# Down East Latch Strings/Chapter 14

Umbagog! No lake in the country had more excited my curiosity. When I was a boy, a lot of bright fellows in Cambridge used to come up here regularly on natural-history expeditions, and the treasures of ornithology they brought back excited both my imagination and envy. You can find now many a "list" and "paper," in the proceedings of scientific societies near Boston, upon this lake and its environs.
Then its scenery had been so often described to me! The beautiful way in which the sky painted its own hues upon the surface of the water, while the shores, many tinted, how abrupt, now low, forested here, cleared and tenanted there, or walled in with upright crags elsewhere, furnished a glorious frame for the picture. Then the mountains! How on every side they filled the background, towering greater with distance, as do the gigantic figures of ancient history! Eastward, were the rounded masses of the great hills at the head of the Cambridge, with the bald summits of Grafton at the right. Off to the westward, a contrast, in the peaked heights that bristle about Dixville notch. Northward, lone pyramids like Dustan, Aziscoos, and Observatory, dark with unscarred forests and overlooking a hundred lakes. Southward, massively superior to all the rest, Washington and his co-presidents.
All this delight was dented to our eyes; nor was it much consolation to recall that Major Winthrop encountered just such a day here thirty years ago.
"Whiffs of mist," he records, "lad met us at the outset. Presently we opened chaos, and chaos shut in upon us. There was no Umbagog to be seen; nothing but a few yards of gray water and a world of gray vapor. Therefore I cannot criticise, nor insult, nor compliment Umbagog. Let us deem it beautiful. The sun tried at the fog, to lift it with the leverage of his early level beams. Failing in this attempt to stir and heave away the mass, he climbed and began to use his beams as wedges, driving them down more perpen​dicularly. Whenever this industrious craftsman made a split, the fog gaped and we could see for a moment, indefinitely, an expanse of water hedged with gloomy forest, and owning for its dominant height, Aziscoos, or, briefer, Esquibos.…
Through a similar fog the present writer and his companions steamed down the whole length of the lake. As the yacht plowed through the gauzy veil "little islands loomed trembling between sky and water, like hanging gardens. Gradually the filmy trees defined themselves, the aerial enchantment lost its potency, and we came up with common prose islands that had so late been magical and poetic."
Umbagog is a dozen miles long, and perhaps a mile and a half in ​average width. It lies north and south, sharing its waters between New Hampshire and Maine. Rapid river, the inlet from the upper lakes, enters near its northeastern end; and the outlet is only a short distance below, from the opposite (western) side, where the Androscoggin begins its course. The path of this river is as crooked as its name; and Winthrop thought the queer twist characteristic of colloquial pronunciation in that region appropriate to people who lived near a stream with so scraggy an appellation and tortuous a current.
Next morning the steamer took us on its early trip up the lake to the Androscoggin, and down that river to Erroll Dam.
The water of this river, raised fifteen feet by the building of the dam many years ago, has invaded the forest on each side and killed a wide belt of trees, the stubs of which now stand in the water, rude cenetaphs of the departed sons of the forest, bereft of bark and branches, bleached and picturesque. Herons, kingfishers and eagles, fitly attitudinize upon these tough old relics, and the water they overlook is as still and smooth as a surface of polished bronze. Says Farrar: "Following the crooked channel of the river, which in the six miles between the lake and the dam makes about thirty distinct turns, you have, as the steamer twists about, views from all points of the compass. From about the middle of July to the first of October the sides of the river are carpeted with water lilies, that present a beautiful sight, and fill the air with their delightful odor. The captain of the steamer is accommodating, and often stops to gather them for the lady passengers, and thus thousands are carried away each year; but the next only sees them more abundant."
A well-known settlement and hotel exists at Errol Dam, connected by an ancient road with Colebrook, N. H., on the Connecticut river, twenty-one miles distant. This road passes through Dixville notch (half way) and forms one of the regular avenues of approach to the lake region, Colebrook being only thirteen miles by a delightful stage-road from North Stratford station on the Grand Trunk Railway.
It is possible to clamber up to Table rack, 800 feet above the road, and to other pinnacles, whence a view of the whole monument-strewn glen is given, and beyond it, over Umbagog, far down into the heart of the White Mountains, and westward and northward over to Vermont and Canada. Various minor features of interest, trout fishing, and the lovely pastoral region at the western foot of the range, invite a stay of several days in the neighborhood.
We thought the Androscoggin crooked enough, but this proved to be more so,—serpentine is a word that fits it most admirably. Its general width in the lower part is a hundred feet or more, but now and then the stream narrows until the trees bending outward almost touch each other overhead.
