i 
[Jan. I, iSpS, 
Pamola» 
An Ascent of Mt, Katahdin, Maine. 
Pamola, ihn evil spirit of the mountain, has reigned 
many old men's ages, and the winds and clouds are his 
willing servitors at all times. The lightnings crash and 
the thunder rolls at his command; great clotids descend 
from the snow-capped peaks and envelop the imwcl- 
come visitor; stormy gusts assail him, and his wigwam 
is bombarded with great ice missiles until he flees in ter- 
ror from the anger of the offended spirit. At night the 
mountain sides are patrolled by Pamela's dogs, and woe 
to any unwary traveler who chances to be found there. 
When the enmity of the master of the mountain is in- 
curred, it were the wiser plan to stand not on the order 
of going, but to vacate. From the supreme peak of Mt. 
Katahdin Pamola often hurls great boulders down the 
mountain side, and the thunder of their mad, hurtling 
flight can be heard reverberating in the peaceful valleys 
for a great distance from the mountain. All these things 
were unknown to us, and from our ignorance we suf- 
fered much hardship. 
The legend of Pamola is an old one, and has been 
told arormd the fires in the homes of the Eastern 
tribes for many years, yet we children of the pale faces 
knew it not. And thus it was that we approached Ka- 
tahdin with laughter and with song, without due rever- 
ence to Pamola. With little thought of the hardships 
and terrors in store for those who fail to bow to the dark 
master of the mountain, we left Cloud Camp at noon one 
November day and began our climb up the Russell trail 
on the north side of Katahdin. Our mountain party 
was composed of Mr. and Mrs. Madison M. Tracy, of 
Staceyville, Me.; Miss Sybil Wilson, of Cherryfield, Mc; 
Miss Alice Young, of Sherman Mills, Me.; Mr. F. J. 
Tracy and Frank L. Tracy, of Staceyville, and Mr. and 
Mrs. F. E. Wolfe, of Somerville, Mass.; and our inten- 
tion was to climb Mt. Katahdin for the beautiful scenery, 
and incidentally some of us cherished secret hopes of 
caribou and moose. 
For a quarter of a mile the Russell trail is of compara- 
tively easy ascent, then comes a sharp rise, with a brief 
breathing spell at a flat place a few rods up, and after that 
just plain climbing. To a good woodsman a 6olb. pack 
is an easy burden over an ordinary trail path, but one 
soon feels a 5olb. "tufl'et" on a mountain trail. The ladies 
started bravely, with a small hand-bag and shoulder- 
strap. One of them volunteered to carry the camera and 
all started with jackets, and one or two shawls were 
taken. Before the first half mile was traversed four 
packs on as many strong pairs of shoulders were aug- 
mented by four hand-bags, sundry shawls, coats, and on 
one a camera and a frying-pan hung harmoniously side 
by side. 
Up the steep trail we climbed, through a forest of 
black growth — hemlock and spruce predominating. 
Beside the path grew ferns and arbutuses and mosses, 
over which the ladies breathed deep encomiums. Across 
the deep valley and up the side of Turner Mountain was 
a bright band of sunlight, but the crest was screened by 
a soft white cloud. We were not yet high enough, how- 
ever, to get even a glimpse of scenery, excepting the 
dark green patches on Turner's broad side. 
Mountain brooks, purling and cold, crossed our trail 
at intervals, and the tempting invitation to drink was sel- 
dom refused, A brief rest was taken now and then, but 
it was always followed by the toil up the steep incline. 
An hour of this work, and the singing and laughter was 
hushed; there was no surplus energy then. Besides it was 
chillier, a mist was settling down, and presently a cloud 
came around the mountain side, and the leaders were 
swallowed up in its damp folds, and we were momentar- 
ily separated from the slower climbers of the party. 
This was Pamela's first card: to lose us in a cloud. 
Ten minutes' climb in silence with the ranks well closed 
up brought us above the cloud, but owing to the density 
of the forest we could not see much of the sea of vapor as 
it floated down below us. There was no more sunlight 
now, and in a short time a few scattering drops told of 
the approaching rain. 
The wind howled dismally through the trees, and soon 
the rain came on in dead earnest. We decided that it 
would be the better plan to make camp and remain for 
the night. The mountain was so steep that there was 
no place where we could pitch the tent, had there been 
an open space to make camp. Therefore we were forced 
to push on up the trail and make camp at the first 
place where we should find a good "chance" for wood 
and water. 
Darkness was closing down on the mountain, the rain 
had turned to sleet, and the gusts of wind -carried the 
icy sheets in our faces with stinging force. The ladies 
showed signs of exhaustion, but never a word of com- 
plaint was uttered. 
