Up Sterling 



bedtime. But you generally live to try it 

 and be undeceived. 



My plan was to cross the river by a cer- 

 tain fallen tree which I had discovered on 

 my last fishing excursion, strike directly 

 over the wooded ridge beyond, then cross 

 the great clearing visible from the village 

 cemetery, and plunge into the wide fringe 

 of woods around Sterling's base. From 

 that point I would trust for direction to the 

 rise of the land and my compass. When I 

 reached the mountain itself, it would simply 

 be a scramble, I admitted, for it was evident, 

 even from a distance, that Sterling on the 

 northeast side was decidedly "straight up." 



The tree that bridged the river for me 

 had been blown down during a September 

 thunderstorm. It lay directly across the 

 channel, leaving about twenty feet of shal- 

 low water to be waded, after one was com- 

 pelled to slide from its tapering trunk into 

 the stream. However, I count no mountain 

 excursion complete or for that matter pos- 

 sible without wet feet, and was perfectly 

 willing to comply with this condition at the 

 outset. 



Scarcely had I crossed the river when my 

 171 



