THE ADIRONDACKS
Whoever passes through the Green mountains and arrives at
Burlington in the evening of a fair day will he rewarded by one
of the most beautiful views of natural scenery the world has to
offer. The outlook from the hilltop here is enchanting. Looking
westward you see the beautiful expanse of Lake Champlain, dotted
with numerous islands that stretch away to the purple wall of
the Adirondacks, whose summits are outlined by a bright golden
light which slowly ascends and diffuses along the horizon as if
striving to linger around the loveliness below. The sun
disappears, leaving an ocean of flame where he passes, and the
fleecy clouds which swim in the ether look down at their images
in the lake. Here you behold the Green mountains, showing
majestically against the sky. They are clothed in soft blue
veils, as lovely as any that Italian mountains can boast. The
highest peaks of the range, Mount Mansfield and Camel's Hump,
thrust their outlines like purple silhouettes against their
glowing background.
William Dean Howells, standing with a friend on the shore of the
Bay of Naples, remarked that he considered one scene in the
world more beautiful than that upon which they were gazing--Lake
Champlain and the Adirondacks, as seen from Burlington.
Morning came bright and clear; a cool breeze waved the clinging
foliage of birch and elm, rippling the lake near the shore and
tossing the waves far out on its bosom, which gleamed white
along their crests. This was the real Lake Champlain, for it is
a very turbulent mass of water and rarely presents a picture of
such calm and quiet beauty as we beheld on the preceding
evening. Numerous islands, "each fair enough to have keen the
Garden of Eden," seen through the level rays of the morning sun,
formed a glorious veil of color. Dark green arbor vitae trees
grew near their edges; nearer still the elm and willows flung
down their lighter masses of foliage to the water, and birch
gleamed silvery white against their shadowy background.
"After the French had built Fort Saint Anne on Isle la Motte a
party of men went out in search of game. They crossed the lake
in a southwesterly direction and were surprised by a band of
Mohawk Indians, who took some of the white men prisoners, and
killed Captain de Traversy and Sieur de Chasy." The place where
they were killed has since been known as Chasy's landing. We
crossed a long causeway, which led to the landing, where we took
the ferry across to Chasy. The first auto on the boat was from
Massachusetts, followed by "another Nash" from New Hampshire;
then Ohio filled the middle space of the boat, and was followed
by a horse and buggy; as neither bore a license, we could not
tell the state from which they came. The distance to Chasy was
about one mile, and we were soon on our way to Plattsburg.
Fields of ripening wheat, oats, alfalfa and buckwheat, all
divided by stone fences into squares and triangles, began to
appear. Meadows in which Holstein cattle were grazing dotted the
low ranges of foothills that spread away until lost in blue
distance.
Between the Adirondack mountains in New York state and the Green
mountains of Vermont on the shore of Lake Champlain, in the
heart of Champlain valley, lies the historic town of Plattsburg.
It is noted in recent years as the home of the "Plattsburg
Idea," the movement for universal military training inaugurated
by Major General Leonard Wood, through the establishment at
Plattsburg in the summer of 1915 of the first summer camp of
military instruction for the regular army. It was noon when we
arrived here, and we found that quite a few had adopted the
idea, for a long line of hungry khaki-clad men were awaiting
their turn at the mess hall.
The first battle of Lake Champlain occurred near here as early
as 1609, when Samuel de Champlain, with two other white men, led
the Algonquins and Hurons in an attack upon their enemies, the
Mohawks. A British and American naval engagement, October 11,
1776, resulted in victory for the British. September 11, 1814,
the last naval battle between English speaking peoples was
fought here, known as the Battle of Plattsburg Bay.
Eight miles south of Plattsburg is located the Alaskan silver
fox farm, which is the largest in the United States. This farm
comprises forty acres and contains one hundred silver foxes. It
is open to visitors from July to September.