"Observe how black and glossy the water is in this deep place," I say to my companions. "It seems never disturbed, except when a trout throws himself, curving above the surface like the flash of a scimitar."
"Never expected to find swordfish up here in the woods!" Baily exclaims in an affectation of pleased surprise.
"Interruptions are impolite, and pointless jests are stupid!" I rejoin, with just severity, whereupon Prue retorts:—
"Oh, come now, that's too hard, Theo! What could be more pointed in a joke than a sword?"
I leave this frivolous pair to their own levity. I want to enjoy the river unmolested, and recall how well can be fitted to it Thoreau's masterful description of that other "crooked river," the Souhegan:—
"On your sail," says the author of Farrar's Ilustrated Guide to the Androscoggin Lakes, "you will see the brown and bald eagles,—the latter, the typical American bird,—spreading their huge wings in pursuit of some unlucky fish-hawk, who, having worked hard to procure a dinner, is now destined to lose it. The bald-headed eagles in this country are the largest I have ever seen, and they have been shot and measured nine feet from tip to tip of wing. There are many small ponds lying contiguous to the river on both sides and connected with it by short streams, that are often filled with ducks, with blue herons stalking near them. Deer, bear, caribou and moose are occasionally caught sight of along the river, as frightened by the steamer, they plunge into the leafy cover of the woods. The banks of the stream vary in height from two to eight feet according to the number of gates open at the dam, and a good camping-spot may be found readily.
"About four miles up the the Magalloway you pass some rocks on the left side, then make a sharp turn to the right. Looking back as you make this turn, you obtain the most romantic and picturesque ​view on the river. About half a mile of the stream can be seen, in some places the trees almost meeting overhead, and the silvery lane of water through this vista of living green presents a picture that you will not soon forget. The country people who go up and Upper Magalloway. down this beautiful thoroughfare seem generally to care nothing about this scenery; but one day, when coming down the river, as we turned this bend, an old fellow on the boat who caught the view just at the right moment, was for an instant brought to a realizing ​sense of the beauties of nature, and. looking at me, said, 'I snum now, Mister, if that ain't the purtiest sight I ever saw.'"
Except some stony ledges, like that at Pulpit rock, the foliage and sedge that shut in the river is unbroken for ten miles, at the end of which humanity is recalled by a log cabin at the mouth of Bottle brook. A few moments later the lower landing is reached, among farms, and upon a wagon road along the right bank. Though it is only two miles by land to the Berlin Mills House, the distance is six by water.
This is the limit of navigation, because the river above is choked with logs, waiting to be driven out in the spring.
The afternoon was devoted to a ride of half a dozen miles through the woods, with occasional outlooks at mountains, etc., to Fred Flint's house, near Aziscoos falls, and the night we spent there was almost like camping-out in a very comfortable way. The falls are a series of cataracts, boiling over ledge after ledge for a long distance. It is the most dangerous place on the river in running logs, where ​more than one lumberman has lost his life. At high-water the tumult is very great and makes a picture of grand and perilous force, to which the wild surroundings lend grim emphasis. There is excellent trout-fishing at this place.
From a lauding above the falls (which act as a dam, holding back several miles of deep, smooth water), a stern-wheel steamboat runs about fifteen miles up the wriggling stream, which is now six or eight rods in width and strong of current. Camping-places are frequent, ducks and other game always to be had, and the fishing first-rate, especially at the Narrows, where the steamer has a hard pull to get through. Six miles above the Narrows, the Lower Mettaluk pond is reached, which at present forms the head of navigation. The river is to be improved, however, and the boat will then run as high up as the Grass Eddy, but a short distance below the forks of the Magalloway. A trail leads from this point to Lincoln pond, a considerable piece of water two miles eastward. It is said to be well-stocked with trout, disposed to be enticed with bait in May or June, and by a fly after that. Deer, moose, and caribou can often be shot there, in season, and the shore affords good camping ground. It is often reached by a trail from the Upper Mettaluk pond, where there is a cabin for fishermen.
Above the Mettaluk ponds the Magalloway winds for twelve miles through lush meadows beloved of deer and waterfowl. The current is swift through there, and above the meadows, decided rapids are met, where the Little Magalloway comes in from the northwest. This is the end of the canoe-trip, unless the traveller means to take his boat with him, in which case he drags it up the river almost to Parmachenee lake.