At a turn in the trail we sighted a clearing ahead, and 
a few minutes' climb brought us to the open space, 
which proved to be a "blow-down," where great tree 
trunks were lying in a giant windrow along the mountain 
side. It was at once agreed that camp must be made 
there. Water was sure to be near at hand, and wood 
was at our feet. It was necessary to scoop out a level 
space on the slope for the tent. The fire was to be made in 
front of the small plateau, and in a few minutes we had 
the tent pitched and a fire feebly spluttering beside an 
Dry wood was scarce, but an old hemlock yielded 
enough splinters to make a cheerful blaze, and soon the 
big pile of logs heaped on began to burn and give out 
some warmth. 
The storm increased in violence, but the little tent 
stood firm, and was good protection for the ladies. A 
bed of boughs was out of the question, for a thick coat- 
ing of ice covered everything exposed to the storm. The 
poncho blankets were spread on the wet ground, and the 
bedding and shawls thrown down on them. Night had 
fallen now, and our camp-fire cast a ruddy glow on the 
surrounding forest. 
The wind swirled madly though the blow-down, and 
gathered myriads of sparks from the fire and carried 
them eddying away across the gloomy space below. But 
there was warmth in our camp-fire, and the tent flics 
were thrown back to catch the full benefit of it. From 
beneath the wet folds of the tent came the sound of 
music, and we came to the conclusion that if the ladies 
could sing about "sunshine" under such conditions as 
those we would be able to get them over our Chilkoot 
and to the summit of Katahdin. Preparations were made 
for supper, and Madison mixed and baked some excel- 
lent bread before the fire in the driving storm. Warm 
bread, tea, broiled partridge, good butter and dough- 
nuts made up our bill of fare, and it was a cheering re- 
past. 
After supper the ladies sang more songs. "Tenting 
out To-night" sounded very pretty, but there was an 
awful amount of realit3'^ crowded into our surroundings 
that made the song sound different from when it is sung 
at home by the fireside. 
Then Mr. F. J. Tracj', who has been ici the vicinitj' of 
Katahdin and the Wissattaquoik for many years, and is 
a very Nestor of woodcraft, told us part of the legend of 
Pamola, but reserved the Avhole stor}^ until we should 
be in more pleasant surroundings. He probably feared 
tions he must have been disappointed, As the night wore 
on, a lonely fox from somewhere on the side of Turner 
barked out his harsh cry, and was answered by a neigh- 
bor far away deep down the valley. The sound was 
weird, and seemed entirely disproportionate to the size 
of the red marauder. 
Toward morning the stdrm ceased, and the cloiid that 
had hung over us during the night drew away to the 
south. The wind blew up crisp and cold; the watchers 
dozed, and the fireman nodded at his post. The gray 
dawn crept over the mountain, and soon the sunlight 
tipped Katahdin's peak and crept down toward Camp 
Comfort. 
A shout from Frank laroiight the drowsy campers 
from the tent, and a scene of indescribable beauty 
greeted them. The forest was transformed into a fairy- 
land. Every bough and twig was covered with ice, and 
the effect was marvelous. From the treetops where the 
sunlight first touched them a million jewels sparkled 
and scintillated, their prismatic colors quivering and 
gleaming from their lofty heights. The trail above and 
below was a veritable bower of loveliness. 
KATAHDIN LAKE— MT. KATAHDIN IN THE DISTANCE. 
Photo by Mr. F. E. Farnsworth. 
the whole story would discourage us. During the partial 
recitation of the story of Pamola there was an interrup- 
tion. A small black dog, which had joined the party 
during the day, had been welcomed as a mascot, and his 
coming counted as a good omen. The dog had appeared 
on the southern shore, of the Wissattaquoik near the Ka- 
tahdin Lake trail, and had boldly plunged in the river 
and swam across to join us. To-night the dog Avas rest- 
less, and at times would utter a low growl and move 
stealthily away in the darkness. It was during one of 
these trips that he received a terrible fright and dashed 
down the trail from above the camp and hid in the tent. 
After howling piteously, he curled up in the corner and 
remained there until nearly morning. When asked what 
had probably frightened the dog, Mr. Tracy said laconi- 
call}': "Pamola's dogs." 
About 3 o'clock in the morning we heard a frightful 
scream coming from the mountain above. It was a 
blood-curdling cry, and one to try the strongest nerve. 
With a blazing brand held aloft and rifle in readiness, 
our two bravest men ascended the trail, but were' unable 
to locate the origin of the long-drawn-out screams. 
