IN THE CATSKILLS 



to fetch some water, and to make my toilet. The 

 leaves of the mountain goldenrod, which everywhere 

 covered the ground in the opening, were covered 

 with frozen particles of vapor, and the scene, shut 

 in by fog, was chill and dreary enough. 



We were now not long in squaring an account with 

 Slide, and making ready to leave. Round pellets of 

 snow began to fall, and we came off the mountain 

 on the 10th of June in a November storm and tem- 

 perature. Our purpose was to return by the same 

 valley we had come. A well-defined trail led off 

 the summit to the north; to this we committed our- 

 selves. In a few minutes we emerged at the head 

 of the slide that had given the mountain its name. 

 This was the path made by visitors to the scene; 

 when it ended, the track of the avalanche began ; 

 no bigger than your hand, apparently, had it been 

 at first, but it rapidly grew, until it became several 

 rods in width. It dropped down from our feet 

 straight as an arrow until it was lost in the fog, 

 and looked perilously steep. The dark forms of the 

 spruce were clinging to the edge of it, as if reaching 

 out to their fellows to save them. We hesitated on 

 the brink, but finally cautiously began the descent. 

 The rock was quite naked and slippery, and only on 

 the margin of the slide were there any boulders to 

 stay the foot, or bushy growths to aid the hand. As 

 we paused, after some minutes, to select our course, 

 one of the finest surprises of the trip awaited us: 

 178 



