BRINGING HOME THE BEAR . 
89 
ice, but long since widened and deepened by- 
other erosive forces. Clinging to tree-trunks 
or the tough stems of blueberry bushes, we 
pulled ourselves up the steep ravine and reached 
the top of the first ledge. The mountain was 
still unconquered before us, but turning we saw, 
sunlit and smiling, the world we had left. 
Curving, undulating forest; warm spots of 
open pasture; the Hammond farm, from which 
one of the principal paths starts up Chocorua; 
my own red-roofed cottage with squares of flax, 
millet, corn, and buckwheat giving patchwork 
colors to its clearing; Chocorua ponds and the 
cottages on Nickerson’s hill, and then the 
wider world of forest, mountain, river, and 
lake, — Ossipee, Sandwich Dome, Bearcamp, 
Winnepesaukee, — blended beauties whose 
names awaken pleasant memories and whose 
picture is a joy to look upon, —all these things 
we saw, and much more which we only half 
thought about, so eager were we to go on with 
our quest. 
Climbing ledge after ledge, wading through 
thickets of mountain ash, dogwood, low spruce 
and blueberry bushes, we gained at last the 
highest open point on West Ridge. On three 
sides the land fell away abruptly. On the 
north the ridge, heavily grown with stunted 
spruce and poplars, continued toward the peak. 