After daylight the dog was found looyds. up the trail, 
his head crushed by a blow and a long ugly gash in his 
side. He had indeed encountered one of Pamola's 
"dogs." (Probably a loup cervier.) 
After listening to the brief sketch of the famous Da- 
kota chieftain's career, some of the ladies evinced a de- 
sire to sleep, and wrapped in shawls and blankets the 
tired ones tried to get some needed rest. It was agreed 
that we should stand fire watch during the night, as it 
would be necessary for some one to keep chopping 
wood and replenishing the fire. None of us got much 
sleep, however, as the bed clothes and shawls were damp 
and the ground was cold. The only comfortable posi- 
tion was to sit upright and face the blazing fii-e. A few 
stories were told in whispers, but most of the time we 
sat in silence, gazing into the burning embers beneath 
the great forelog. There was no abatement of the storm, 
only the alternating sleet, snow and rain. 
Thenoises in the dark forestwere continuous and weird. 
The wind whistled always a doleful anthem through the 
tops of the tall hemlocks, and ran from that down the 
gamut to the shriller shrieks through the spruce and 
cedar shrubs. Then, as if to make the effect more drama- 
tic, a lull would come in the storm, the sleet beat less 
fiercely on our fragile house, the wind cease its shrieks 
for a moment, then a sound like the crash of a cannon, 
sometimes followed by several similar reports in quick 
succession, and then silence, heavy and oppressive. Of 
all the sounds of the forest, that of a tree falling in the 
night is most impressive. Something deep and subtle 
in the working of nature. Be the night windy or calm, 
the trees fall, and to the camper the sound is always an 
awesome one. We were glad our camp was located 
where there was no danger from falling trees. 
If Pamola sought to frighten us by these demonstra- 
After listening to the excramation of delight for a 
minute, Frank interjected: "It's all very nice, but wait 
till it begins to melt." When it did begin to melt we 
found that the rain of yesterday was but a shower com- 
pared with the water dropping from the trees. We de- 
cided to make a trip to the upper spring, where we had 
intended to camp and take what duffle we could with us 
and return for the ladies in the afternoon. 
After spending a couple of hours drjang bed clothes 
and making up our packs for the day, we started up the 
trail, Mr. Tracy taking the lead, as on the previous day. 
Our intentions were to clear the trail of serious obstruc- 
tions, so that the ladies coiild get through. We began 
by chopping out a few smaller trees that had fallen 
across the path, and cutting the limbs from the trunks 
of larger, ones that blocked our way. Half a mile from 
Camp Comfort we found hundreds of large trees blown 
across the trail in such a tangle that it was next to im- 
possible for us to get through without an immense 
amount_ of chopping. The blow-down reached up the 
mountain side for nearly a mile, and to have forced our 
way through would have entailed infinite labor. 
Slowly and reluctantly we retraced our path and 
broke camp. After bidding- farewell to Camp Coriifort 
we beat a hurried retreat down the mountain side to 
our base of supplies at the old deserted McLeod camp. 
After a brief council we decided to reduce our packs to 
a minimum weight, leave the tent and start for the South 
Basin by the McLeod trail. It was real restful to hear 
the ladies talk about how little they could get along 
with. They agreed to make one small handbag do for 
the whole party, and to cut down on all luggage. After 
making up the new packs and stopping a few minutes 
to boil tea, we started for the South Basin of Katahdin. 
As compared with the mountain path of the day pre- 
vious the going was easy. Through beautiful open 
woods for a mile, crossing a fine mountain brook on a 
footlog thrown by some philanthropic woodsman, then 
we entered the finest growth of spruce in the vicinity of 
Katahdin. It was a veritable great black forest, car- 
peted with a soft, velvety moss. Every moss-grown 
boulder was the jardiniere for ferns of infinite variety, 
mosses and ground plants that were a delight to the eye! 
The sun was high in the southern sky, and here and 
there where the bright beams sifted down through the 
treetops the picture was one of exceeding loveliness. All 
hearts were light now, the trail was easy and the weather 
superb. Could it be that old Pamola was mollified? We 
wondered if it would not have been far better to have 
sacrificed a dog as a peace offering before we attempted 
the Russell trail. But surely the Great Spirit was smil- 
ing on the climbers to-day. 
When far up the trail on the mountain side we 
peered through a rift in the deep green of the treetops 
and looked on the calm, unruffled surface of Katahdin 
Lake. It was miles away and thousands of feet be- 
neath us, yet it looked as if a stone might be dropped 
