42 HEART OF THE SOUTHERN CATSKILLS 



the light dim, the air hushed. The transition 

 from the open, leafy woods to this dim, silent, 

 weird grove was very marked. It was like the 

 passage from the street into the temple. Here 

 we paused awhile and ate our lunch, and 

 refreshed ourselves with Avater gathered from a 

 little well sunk in the moss. 



The quiet and repose of this spruce grove 

 proved to be the calm that goes before the 

 storm. As we passed out of it we came plump 

 upon the almost perpendicular battlements of 

 Slide. The mountain rose like a huge, rock- 

 bound fortress from this plain-like expanse. It 

 was ledge upon ledge, precipice upon precipice, 

 up which and over which we made our way 

 slowly and with great labor, now pulling our- 

 selves up by our hands, then cautiously finding 

 niches for our feet and zigzagging right and left 

 from shelf to shelf. This northern side of the 

 mountain was thickly covered with moss and 

 lichens, like the north side of a tree. This 

 made it soft to the foot and broke many a slip 

 and fall. Everywhere a stunted growth of yel- 

 low birch, mountain -ash, and spruce and fir 

 opposed our progress. The ascent at such an 

 angle with a roll of blankets on your back is 

 not unlike climbing a tree; every limb resists 

 your progress and pushes you back, so that 

 when we at last reached the summit, after 

 twelve or fifteen hundred feet of this sort of 

 work, the fight was about all out of the best of 

 us. It was then nearly two o'clock, so that we 

 had been about seven hours in coming seven 

 miles. 



