THE GIANT’S BEDCLOTHES
Everybody was awake early the next morning, and glad to get up, for
Tuckerman’s Ravine can be very cold, even in mid-July, and all the boys
had huddled together unconsciously in the night, for mutual warmth.
Art’s suggestion that they take a morning dip in the waters of the
Cutler River wasn’t hailed with much enthusiasm.
“You know, it doesn’t get exactly _warm_ in the mile between here and
where it comes out of the snow arch,” said Frank, with a shiver.
“I want a bath, all right,” said Peanut, “but I don’t want a
refrigerator for a bathroom and ice water in the tub. I’m no polar
bear. Let’s wait till we get to some other brook.”
“Gee, you’re a set of cold-foot Scouts!” Art taunted.
“And we don’t want ’em any colder,” laughed Lou.
“Why don’t _you_ go for a bath, Art?” asked Rob.
“It’s no fun all alone,” Art replied, rather sheepishly, while the rest
laughed.
The sun was not yet up as they got breakfast ready, and the valley
behind them and the ravine ahead were full of white mist. Only the
rocky pinnacle of the Lion’s Head to their right, and the cliffs of
Boott Spur to the left stood up above the vapor. The coffee smelled
good in the cold air, and Peanut toasted a great piece of Art’s bread,
and varied his breakfast by making himself scrambled eggs on toast as
a special treat. They broke camp as the sun was rising, and by the
time they had climbed into the floor of the ravine the shadow of the
Lion’s Head was beginning to climb down the cliffs of Boott Spur, and
in Pinkham Notch behind them they could see the billows of white mist
tossing and stirring, Lou said exactly as if a giant was sleeping
underneath, and tossing his bedclothes.
“That’s how Winthrop Packard, the bird expert, once described it,” said
Mr. Rogers.
When they reached the snow arch, the path swung to the right, and
ascended a pile of debris which had come down from the cliffs above.
When the path had surmounted the arch, it turned to the left, and
passed under the overhanging cliffs at the top of the head wall. It
was very steep and rough, and at one point was covered with snow, or,
rather, snow packed into ice. Here the going was extremely treacherous,
and the party moved slowly, with the utmost caution, using the staffs
on every step. But they got past without accident, and soon found
themselves at the top of the wall. At the top was a long sloping
“lawn,” leading to the summit cone, the “lawn” consisting of grasses
and flowers and moss between the gray stones. They were in full morning
sunlight for a few moments, and every stone on the summit pyramid stood
out sharp against the sky. But all the world below them, except the
tops of the surrounding mountains, was buried under the white vapor.
“Above the clouds!” cried Peanut.
“But not for long,” said Art. “Lou’s giant is picking up his bedclothes
and coming after us!”
Sure enough, as they looked back, they saw the white mist rising from
Pinkham Notch, sucking in through Tuckerman’s Ravine, and seeming to
follow them up the path. Already a wisp was curling over Boott Spur and
drifting slowly across the lawn.
“Ding it!” cried Peanut, “is it never clear on this old mountain? I’m
getting so I hate clouds. This path is none too easy to find as it is.”
“Well, let’s keep ahead of the giant, then,” Mr. Rogers said.
They walked on more rapidly, noting that the wind was actually from the
north, a gentle breeze, just strong enough to hold the rising vapors
back and let them keep ahead. Presently their path crossed a dim trail
which seemed to come from Boott Spur and lead northeastward toward the
Chandler Ridge. It was the Six Husbands’ Trail.
“Hooray, here’s old Six Husbands,” cried Peanut. “I sure want to go
over it, and also know where it got its name.”
“Where does it go to, anyhow?” somebody else asked.
They stopped for a moment to trace the trail on the map, finding that
it started at Boott Spur, skirted the cone of Washington on the south
and east, dipped into the bottom of the Great Gulf, and ascended the
shoulder of Jefferson, ending on the peak of that mountain.
“The last two miles up Jefferson must be some climb!” Art cried,
looking at the contour intervals--“right up like the wall of a house!”
“Let’s take it!” shouted Peanut.
“Perhaps we can take it, out of the Gulf,” Mr. Rogers answered. “But
now we’ve got to get to the Tip Top House. Don’t you want your copies
of _Above the Clouds_?”
“Gosh, I’d forgotten them,” said Peanut.
They resumed the climb, and were soon traveling more slowly, up the
steep summit cone. They could not see the top, and they could see
nothing below them because of the following mists. The path was merely
a dim trail amid the wild, piled up confusion of broken rocks. Before
they reached the end of it too, the clouds had reached them, and they
made the last few hundred yards enveloped in the giant’s bedclothes.
“Bet he was damp in ’em, too,” said Peanut.
The coach house and barn burst upon them suddenly, out of the fog.
