The Brattleboro reformer. (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1907-1912, 1911-01-20
sTRATToN IN MID-wINTER'
Story of a Climb to the Top OF Wiho
ham County's Highest Peak


hinge waye.like ridge rising steeply from
the high level OF vast plateau VI Ns
southern slopes rises the Deeriield; WIN
hall river drains its northern and eastern
hanks. ON its western side Bourne Drook
and lis neighbors have trenehed ueeP
gnshes in the plateau as they rush uo""
TO the Battenkill. p.u
We had seen Stratton hrst rom az
mountain in southern New hampshsre,
and had planned its ascent as Part q.
walking trip across Vermont we naa
toiled over the long hot wood ROAD i,G'i,
Manchester one sultry August day, WIN
font and blankets strapped on our heavy
naeks. and had camped beside ltlle river
only eight miles from the summit bvt
he morning dawned through driving ram
and all day long we crouched by our me
or Law luxuriously under the shelter Oh our
| little tent and listened to the moaning OF
The wind in the spruce tops. The sun OF
the following morning rose clear anu
serene, but the workaday world eIaiiLleu
us ngain-our vacation was over WIN
last backward look at the great moun'ulh
above us, we turned our faces toward the
railway again. Still we had plahheu loI
/ the future-"The next week that we can
! claim ms orr own" we said, and shook
i hands upon the vow, "be II winter OF
summer. blow high or blow low, we VIII
dance on the top OF Old Statton."
To start az five in the morning WIN llle
thermometer at 20 below and no restau
rants open. on railway journey OF 50
miles. with mountain climb at the end
/ of IL, is an experience calculated to dis'
/ courage the most determined vaeatlohist'
| But we had shaken hands ON the agree
ment and enthusiastic or not we were
going. ,,,,o
headed east from the railroad station at
| Manchester, straight for the mountain,
our handsled piled high with blankets
/ supulies and snowshoes. Slowly We climb
ed The long rise to the great plateau under
| the pale chill sunshine OF winter
| shortest day The road was good ~ hrst
but when darkness overlook us we were
stumbling along a narrow sled track
through a gloomy wilderness. One glimpse
we had had, and one alone, oil Stfaltoh
doathly white and still 1t loomed against
| the darkening sky, huge and spectral a.
fine abodes of the Frost giants OF Scandl-
rayian mythology. Still we plodded on
past our coy camping place OF the sum
mer before, looking bleak and forsaken IN
the gathering darkness past great yellow
birches that were stately trees when
Ethan Allen was in his cradle-the miles
were long and weary as we took turn ana
| turn about at drag rope and steering pole
OF the little sled. When at length the
SPRAYING mass of the forsaken mill bmld' /
ings made a black splotch against the
/ frozen whiteness OF clearing, We were
ready to confess ourselves frankly tired
4 big box stove, crammed WIN Wool
made a corner of the dismantled dining
camp. fenced off by blankets, coy and
warm in spite OF missing window panes
and snowdrifts on the floor. When at
length we crept under those same blank
cts. with our feet TO the glowing stove II !
was heat rather than cold that made us
uncomfortable.
Biting wind, gloomy sky, and scatter
ed snowhakes greeted us the next, morn,
ing as we swung on our light packs ana
adjusted our snowshoes. Through thick
cts of hobble bush and young maple,
marking the old clearing OF the lumber
men in whose camp we had slept, we pick
ed our laborious way. Over steep ridges, |
back and forth between hillocks, stooplng
low under snow laden branches or step
ping high over fallen, logs our devious
path led upward. At length the limit OF
the logger's work was passed, and we en- |
tered the snow carpeted snow rooted, I
snow pillared forest. The way grew
steeper-the packs heavier; through oc.
casional openings we caught distant
glimpses, now and then, OF tar oil snowy |
peaks startlngly distinct upon the gray
background OF sky. Still the mountain
side rose sharply, inexorably, above. us;
The trees were no longer lofty-twisted
and beaten by storm winds, their tough, |
thickset tops, encased in heavy, cleaning |
armor of frozen snow, swung stiiiiy IN the
chill northeast wind The trees grew shorter, |
their snow armor thicker; we scrambled
up sleeper slope than any we had be-
fore encountered, wound back and forth
among the grotesque snow pillars OF for
est of stunted spruces, and stood at length
upon the summit.
Disappointing? Perhaps so--no wide
spreading landscape at our feet, no long
vistas OF distant peaks-jqst a labyrinth
of low-growing, snow enshrouded trees,
twisted into a thousand fantastic forms,
against whose armor strike keen snow
flakes driven like arrows by the merclless
wind. Snow above, around and below, in
flakes, in columns and in drifts-and al
ways the relentless wind and the pitiless
cold But a snowshoe makes a fairly good
shovel, and soon we are erouched on a
carpet of spruce branches before a fire
which blazes merrily at the leeward end OF
our hastily dug snow pit, and the chill air
is balmy with the fragrance of coffee.
This is home" was the thought in the
happy we reached the old mill again in
the early twilight. The snow beat thick
upon the roof but inside, before the
glowing stove, we sat long and talked of
many things. And when at last we lay
down beside the fire we still talked drows-
lily while the wind outside shouted to us
as it flung handfuls of snow against the
broken window and romped madly around
the clearing.
All, the wind! What tales it tells to us
as we listen to its wild music-now soft
and low as it murmurs of happy fields and
peaceful fresides where care and strife are
unknown and where the very cat beside
the hearth purrs contentment-now wild
and restless as it strikes the mighty harp
of the forest trees and sings of glorious
deeds to be done and far away dangers to
be dared, until we can almost see its beck
onlng fingers Turing us on into the wide
world as the great trees swing and sway
to the vibrant chords-now fierce and vim
dictive as it filings the icy snow spray be-
fore it and rushes madly over the frozen
lakes and shivering woodlands of the
north. Still it bloweth whittier it listeth
all the arts of twice three thousand
years are powerless to change it; still it
power and of resistless longing-and still
we crouch and listen, half eager, half
afraid, to the savage tenderness of its
appeal.
But Whatever our dreams we were early
astir, for hard days work lay before us
Fresh snow had fallen and had drifted
during the night little handsled that
so CALAMITY rode the snow sea on our
journey in, had soon to be discarded and
left beside the trail. Mile after mile we
trudged beneath the weight of our heavy
nI-C -. 4
tered Manchester again, and shook hands
in harrington here we were to senarate