The lake is four miles distant by a good path which conducts on through a fine forest to the shore, where a bout will be found or can be signalled for. An island in the lake is occupied by Danforth's "Camp Caribou," a curiously irregular pile of woodland buildings, which has grown year by year from a "camp" to a "hotel." Everything about the place indicates the sportsman in both the proprietor and his guests, who come largely from New York City. The walls are adorned with heads of deer, tails of foxes, and other trophies of the chase, while gunning gear and fishing tackle, boats and camp-equipments, old clothes and friendly manners, characterize the settlement. Twenty or more fine boats will be found there, each of which had to be taken through the woods from Rangeley on the shoulders of men. The furniture of the house, like that structure itself, has been made on the spot, for the most part by the ingenious hands of the owner; but all the supplies of every kind must be paddled and carried up the Magalloway, or else "toted" in from Cupsuptic lake along a hilly footpath. The supplies are always abundant, and the equipment comfortable, however, so that ladies form a constant element in the summer colony at this thoroughly out-of-the-way resort.
​It rained bard during our night at Flint's, and was lowery and cold when we left there on our return in the morning,—ah! what a memorable trout breakfast, we had!—but before we had reached The Berlin Mills House, and reëmbarked upon the lower Magalloway, all the clouds had disappeared, even from the crest of hoary Aziscoos, whose gray poll was almost white with the thinnest possible dusting of hail. Reversing the river pictures, and so finding novelty in them all, we ran quickly down to Errol Dam, and thence into Lake Umbagog. And now what a different scene presented itself, compared with our entrance three days' before! The canopy was unflecked, and the air calm and crystal-clear. The sky-answering water lay utterly still, smooth, and glistening, save where some flocks of ducks and a pair of loons floated upon the burnished surface.
Gliding from the Androscoggin, we swung around to the southward, and there, overtopping all the massive green ridges nearer by saw the whole Presidential range, peak after peak, towering into the blue sky as if carved from alabaster, for the storm had shed a heavy snow-fall upon them, and the White Mountains were white indeed with the first gifts of winter.
With the speed of thought another slide is shot before memory's lens. Again I am afloat in Hood's canal. Far away over the bronzed backs of my Indian paddlers, beating time to some savage crooning; past the long, gaudy, carven canoe-prow; beyond the shining levels and the clustered spires of Douglas fir upon the shore;—again I see the coruscant pinnacles of the Olympus piercing the blue Pacific sky. The Presidential is five, the Olympic range twelve, thousand feet above the watery foreground; but I avow that this rare picture, seen that early autumn morning from Umbagog, was as lovely in its composition, as brilliant in its color, as impressive in its grandeur and distance, as the other.
So we were glad not only that we had come to Umbagog, and had seen it both in the silvery fog and in the golden sunlight, but that it made for us the adieu of the lake region; for we thought if we had begun with this, the upper ponds could hardly have sustained the expectation of the first impression. We felt, that in coming down from Rangeley to Umbagog, we had steadily gone from good to better and had the best at the last. And, taking it all in all, we concluded that to him who seeks a vacation in the wilderness, near to nature's heart, the trip across Umbagog, and up the Magalloway to Parmachenee lake will yield more satisfaction with a better economy of time, money, strength and enjoyment, than any other route we know of in New England; but this, of course, omits almost all consideration of the ​social element, for which there is nowhere in the Rangeley region such au opportunity as goes with the out-door life at Moosehead lake.
Such is the Grafton notch, and we heard of several curiosities of scenery in its neighborhood, such as the Screw-auger falls, where Bear river twists through a spiral channel in a series of sunken cascades; the Jail, a semi-circular abyss worn by some former vagary of the stream, and the Devil's Horseshoe,—an impression in the rocks of a cataract-bank, singularly true to the size and shape suggested, ​—and finally the profound chasm, or sink-hole into which legend says a wounded moose once plunged. "At the bottom flows a large and noisy stream, which, as if the gloom of the lofty walls which hem it in, and the sombre stillness of the surrounding forest did not sufficiently guard its privacy, plunges beneath a huge mass of super-incumbent rock…and disappears from sight."
Grafton notch left behind, the country becomes more open. The old Popple tavern and Newry corners are left in turn, and at the mouth of Bear river the broad intervales of the Androscoggin come in sight, with that crooked river meandering through them. Crossing Bear river we Screw-auger falls, Grafton notch. turn up the main Androscoggin, amazed at the cultivation, serene beauty and warmth of the scene after the cold and almost forbidding sternness of the scenery to which we have long been accustomed; and so roll swiftly into the elm-embowered streets of Bethel.