March 9, 1907.] 
Luckily, a party had been up two days before 
me, and they had left a fine path. They must 
have been slow or tired coming back, for I 
could easily take their stride going up, in all 
but the steepest places. 
After forty rods I stopped to get my shoes 
properly adjusted, loosening the toe strap so 
as to get the ball of the foot just across the 
main thong, then tightening the heel strap, and 
last lacing the toe strap tight. The point is to 
.get the strap tight enough to prevent any lost 
; motion, and not so tight as to stop the circu¬ 
lation. The snowshoes got no more attention 
for four miles. 
j This was my first trip up the mountain. I 
1 had no idea how far it was to the top, but sup- 
posed it was about six miles. I thought I would 
walk until three, reach the ice crust, and be back 
at five. I had no ice creepers. 
A mile in twenty-five minutes seemed about 
right for a good road up a steep grade, but the 
first mile post was reached in 22 minutes. It 
was bright sunshine on this side, and I went 
just fast enough to keep in a comfortable sweat 
with coat unbuttoned. 
Raymond Path was reached at 12:38, and the 
2-mile post 4 minutes later, making the second 
mile in 25 minutes. Here I hung my collar and 
tie on a tree and opened my shirt at the breast. 
From here on the view began to open to- 
1 ward the north, getting clearer as the trees lost 
their size. Lack of cover gave the drifts a 
chance also. I passed the first bridge at 12:57 
and the 3-mile post at 1:09—third mile in 27 
minutes. 
The air was clear, and the northerly peaks of 
the Presidential Range were clean cut as cats’ 
teeth and brilliant in the sunshine. I do not 
; know their names, but one of them probably 
! was Mt. Adams. At 1:25 I reached a slide 
where the view of the Carter Range was superb. 
At 1:35 I had gone 4 miles—fourth mile in 
26 minutes—and was at a house which I now 
know was the half-way house. Still harboring 
j a notion that it was 6 miles to the top, I con¬ 
cluded to press on until three, at least. 
The path-breakers evidently left their snow- 
i shoes at the half-way house, for they proceeded 
on foot from that point, and I saw no marks 
I in the snow such as I made when I used my 
; shoes as staffs. I wore my snowshoes for 40 
j rods further until I came to the first smooth 
: ice. 
The outer half of the road is built of rocks 
: with a slight wall along the edge, and I soon 
j came to a point where the snow had drifted 
clear across and an ice crust had formed. I 
J was forced to take my snowshoes off, and pro¬ 
ceed with caution, using my snowshoes as 
canes by striking the heels into the ice. There 
• were only ten rods or so of this work, and then 
I put on my snowshoes again. 
I soon came upon a dead doe lying in the 
road, frozen stiff, but not long dead, as she was 
not covered with snow. I remember wonder- 
1 ing if my accident policy was good for death by 
freezing, and concluded it was not. 
After proceeding about half a mile beyond the 
half-way house, I came to the worst part of the 
| journey. I was above the timber line, and the 
i road was cut along the side of a steep slope. 
The road was drifted full and the .crust was icy. 
Only an occasional rock stuck above the snow 
to mark the way. To the left the mountain was 
steep and I could not see the bottom. It 
I looked dangerous if I slipped, and I could not 
afford to slip. 
So I crept along, striking the heels of my 
snowshoes into the ice crust, and in some places 
digging holes for my feet. I could see oc¬ 
casional traces of the other men, and I think 
they must have had ice-creepers, for I saw no 
holes in the ice. The action of the wind and 
: sun made it impossible to tell surely what they 
wore. 
This was the hardest part of the journey, and 
| when I finally climbed over the east shoulder 
where I could get a view to the south and 
i see the summit, it was 2:32. It had taken me 
i 57 minutes to go the fifth mile, and probably 
35 minutes to go the last half of it. 