The road leading to this farm passes through one of most
picturesque of all the Adirondack regions. As we made our way
across the beautiful Ausable valley we beheld an enchanting
scene spread out around us. Green meadows sloped up to wooded
heights and fields of grain like golden lakes flashed in the
sunlight. The hills became more rugged as we wound our way among
them. Farmers were loading hay in the meadows, through which
streams glistened as they slipped over their sinuous stone-
strewn bottoms. Groups of cattle stood knee-deep in the meadow
brooks, or rested beneath the shade of elms and willows. In the
center of the picture, disclosing its bends and reaches, Ausable
river flowed on its way to Lake Champlain. In places its waters
were almost hidden by grape vines that clambered and twisted
around bush and tree, forming "Laocoon groups" in which they
were hopelessly intertwined.
Far beyond the valley sharp summits and irregular ridges printed
their bold outlines on the sky. Nearer were farms, groves, and
hills, with now and then a placid lake which caught the color of
the sky and mirrored it back to us. But our eyes were fastened
upon the grand summits and pinnacles that rose dreamy and silent
through the summer haze, beckoning us on to those enchanted
realms we were soon to behold. Old White Face reared his
colossal pyramid above the woods and waved his dull white banner
from afar. Soon we entered higher hills, where giant maples
threw their cooling shadows across the road and a faint breeze
made the balsam boughs breathe and sigh. The road became more
sinuous and the hills more grand and imposing. Over the notched
summits of the clustered peaks the outlines of thunder heads,
luminous and edged with gold, appeared through the blue haze.
At length a broad summit rising against another one still
taller, broke suddenly above the foliage where the amber colored
falls of Ausable river saluted us. We were in the midst of one
of the finest pieces of natural scenery in the eastern United
States. We were only fifteen miles from Lake Champlain, but what
a change! Here in Ausable chasm we beheld one of the many
natural wonders of the Adirondack region. The Ausable river at
this point flows through a tortuous channel two miles in length.
A rustic walk with many bridges and stairways has been built
along the chasm, passing all the wild beauty spots in the gorge.
The silvery babble of water passing over rocks, mingled with the
gurgling liquid notes of the woodthrush.
The sides of the canyon in places were vast streets of ferns,
moss and vines, which resembled cataracts of varying shades of
green or great pieces of hanging tapestry inwrought with rare
designs of woodland flowers. We could stay in so romantic a spot
many days, for in a short time we had seen paintings; read
poems, heard the silvery tongues of running brooks, and ringing
texts from the sermons in stone. We only tarried long enough to
pass up the gorge and view Rainbow falls, which drop seventy
feet to the rock below. To the opposite bank from this we made
our way and were amply repaid by a commanding view of the
tumbling waters. The rays of the sun falling upon this sheet of
water produced an exquisite effect. Here from the thick-growing
shrubbery as we watched the amber waters concentrate for their
fall, and break into silken streamers of irised spray, we knew
they had been appropriately named "Rainbow Falls."
We recalled many a cascade among the Alps, where from remote
heights the small avalanches of snowy water form comet-like
streamers of rarest beauty. We saw again the shimmering rainbow
mist of others more remote, whose murmurs died away in the
gloomy depth of some Italian forest.
Soon we were gazing at distant peaks that had such a savage
aspect as to again call forth comparisons. Balsam fir, pine,
hemlock, maple, birch, and beech were the principal forest
trees. Lakes gleamed like silver mirrors in the lap of wild
rugged hills that stretched far away. We saw huge rocks that had
fallen from above as if shattered in the original upheaval of
the range, presenting sharp, forcible outlines and rugged facets
of shadow so striking in comparison with the flowing outlines of
the Catskills or Blue Ridge. The road wound back and forth as it
climbed the stony wilderness and soon unfolded to our view a
picture of utter desolation. We had just emerged from a stretch
of road lined as far as the eye could see on either side with
ash, hemlock, birch, beech, and balsam fir. Here we rested among
cool shadows, where beautifully fronded ferns rose all about.
Weary pedestrians had fallen asleep beneath their cooling
shadows and groups of boy scouts pitched their tents along this
highway.
Our eyes fell upon a sign that read like this: "A careless
smoker caused the fire that destroyed thousands of acres of
these forests. You love the forests. Help keep them green by
being careful about your fires." Looking forward we beheld a
vast and awful scene of desolation. Miles and miles on either
side of the road stretched that sea of blackened stumps and
charred logs where once the evergreens rose heavenward with all
their wealth of whispering leaves. Blackened stubs rose all
around as if they were huge exclamation points or pointing
fingers of accusation at the carelessness and thoughtlessness of
one individual.
