The Calhoun chronicle. [volume] (Grantsville, W. Va.) 1883-1984, 1907-02-05


rays of the sun that are creeping over
the ridge, or the crackle OF dry
sticks; but at any ratio you push back
your blanket and lie there lazlly for
mc ment, watching the sun flicker
through the trees and trying to cal
culate the time. The guide Is ahead
of you, for a little fire is burning
brightly, and a kettle or something
already cooking. There he comes
now with an armfvl OF frewood. At
the eight OF his energetic figure and
remembering that the hardest part
or the trail is to be covered to-day,
you jump, or rather, pick yourself
up carefully. for the cool, frosty night
and the not altogether comfortable
bed on the hard ground have made
you feel trihe stiff. How good the
fire feels and how good the some
thing smells! which. upon investiga-
ton. proves to be a kettle of grouse.
The guide says 1t is about cooked.
SO rousing your companions, you run
for wash in the mountain brook
In water so cold that It makes your
teeth chatter as you dash 1t up again
and again; but it succeeds in making
you feel fully awake and so keen for
the days tramp, that you eat break
fast and go through the morning rou-
tine-putting out the fire, making
up your pack with a feverish haste.
ana in less than an hour you are
ready to start.
Is there anything quite like this
feeling? The exhilirating mountain
air, the cool fragrance Of the pines,
together with your own vigor and
freshness after a nights sleep in the
open, make you feel so exuberant
that it is impossible not to start off
at fast pace-so fast, that after a
few moments you are forced to stop.
tired and breathless, wondering as
you do Why you can never learn to be
moderate at the outset. Then follow
hours of a certain monotony, and vet
every moment is different. 1t IS hard
to express the charm you feel as YOU
tramp on and on, with the little trail
ever stretching ahead, curving and
disappearing in yonder thicket, now
taking you through dense timber of
immense cedar trees draped and fes-
TONED with gray bearded moss. until
1t all seems like a mystical fairy-land.
now coming on a clear, rushing
stream, where invariably you stop.
bend the rim of your hat and scoop
up drink or pause to pick the
huckleberries, still glistening with
the dew. Occasionally the guide In
dicates that you may rest, il you
wish, and although you may not feel
particularly tired. you take off your
pack, and with n feeling of 10y. throw
yourself down on the thick carpet of
needles, burying your face in them.
while you drink in the warm fra
GRANGE, or lying on your back and
looking up through the dark green
branches to the blue of the sky.
where the white. heecy clouds are
sailing past. 1t seems scarcely a mo-
ment until you must be off again
but what a moment it was!
Now as the climb up the steep slope
OF the ridge begins. the trail becomes
rorgher, the foothold is bad. and your
pace must be somewhat slackened
IT is hard pull: but about noon
after the last hundred feet OF stir
climbing, the top is reached You
sit down mechanically, too tired and
exhausted to speak, but drinking in
with every breath the wonder OF the
view before you. Stretching at your
rect are the Uncovered slopes, in the
valley, like silver thread, the rush
ing stream, and beyond. slopes and
ridges rising higher and higher until
they thrust their ragged peaks into
the very heavens. A breeze, seeming
to come from tho eternal SHOWS -
brushes your cheeks, which bring
back your vigor. and about the same
time yoJr physical senses. so that
suddenly realizing how powerfully
empty you are, you pull from Your
ruck sack the cold hammock and rails
ms Tor this noon you will not take
the time to cook a meal.
In the afternoon you follow the
ridge for some time, then cross the
valley and begin the ascent on the
other side. Gradually you seem to
take less notice OF the beauty around
you, the details do not Impress You.
and even the excitement of your com
panions over the fresh bear tracks
fail to awake any interest. About 4
o'clock the breeze dies down, and Il
becomes Oppressively hot. You walk
on as If in a stupor, looking neither
to right nor TO left, only conscious
that your pack is growing heavier
each moment; that your feet feel
bruised and sore, and that the flies
ana mosquitoes are becoming thicker
and thicker. Some one behind starts
mp rousing song. and as you Join IN
for a few moments. your spirits rise
only TO drop again with a sickenink
thud as the last note dies out. You
pull at your shoulder straps to ease
the ache i'm your back, but fin a mo-
ment are forced To- bend an your en-
ergies to fighting tho mosquitoes
which make the air black It is then
that you say with Stewart Edward
White that You are a fooI:" then
you think tn despair of all the home
comforts which you might be enjoy
Ing; that you curse yourself for com
ing into such a place of your own
free viii, and vow TO get out OF &c at
the earliest opportunity How much
longer SIS it going TO- continue ne is
almost dark. and still that persistent.
iron-clad guide goes on Will he
never stop2 You notice the treatment
streams and tell yourself what ex-
cellent camping places they would
HH.N n u. f.H Ha.