I took a bit of chocolate at this point (I had 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
37 1 
eaten nothing since breakfast) and held a council 
of war. It was plain to see that the summit was 
more than a mile away, but I could not tell 
whether it was two miles more or three. There 
was a slight breeze here, which was cold enough 
to make me button my shirt at the neck. There 
was no threatening cloud, although a few fine 
flakes of snow fell at times. The sun was bright 
and the view was magnificent. All the lesser 
peaks of New Hampshire were in my front door 
yard, and I was as high as the top of Carter 
Dome, and the hollow of Mt. Adams. 
It was half-past two, the sun would set in 
two hours, and I was short of breath. The 
traveling was at its worst and iciest just then, 
but I concluded to push on. The summit 
loooked just out of reach, but very enticing. 
For a few rods further the going was very 
bad, and once I had to leave the road and 
climb on the rocks, but then the going im¬ 
proved, and I hustled along. Presently I put 
on my snowshoes and made good time. 
I did not see the sixth mile post, but I 
reached the seventh at 3:30, and figured that I 
made the sixth mile post in 30 minutes, and the 
seventh in 28. I had not seen the top again, 
and I wondered if it was one mile, two miles, or 
three to the top. But it was good going, over 
a rough ice crust, and I had concluded I was 
too near glory to turn back. 
Beyond the seventh mile post I saw no trace 
of my ice-creeper friends, but I think they were 
too sporty to have turned back at this point. 
The wind and snow had probably obliterated 
their trail. The sun was now directly behind 
the peak, but it was about cool enough for 
vigorous exercise. 
I had made up my mind that I should have 
to go back over the worst of the trail by star 
light, but there was little chance of danger, if 
the wind stayed flat and there was no snowfall. 
I made good time the next half mile, and at 
3:45 I got my second view of the summit and 
knew that I should win. My chief impression 
of the summit includes an undue proportion of 
water tanks. I next had my first view of the 
cog-wheel railroad and could look into the 
valley to the west. 
At exactly 4 o’clock I stepped upon the plat¬ 
form at the top. The sun was warm, the wind 
was light, though keen, and the temperature 
about 10 degrees in the shade, I should judge. 
I did not need my ears covered or my thick 
gloves on. 
I ate another piece of chocolate, drank a 
swallow of whiskey to George Washington and 
spent twenty minutes climbing about the top .and 
surveying New Hampshire. The hotels at Fab- 
yan’s were very plain; Mt. Lafayette was very 
distinct to the south, but beyond that the clouds 
were thick. 
I was disappointed that the chains and cables 
were not covered with thick frost, probably be¬ 
cause of the exceptional dryness. I was not 
troubled with difficulty in breathing, either be¬ 
cause I was not honest enough to confess such 
weakness, or because the altitude was not suf¬ 
ficient. 
At 4:20 I started back, going the first half 
mile with snowshoes in 8 minutes. Then I wore 
snowshoes till I was nearly to the 5-mile post. 
I did the first mile in 17 and the second in 15 
minutes, and when I was nearly at the end of 
the third I reached the glare ice again. From 
this point the road ran south to the fifth mile 
post, and then doubled back to the north below 
me. The sight was too tempting, and I could 
not resist. I sat down on one snowshoe, used 
the other for a brake, and slid. 
I made good progress over the crust, cal¬ 
culated a good place to strike the road below 
and brought up against a big rock, the only one 
that stuck up above the snow. I do not know 
what there was beyond. I was not near enough 
to the edge to see over. 
I called that third mile 14 minutes, and then 
I had serious work for what was left of the 
fourth mile. By vigorous use of my snowshoe 
heels I kept along the icy slope, but it took me 
34 minutes to go less than a mile down hill. It 
looked pretty steep if I had once got out of the 
road. 
At 5:40 it was fairly dark, and I was at the 
half-way house. I took another swallow of 
whiskey from the flask and adjusted the snow- 
shoes for the 4-mile run over the good footing. 
