FOREST AND STREAM 
483 
; 
On the Firing Line. 
though it possesses the conveniences of both. 
Its mission nevertheless, consists in providing' 
the fisherman, hunter and pleasure seeker with 
all the necessities and delights of home. 
Literally, it is a spring, summer or autumn 
resort with ideal qualifications. Once you 
have crossed its threshold; once you have 
tasted Mrs. Emerson’s hot bread, drunk the 
sweet milk from the long horned kine pas¬ 
tured in the fields across the road, and fared 
with an honest appetite off such inimitable 
delicacies as fresh bass, home raised vege¬ 
tables, pancakes and real maple syrup; once 
you have slept in one of the sequested cot¬ 
tages or clean malted airy bed-rooms in the 
main house; once you have awakened to the 
matin of the veery, caught your preliminary 
mess of fish, or shot your first buck in the rud¬ 
dy days of October; once you have done any 
of these things you will praise the gods for 
having made such a place and keep on prais¬ 
ing them for as long as you remain within 
its joyful precincts. 
Longer ago than I care to admit I remem¬ 
ber a young lad by the name of Emerson who 
acted as mail carrier for a small Adirondack 
settlement where I have spent many summers 
for many years. He was a dark well-built 
youth, one whose word was as good as his 
bond. By instinct as well as inheritance he 
was a born woodsman and hunter; yet beyond 
this, beyond his love of the wilderness and 
his devotion ro hunting, fishing and trapping 
he possessed the three golden qualities—am¬ 
bition, energy and application. To-day Wal¬ 
lace Emerson is one of Long Lake’s most 
prominent and able citizens; also is he widely 
known as proprietor of one of the choicest 
resorts to be found anywhere in the Adiron- 
dacks. Having won a successful living in 
boyhood, he is winning it again in manhood 
on a larger scale. But, to these later suc¬ 
cesses of life, he rightly attributes much to 
the assistance and unfailing enthusiasm of a 
tireless helpmate; which only goes to prove 
that in spite of the cynic, team-work is after 
all, the best. 
The evening of our arrival at Long View 
we sat out late on the veranda watching the 
spring twilight descend over the lake and 
mountains. We also kept a sharp lookout for 
deer, as frequently during the warm months 
they may be seen feeding in the marshes and 
along the edge of the woods on the opposite 
shore. At no point is the upper end of imng 
Lake very wide, and right here especially 
does the forest unscarred and uninhabited 
save by its own wild creatures, appear to 
draw intimately near and communicative. 
On this occasion, however, we saw no deer. 
As a matter of fact it was still a trifle early 
in the season to find them near water, and 
although the afternoon had been warm, the 
shadows now lay with an almost frost-tem¬ 
pered coolness on the slopes of Owl’s Head. 
There is perhaps no mountain in the North 
country more venerable, more fantastic, more 
friendly and inviting in its human relations 
than this grand old Laurentian structure ris¬ 
ing from the shores of Long Lake. Well might 
it be called the Poet’s Mountain. Rich in 
imaginative suggestion, rich in natural beauty 
and the inspiring outlook commanded from 
its summit, it is one of those favored land¬ 
marks of earth which once having seen and 
explored, we are wont to remember forever 
after with a sense of ineffable pleasure. 
At all times of the day Owl’s Head is beau¬ 
tiful and satisfying; but after sunset espe¬ 
cially does it assume its most magical and 
memorable aspect. Against a sea of fiery color 
its peculiar crown of rock looms in massive 
solitary grandeur. The strange resemblance 
during the daytime to the head of a bird, is 
surplanted at this hour by a more mysterious 
and archaic majesty. Indeed, when the last 
ray of the sun has dropped behind its battle¬ 
ment of pink granite, the old mountain appears 
to grow and swell in its dimensions; its 
forest seems denser; its slopes more sweep¬ 
ing and impressive; its great green shoulders 
more inspiring and more nobly moulded. And 
although there are many other mountains in 
the vicinity, of greater height and perhaps 
even greater beauty, there is that about Owl’s 
Head at this particular time of day which 
strikes a deeper and more individual note 
than that awakened by its sublime compa¬ 
triots—a radiation as it were of those fra¬ 
grant forest influences which seldom fail to 
lure our thoughts to some sylvan glade, 
musical with the flutings of the immortal Pan. 
We sat out late as I have said watching 
the twilight descend upon the lake and moun¬ 
tains. Long after darkness had closed in 
over the farther ranges the golden embers 
