross the lake, Uncle David rowing us, and the good-humored, broad-shouldered 'novice,' the scow to be used for our return, in case we were not back at the time then supposed probable. 'Bill's' rowing was the source of much merriment, the strokes proving powerful, but the course amusingly devious. So little does it take to entertain people in the woods, who have laid aside grim behavior and questioning philosophies, and have for the nonce become veritable children of nature, knowing that this earth is beautiful and that God is good, and caring for little else.

The Lower Au Sable Pond is from one to two miles long, its banks are craggy, steep, and high, the general impression grand and somewhat desolate. The dam, by raising the water, has destroyed many of the trees along the shore, and filled the upper portion with driftwood, which blocks the channel and is altogether unsightly. There is a winter road, a mile in length, cut through the forest from the Lower to the Upper Pond. This road is so overgrown that in summer it is a mere pathway. The Upper Pond reached, we again embarked in a light boat, our young athlete rowing. Uncle David had quitted us at the upper lake. This row was not necessary, the path to Tahawus, or Mount Mercy, as our guides called it, turning off at a right angle from the lower end of the upper lake, but was taken to show us the inexpressibly lovely Upper Pond, and transport us to certain bark shanties presumed to offer excellent facilities for dining purposes. The lake is about two miles long, and one broad. Its shores are gently sloping, and wooded with splendid trees of the primeval forest, beech, birch, maple, and spruce. The soil is excellent, and the wild flowers and mosses are luxuriant and abundant. The steep rocks circling the Lower Pond are visible through a cleft, the singular, jagged ridge known as the Gothic Mountains is in full view, the sharp peak of the Haystack lifts its bare top far into the skies, the North River Mountain crowns the south, and graceful waving lines of wooded hill complete the circle; the clear water gives back the most wonderful reflections, and those 'ladies of the forest,' the white birches, could ask no more transparent mirror. There is nothing to mar the effect of the whole, no driftwood, no burnt patches, no ragged-looking clearing—all is harmonious and entirely satisfactory.

Our dinner was a light one. Indeed, our experience was, that while we required a substantial breakfast and supper, but little was needed in the middle of the day, and that little better cold than warm.

Returning in the boat to the end of the lake, we struck into the pathway to Tahawus, a track of hunters, marked by sable traps; and here began work in earnest. The pioneer took the lead, sweating and grumbling under his load, for the day was warm, and the sun but little over an hour past the meridian. Fortunately, he was not a very rapid walker, making only from two to two and a half miles per hour, so there was no danger of fatigue to any of the party, except to our Diogenes, who measures weariness by time and not by miles, walking more easily eight miles in two hours than in four.

On and up we went, ascending a gentle declivity until we came to a brook said to be two miles from the boat landing. There we cooled, rested, and drank of the fresh, clear water, before commencing the steep ascent of the Bartlett Mountain, a spur of the Haystack, needful to be crossed before reaching the actual foot of Tahawus. The ascent is some three quarters of a mile, and the descent on the other side about as far, but not nearly so steep or considerable. Thus, three and a half miles of walking, through a dense forest, with no view out except an occasional glimpse of the Haystack, the Skylight, or the side of Tahawus, brought us from the lake to the basin of the 'Mount Marcy stream.' The sun was still high in the heavens, and the bark shanties in the 'basin' having fallen in, rendering the construction of new ones imperatively necessary, we concluded to push on and build our camp somewhat nearer the top.

Descending the Bartlett Mountain, we made our first acquaintance with the renowned 'black fly' of the Adirondacs. We had heard so much of this pest, and seen so little of him, that we began to think his existence somewhat mythical, in short, a traveller's tale, invented by men to keep women from venturing beyond the well-beaten track of ordinary journeying. At this, our second halt, however, he assaulted us so vigorously that we were glad to take refuge in the smoke of a smudge our guides had lost no time in making. For the benefit of the uninitiated, we may here explain that a smudge is a fire of leaves or sticks slightly dampened to make a denser smoke, and intended as a safeguard against the attacks of black flies, midges, and mosquitoes, the two latter nuisances appearing in the evening, when the flies have finished their day's work. We saw the creatures, and found them somewhat troublesome (especially when, later in the day, they insisted upon spreading in with bread and butter), but suffered no pain or even inconvenience from their bite. This may have been owing to the lateness of the season, or to the non-inflammatory condition of our blood. Pests they are said to be, and doubtless are; but we think their general prevalence has been exaggerated, and they will be found chiefly beside watercourses, near lakes, and on damp, marshy ground. Fishermen are especially annoyed by them. If we intended to camp out for the mere pleasure of that kind of life, we would choose the season when the flies are supposed to have disappeared; but if we had any special object in view, such as the ascent of some particular mountain, or the sight of any remarkable natural feature of the land, we would not suffer ourselves, at any season, to be deterred by fear of the flies. Certain districts and certain conditions of atmosphere are doubtless especially favorable to their development, but the refuge, a thick smudge, is always at hand, or, if that be objected to, the traveller can try the recipe of an old hunter at the Adirondac Iron Works (where the creatures are said to be particularly rampant), namely, a coating of grease mixed with essence of penny-royal. We fear we would prefer the results of a vigorous attack to the use of this latter safeguard; but no one knows what he may do until he is well tried.