I think there was about ten inches of snow over 
the crust from here down, and it was well 
trodden. I loosened the heel straps, so that 
my feet would work loose after each step, and 
loped down the mountain at good speed. 
I never saw better going. I did not get a 
single fall, and it was just soft enough so that 
there was no jar. I saw the four miles off in ix, 
11, 13 and 15 minutes respectively. It was so 
dark that I did not see the first mile post, so 
I divided the last two miles according to my 
rate of speed. 
It was just 6:30 when I reached the toll-house. 
I had gone 16 measured miles in 6 hours 35 
minutes, no allowances for rest. The ascent 
was in 4 hours 5 minutes, the descent in 2 hours 
10 minutes. I have no idea whether that is a 
record or not, but I should not be surprise if 
the descent was near the record for February. 
My notes read as follows: 
Place. 
Toll house . 
One mile . 
Raymond Path. 
Two mile . 
Bridge . 
Three mile . 
Slide . 
Half-Way House, 4 
Telephone line — 
Five mile . 
Six mile .. 
Telephone Line .. 
Seven mile -.... 
View of summit . 
Summit . 
Minutes 
mile.. 
Time 
Minutes 
Time 
Per 
Up. 
Per Mile. 
Down. 
Mile. 
.11:55 
6:30 
15 
.12:17 
22 
6:15 
13 
.12:38 
6:04 
.12:42 
25 
6:02 
11 
.12:57 
5:56 
. 1:09 
27 
5:51 
11 
. 1:25 
5:45 
. 1:35 
26 
5:40 
34 
. 1:57 
5:26 
. 2:32 
57 
5:06 
14 
. 3:02 
30 
4:52 
15 
. 3:25 
4:40 
. 3:30 
28 
4:37 
17 
. 3:45 
4:28 
. 4:00 
30 
4:20 
4hrs. 
5min. 
2hrs. 
lOmin. 
I had supper at the Glen House, reached 
Gorham at 8:15, and was at Berlin at 9:2°- 
I could not find a sore spot, or a strained 
muscle, or a chafed corner, or a piece of skin 
rubbed or tender. My feet were in perfect con¬ 
dition, but my head was slightly swelled. The 
clothes I wore were in good shape to wear to 
church next morning. I was up for breakfast 
at 8:30. P - H. 
New Publications. 
“The Mystery,” by Stewart Edward White and 
Samuel Hopkins Adams is a tale of the sea any¬ 
one will find difficulty in laying aside once he 
reads the opening chapter. A warship finds a 
schooner sailing herself in the Pacific. No one 
is found on board and nothing unusual save a 
brass-bo'und box. A crew is put aboard, in¬ 
structed to follow the warship. Next night the 
schooner is found again, deserted. A second 
crew is put aboard and once more the vessel is 
deserted. Searching, the warship finds a stranger 
in one of the schooner’s small boats. His tale 
is so weird and strange that it is believed he is 
insane, but all speed is made, at his direction, to 
an uncharted volcanic island, where a second 
stranger is picked up. His tale corroborates that 
of the first, and both explain the desertions from 
the schooner. A piratical crew, afraid of noth¬ 
ing afloat save their skipper; a German scientist 
and his uncanny experiments with active vol¬ 
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fighting; volcanic eruptions and no end of excit¬ 
ing adventures—all lend the deepest interest to 
the story. It is no common sea yarn, and the 
illustrations, by Will Crawford, are excellent. 
New York: McClure, Phillips & Co. 
Hunter and Hawk After Rabbit. 
The other day as George E. Crooker was 
rabbit hunting with his dog in North Bath woods 
and was about to shoot a rabbit that his dog 
was chasing, a big hawk, which had been soaring 
overhead in search of dinner, swooped down and 
struck its talons into the hare and was flying 
off with it, when Crooker fired at the hawk, 
bringing down both rabbit and bird. The hawk 
was a goshawk, a rare bird in these parts,— 
Kennebec Journal. 
