134 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Jan. 31, 1914. 
would be as near in winter. Returning from there 
we tramped up to the Flume House for dinner. 
In the afternoon we went over to the pool and 
down to the flume. The flume is a sight worth 
going miles to see and in winter it has a charm 
never dreamed of by its summer visitors. It is 
a gorge or chasm about 700 feet long, from ten 
to twenty wide, and in places sixty feet deep, 
which the young Pemigewasset River has cut in 
the soft ledge at the foot of the mountain. The 
little river was buried deep under several feet 
of snow, and the south side of the flume was one 
great glittering mass of icicles. The melting 
snow and ground water that continually trickles 
from the top of the ledges, freezes as it runs 
down and forms these icicles which hang from 
the top of the ledges and reach to the snow be¬ 
low. The Camera-man estimated their height as 
sixty feet. “Because,” he reasoned, “you are six 
feet high and the icicles are ten times as high.” 
Then he took my picture standing beside one of 
them to prove his reasoning after we got home. 
We spent some little time there and photo¬ 
graphed it from every possible position. The 
Camera-man even climbed upon a shelf of ice 
and posed for his picture. 
Returning to the Flume House, we tramped 
up to the Basin, exposed one film and continued 
on up through the notch. In due time we reached 
Profile Lake. On Cannon Mountain, just above 
the lake is the famous Profile, or “Old Man of 
the Mountain.” This bit of information had 
been thrust upon us several times since we start¬ 
ed so we were on the lookout when we reached 
the lake. At iast we saw what we thought was 
the face and exposed a few films, but we were 
disappointed. It was not nearly as good as we 
had expected and we decided that the colored 
post cards must have been greatly faked. So we 
were hurrying on up the road when the Camera¬ 
man turned with an exclamation. I looked and 
there was the Profile, far more perfect than any 
picture. One has to go around nearly to the 
upper end of the lake to get a good view of it. 
Situated at an elevation of twelve hundred 
feet almost straight up from the lake, the “Old 
Man” seems to be watching and guarding the 
whole range and the Pemigewasset Valley be¬ 
low. There was nothing for us to do but expose 
more films for, as the Camera-man put it, we 
had to have a picture of the old gentlemen with 
his winter garments on. We got the pictures all 
right and good clear negatives they were too, but 
as the man told us who had guided professional 
photographers in the locality, we needed a “tele¬ 
phone lens.” He had the right idea all right. 
The lay of the land makes it impossible to pho¬ 
tograph the Profile at shorter range so a large 
image may be obtained only by use of the tele¬ 
photo. 
The Profile House is just a short distance 
from the upper end of the lake. We spent the 
night there and started up Mount Lafayette next 
morning. 
Mountain climbing on snowshoes is not nearly 
as hard as one might imagine. Of course it is 
monotonous to drag one shoe past the other for 
hours at a time, but somehow it is not nearly as 
tiresome as might be expected. The Lafayette 
trail zigzags back and forth, up through the 
spruces, skirts Eagle Cliff on the back side and 
follows a long spur up to the timber line. That 
far it was really an enjoyable climb. The air 
was sharp and bracing; the twisting trail inter¬ 
esting; and the great white winter woods won¬ 
derful. Above the timber line the snow was 
packed hard and crusted so we changed the 
snowshoes for ice creepers. The gentle breeze 
of the lower altitudes was a biting gale up 
there. It stung our faces at every chance and 
penetrated our thick woolens as a summer breeze 
a cotton shirt. Five minutes after we left the 
timber we began to realize what we were up 
against. It was a good mile to the summit. 
“We show ourselves idiots if we go to the 
top,” says I, about that time. 
“Well, that was what we set out to do,” says 
the Camera-man, “and remember, we want to do 
this trip proper.” 
“Oh, yes,” I hastened to say, “I was only ex¬ 
pressing my honest opinion and not my wishes.” 
The snow kept getting harder and harder 
until it was almost glare ice. Below us stretched 
many an inviting smooth place, a start down 
which meant a plunge, at the other end to a cer¬ 
tain destruction in the ravine below. To make 
a bad matter worse, our ice creepers were prov¬ 
ing worse than useless. They persisted in com¬ 
ing off when we were on the most treacherous 
places. Several times we got started on a down¬ 
ward slide but always managed to run into some 
rocks and stop. In this manner we worried along 
and stopped behind a ledge just at the summit. 
“Well, we are about up old Lafayette,” says 
the Camera-man, pausing in this spot where the 
wind didn’t hit so hard. 
“Yes, and you have frozen your face,” says I, 
noticing that his chin and both cheeks were 
white. 
“Well, I’m no worse off than you,” he retorted, 
“you’ve frozen your nose and chin.” 
I put up my hand and found that he was right. 
One ear, too, was so stiff that I came near break¬ 
ing it off when I took hold of it, and that with my 
cap pulled down all the time. We rubbed the 
frozen places with snow, swung our arms in a vain 
effort to start the circulation, then looked about 
us. The air was full of fine particles of snow 
that made the view very unsatisfactory. Far 
below we could see Echo Lake and the valley as 
far down as the flume, but anything in the dis¬ 
tance was invisible through the snow. After a 
few minutes we climbed to the very summit and 
each took one picture of the other as he stood 
beside a little monument there. The pictures are 
worthless, judged technically, for the wind blew 
so hard that we -could not stand still, much less 
hold a camera, but they show us about as we 
looked there. 
The photography 'being over we scrambled back 
down over the ledge only to find that our faces 
were again white. When they were again thawed 
out we had come to a realization of the fact that 
mountain climbing in winter is a sport that one 
should not undertake unprepared. We were 
both accustomed to outdoor life and well tough¬ 
ened into the cold weather but, as we stood there 
on that bleak mountain top, and thought that we 
had to face that terrible wind back to the timber 
line we both realized that a slip, a sprained 
ankle, a blinding snowstorm or any delay that 
would keep us still for any length of time, would 
certainly mean a severe freeze and probably 
death. There was a depth of five feet of snow 
all the way to the Profile House. What would 
have been our predicament had we broken a 
snowshoe ? 
Now I wouici not seem to decry mountain 
climbing in winter. Far from it. I would not 
have missed the trip up Lafayette for a good 
deal. The slight element of danger adds to 
rather than detracts from the sport. My advise 
is—go prepared. Take a heavy scarf or tippet 
to wrap around the head when you get above the 
timber; a good pair of ice creepers, the kind that 
go on the ball of the foot; a good strong staff 
or ice axe and go at it. You will tingle all over 
with the cold and the excitement and you may 
be sure it makes red blood. 
We froze up and thawed out several times be¬ 
tween the mountain top and the timber line, but 
once there we built up a fire and ate our lunch 
then went down the trail in fine spirits. 
Next day was Sunday, which we spent at ease 
at the Profile House. The caretaker at this place 
was a splendid good fellow and we enjoyed our 
stay very much indeed. In the afternoon we 
went up Bald Mountain and Artist’s Bluff just 
for exercise. 
Leaving there early Monday morning we 
started down the railroad track. The trains do 
not run up to the Profile in the winter, conse¬ 
quently there was three feet of snow on the 
tracks—but it was good snowshoeing. About ten 
o’clock we heard chopping ahead and soon came 
to a lumber camp. We went inside and the cook 
served us with doughnuts and tea, which were 
acceptable. Below the camps the railroad was 
open and we followed it down to the state road 
crossing, then put on the snowshoes and followed 
that toward Twin Mountain. 
The snowshoeing was good though a trifle 
heavy from recent storms. The Camera-man was 
ahead hitting quite a clip. Then he began talk¬ 
ing about endurance and even went so far as to 