Carelessness! How that word rang in our ears as we journeyed
through this lonely region, with all its grandeur and beauty
gone! Here we realized the kindly and beneficent influence of
streams and trees upon mountain scenery. True, mountains may be
grand without forests, but it is the grandeur of death we behold
in the vast untrodden fields of the show-clad Alps. Forests and
streams give life, fragrance, and beauty to those rough forms as
a pure soul adds beauty to the countenance of man. Only heated
waves of air rose from the fiery rocks and road around us, whose
shimmering lines made a fit perspective to such a scene. No
mossy rock where one could sit and listen to the singing birds;
no ancient trees through which the fragrant west wind could sing
its songs of rest and contentment; no purifying river where it
was once so pleasant for man to linger before going back to the
heat and smoke of the city; all because of one man's
carelessness. How much of sorrow and crime is in that word; what
failures, what wrecks of humanity stranded along the steep
precipice of that mountain.
Who would even want to climb those blackened summits? The
elevation would only make the view more terrible. The thousands
of travellers who pass this way were all affected by these
unsightly monuments to one man's carelessness, proving that "Man
liveth not to himself alone."
As we emerged from that scene of heat and desolation, a prayer
trembled upon every lip and its only theme was, "Lord, help us
to be careful."
What an awful spectacle that vast stretch of burning forest must
have presented! We shall quote from Headley, who witnessed such
a scene in these mountains: "One night the whole mountain was
wrapped in a fiery mantle, a mighty bosom of fire from which
rose waving columns and lofty turrets of flame. Trees a hundred
feet high and five and six and eight feet in circumference, were
on fire from the root to the top. Vast pyramids of flame, now
surging in eddies of air that caught them, now bending as if
about to yield the struggle, then lifting superior to the foe
and dying, martyr-like, in the vast furnace. Shorn of their
glory, their flashing, trembling forms stood crisping and
writhing in the blaze till, weary of their long suffering, they
threw themselves with a sudden and hurried sweep on the funeral
pile around. From the noble pine to the bending sprout, the
trees were aflame, while the crackling underbrush seemed a fiery
network cast over the prostrate forms of the monarchs of the
forest. When the fire caught a dry stump, it ran up the huge
trunk like a serpent, and coiling around the withered branches,
shot out its fiery tongue as if in mad joy over the raging
element below; while ever and anon came a crash that
reverberated far away in the gorges--the crash of falling trees,
at the overthrow of which there went up a cloud of sparks and
cinders and ashes. Sweeping along its terrible path, the tramp
of that conflagration filled the air with an uproar like the
bursting of billows on a rocky shore."
Across a narrow valley gigantic boulders seemed to have
accumulated and formed masses that appeared to be slowly
creeping downward. Farther away we beheld the serrated mountains
breaking into the wildest confusion of pinnacles, which rose
above the forest and relieved their masses of vivid green tints
like ruined castles along the Rhine, clothing them with an
atmosphere of age. Far up as the eye could reach, the broken
rocks were piled in huge chaos. "Here as your eye sweeps over
these fragments of a former earthquake, your imagination recalls
that remote period when the mountains were split like lightning-
riven oaks, and the great peaks swayed like trees in a blast and
the roar of a thousand storms rolled away from the yawning gulf,
into which precipices and forests went down with a deafening
crash as of a falling world."
The rugged sides of mountains often gave us views on almost as
grand a scale as that of the Alps. Only there, height above
height, rise those rocky ramparts where snowy cascades leap
hundreds of feet, then leap again where those chaotic and
fantastic rocks and immeasurable sweep of terraced hills stretch
away like another world. You will ever remember the Gorge du
Loup with its seven-arched viaduct and stream of vivid green and
the white foam that pours between its piers. On the road which
leads from Nice to the town of Grasse, where are located the
famous perfumeries, you will pass orange orchards, flower farms,
and charming meadows with patches of wild broom lying iii vast
sheets of gold. The dark gray rocks are filled with pits and
holes, and when viewed from a distance resemble the homes of the
cliff dwellers. The views here are frowning and awesome.
