IN THE CATSKILLS 



light and brief, and we were soon under way again. 

 Three hours from the forks brought us out on the 

 broad level back of the mountain upon which Slide, 

 considered as an isolated peak, is reared. After a 

 time we entered a dense growth of spruce which 

 covered a slight depression in the table of the moun- 

 tain. The moss was deep, the ground spongy, 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 water 

 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 

 ourselves 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 yellow birch, mountain-ash, and 

 spruce and fir opposed our progress. The ascent at 

 164 