The boys rushed at once up the steps to the Tip Top House, secured
their copies of _Above the Clouds_, and read Rob’s account of the
storm, which the editor had cut down till it was only half what Rob had
written, much to everybody’s indignation. While they were reading the
paper, buying sweet chocolate and sending post-cards home, the clouds
thinned out on the summit, and when, at eight o’clock, they again
stepped out-of-doors, there seemed to be every prospect of a splendid
day, with a gentle northerly wind to cool the air.
“Now, our objective point is the Madison Hut, over there to the
northeast at the base of the summit cone of Madison,” said Mr. Rogers.
“We’ll spend the night in the hut, and go down the next day to
Randolph, through King’s Ravine, and catch a train home. There are two
ways of getting there. One is to go over the Gulf Side Trail, along the
summit ridge of the north peaks, the other, and much the harder way, is
to descend into the Great Gulf and climb up again, either by the Six
Husbands’ Trail, the Adams Slide Trail, or the trail up Madison from
the Glen House.”
“Me for old Six Husbands!” cried Peanut.
“I want to go along the tops,” said Lou, “where you can see off all the
time.”
“So do I,” said Frank.
“I’m for Peanut and the Six Husbands,” said Art.
“Suppose we split for the day,” Rob suggested. “I’ll go with one half,
and you go with the other, Mr. Rogers.”
The Scout Master looked at the sky and the horizon. The day held every
promise of fine weather, and he assented. “All right,” he said, “I’ll
take Lou and Frank over the north peaks, and you take the others down
the head wall of the Gulf, past Spaulding Lake and the Gulf camp, to
the Six Husbands’ Trail, and then come directly up that to the Gulf
Side Trail near the cone of Jefferson. When you reach the Gulf Side
Trail, if the weather is clear, leave your packs by the path, and go on
up to the top of Jefferson and signal to us. We’ll be waiting on the
top of Adams, at four o’clock. If it’s not clear, come right along the
Gulf Side to the hut.”
“Hooray! Signaling from one mountain peak to another! That’s going
some!” cried Peanut.
“But why wait till four?” asked Art. “According to the map, we haven’t
more than eight miles to go, half of it down-hill.”
Mr. Rogers smiled, “We’ll leave it at four o’clock, though,” he
answered. “If you think you can beat that schedule, all right. Maybe
we’ll be on Adams earlier.”
The party now went down the steps to the carriage road, and swung along
down that for a quarter of a mile. Then they turned off to the left
by the Gulf Side Trail, and walking over the rough stones with grass
between drew near the head wall of the Great Gulf. Soon they were
at it. The Great Gulf is a gigantic ravine between the huge eastern
shoulder of Mount Washington, called the Chandler Ridge, and the three
northern peaks of Madison, Adams and Jefferson. Mount Clay, the fourth
of the north peaks, and the one next to Washington, is almost a part of
the head wall of the Gulf. The Gulf sides are very precipitous, and as
the boys looked across it to the shoulder of Jefferson, where the Six
Husbands’ Trail ascends, Lou and Frank began to laugh.
“Glad _we_ haven’t got to climb that to-day!” they cried.
“Lazy stiffs,” said Peanut. “What’s that! A mere nothing!” But he
grinned dubiously, even as he spoke.
“Well, we’re in for it now,” said Rob, “so come on.”
“Oh, I’m coming,” Peanut replied.
“Now, Rob, one last word,” said the Scout Master. “I’m giving you the
map. Follow the trails agreed on, and promise me not to leave ’em,
even for a dozen feet. You are entering unknown country, and dangerous
country. Go straight down past the Gulf camp, and you’ll pick up the
Six Husbands about a quarter of a mile below--maybe less. Goodbye.
Signal, if clear, when you get to Jefferson. If worst comes to worst,
go back to the Gulf camp, or if you are on the range, go to the shelter
hut just east of Jefferson, on the Adams-Jefferson col.”
Mr. Rogers, Lou and Frank waved their hands as they watched the other
three plunge over the edge of the head wall, and begin to descend the
two thousand feet of precipitous rock pile which dropped down to where
Spaulding Lake lay like a mirror amid the trees at the bottom of the
Great Gulf. Then they shouldered packs again, and set out toward the
three summits of Clay, just ahead of them, the first stage of their
journey over the north peaks to the Madison Hut. The morning was clear
and fine now, and they could see for miles upon miles out over green
valleys and far blue mountains, while the rocky pyramids of Jefferson,
Adams and Madison ahead of them, rising about five hundred feet above
the connecting cols, seemed near enough, almost, to hit with a stone,
though actually the nearest, Jefferson, was two miles away.
“We’ve got nearly all day for a six mile hike,” the Scout Master said.
“Let’s take it easy and enjoy the view.”
So we will leave them climbing slowly up the slope of Clay, and descend
the Gulf with Rob, Art and Peanut.