As you near the Gorge du Loup you will see Gourdon perched far,
far up on its rocky throne, whose gray, weatherbeaten buildings
give to this wild scenery an infinite charm. You are sure that
you never can reach this far-distant town, but are agreeably
surprised when you gaze at the vastness of the gray, sterile
mountain sides you have left. Far below you the terraced
vineyards rise in emerald waves against their silvery background
of century-old olives.
Yet we have experienced almost as strong emotions of vagueness,
terror, sublimity, strength, and beauty while gazing upon the
vast panorama of groups and clusters of chaotic peaks that
stretch away in almost endless variety of form in confused and
disorderly arrangement. Here almost interminable forests are
only interrupted with beautiful lakes that now and then peep
from their hiding places in vast expanse of forest-crowned
wilderness. But here is beauty as well as grandeur. "Those three-
months European travelers who hurry through our lowlands by
steam and perhaps take a night boat up the Hudson, Lake
Champlain, or St. Lawrence and presume to belittle our natural
scenery, are not the most reliable persons in the world."
Let them go to the summit of Mount Marcy on a clear day and look
out over the magnificent panorama spread out before them, and
they will not say we have no natural scenery worth viewing in
the Atlantic States from Canada to New Orleans, except Niagara
and Burlington. Here in every direction countless summits pierce
the sky, and the unnumbered miles of forests that clothe with
green garments the ridges and slopes of this vast wilderness,
who can ever forget them? How wonderful are these wild and
rugged scenes, still fresh from the hand of God! Call us idle
triflers if you will, but we shall ever try to read the messages
from these stone pages from the book of God, where all day long
the breezes whisper messages fuller of meaning than any lines
from the hand of man.
But to return to the view from the mountain peak, glorious,
indeed, is the scene spread out below you from Mount Marcy. How
unlike the Alps is the prospect you obtain from its summit.
True, you will see no snow-capped peaks and shining glaciers,
but what a chaos of gray and green mountains extend as far as
the eye can reach.
One writer gives this vivid description of the scene that meets
the enraptured gaze of the traveler here: "It looked as if the
Almighty had once set this vast earth rolling like the sea; and
then, in the midst of its maddest flow, bid all the gigantic
billows stop and congeal in their places, and there they stood,
just as He froze them grand and gloomy. There was the long
swell, and there the cresting, bursting billow--and there, too,
the deep, black, cavernous gulf." Those in our country who think
only the Alps and Apennines can inspire awe and veneration
should force their way through thick fir, dwarf evergreen and
deep moss to the top of Mount Marcy, where it pushes its rocky
forehead high into the heavens. Here in these beautiful wild
regions you will find lakes over whose waters you may glide in a
canoe, whose forest-clad shores seem never to have been marred
by the axe of civilization. Here as the sun sinks to repose amid
these purple mountains, and the last rays of light on their
waters seem like sheets of fluid gold, and the lonely cry of the
loon breaks the solitude, you too will feel that you do not need
to go to Europe for natural mountain beauty when such glorious
scenes lie spread out before you.
We shall never forget our first impression of Lake Colder,
perfectly embosomed among the gigantic mountains which rise it
all their wild and savage grandeur around it. What absolute
freedom and absence of conventional forms are found here by him
who loves Nature as God made it.
Toward Canada stretches the vast expanse of Lake Champlain with
its numerous islands, while along the eastern horizon the
distant Green mountains lift their granite summits, at whose
bases the charming city of Burlington lies dreamily silent
beneath its smoky veil. Far away to the north and west repose
many lakes. Some lie dark and silent beneath the shadows of
their guarding mountains, others reflect the shy above in
silvery blue sheen as if to cheer this vast and lonely solitude.
How your thoughts reach out toward the Infinite as the wondrous
vision unrolls before you! This interminable mass of different
shades of green and gray presents one of the most beautiful
scenes your eye ever gazed upon.
No wonder Christ gave to the world his glorious lessons from a
mountain top; in which he urged the disciples to be worthy
examples to their fellow men. Up in these everlasting hills,
where He has manifested His wonderful power and left a symbol of
His omnipotence, we can draw nearer the Creator than elsewhere.
How puny, how insignificant seems man and all his works out here
in these unbounded solitudes! "I will lift up mine eyes to the
hills from whence cometh my help," chants the psalmist.
Wandering among these glorious hills that rise above the distant
horizon, or stretch away in endless majesty from you, as your
heart swells over the thrilling scene, you too shall feel the
presence of a great and mighty power, and realize in part what
the psalmist meant.
We passed through the town of Schroon Lake, situated along a
picturesque sheet of water bearing the same name, which lies to
the west of Kayaderrossera range. It has been compared by some
to Lake Como. On one side a bold mountain rears its green wall,
while the shores slope down to it as if eager to behold their
lovely forms in its crystal water. In places it is very narrow
and its windings seem more like a great river than a lake. It is
fed by Schroon river, along which are Schroon falls. Numerous
tents peeped from their guarding trees along its banks. How we
rejoiced in the refreshing shade of the forests and vistas,
revealing this "gleaming pearl set in emeralds," as some one has
appropriately called it. Its water is very pure and cold, and
fishermen will find ample compensation for all the time they
spend here, even though few fish are caught. Its crystal waters
are dotted with green islands.
The name Schroon was given this lake by the early French
settlers at Crown Point in honor of Madam Scarron, the widow of
a celebrated French dramatist and novelist, Paul Scarron. Along
the margin of this lake we saw a Sunday-school teacher who had
brought his class of boys for an outing. What lessons these
growing lads will imbibe from the beauty of Nature around them.
How can they help but think of the Creator when they dwell so
near the primal source of life. The crystal waters of the lake
will teach them purity, the leaves of the trees will rustle
messages of self-denial, and the majestic mountains will speak
to them of endurance and courage, a religion which dwells in
Nature until they, "like Moses, will see in the bushes the
radiant Deity and know they are treading on holy ground."
Wonderfully rich in lakes is this charming mountain region. No
other country is blessed with greater numbers of lovely lakes
than North America. Lake Placid, Echo, Loon, and a host of
others were encircled by green hills with sturdy evergreens,
graceful elms and scattered tents that framed them pleasantly.
Here amidst such sylvan beauty, where the air is rife with the
fragrance of birch and balsam, as you gaze at the Adirondacks
that lift their startling cliffs into the air, or farther along
the horizon stand bathed in a radiant glow, while a gold tangle
of sunset glitters among the white birch trees or casts a soft
sheen like the tints on a mourning dove's neck--pray tell me,
have you ever seen anything fairer than your own placid lakes?
On such evenings as these your thoughts will become as serene as
the lake and ripple now and then with a thousand vague, sweet
visions like its placid surface when dimpled by the leap of a
trout.
Morning here brings scenes almost as fair. Singing brooks flash
like silver across green valleys, the rays of the sun fall upon
the yellow and white birch boles that look mellow and rich as
"pillars of amber and gleaming pearl." The rocky ledges are
covered with lichens, ferns and mosses; myriads of campanula
look blue-eyed towards a bluer sky; and out over the lake white-
bellied swallows write poems of grace and beauty on the air. The
frescoes of dawn touch the tips of the eastern ranges whose
stern gray summits break into rosy flame.
We climbed to the summit of a towering mountain and a glorious
prospect met our view. Looking out over the billows of verdure
that seemed to be rolling down the mountains, we saw Lake
Placid, with its green islands, like a lovely painting in the
quiet morning light. Far as the eye can reach the forest-crowned
mountains stretched, now surging into summits, now sinking into
valleys, holding in their embrace the lovely Saranac lakes that
gleamed like the flashing of distant shields. Far beyond to the
south like a glittering mirror lay Tupper's lake, while farther
away the pointed pinnacles of the Adirondacks thrust themselves
boldly into the sky. Looking northward we beheld a lovely
cultivated region with meadows and grain fields. We also caught
sight of several towns, and glimpses of dark forests between the
billowy folds of other ranges, that melted into the sky. Like a
narrow band of light, Lake Champlain was just visible, while the
faint summits of the Green mountains with their misty veils
seemed like far, thin shadows.