Crossing over to Lake Champlain, we took a Delaware and Hudson Railroad train at Plattsburgh and rode down to Port Kent and thence visited Ausable Chasm near-by. Indian Pass is also in the same vicinity. The scenery is a repetition of that in Watkin’s Glen, with the added interest of a more considerable stream, upon which boating is a royal pleasure. The freshness which description by another writer may furnish is my excuse for introducing the following from the pen of Alfred B. Street:
“At North Elba we crossed a bridge where the Ausable comes winding down, and then followed its banks to the northeast, with thick woods continually around us, and the little river shooting darts of light at us through the leaves. At length, a broad summit, rising to a taller one, broke above the foliage at our right, and at the same time a gigantic mass of rock and forest saluted us, and we stood before the giant portals of the Notch. As we entered, the pass suddenly shrank, pressing the river into a deep and narrow stream. It was a chasm cloven boldly through White-Face, so that on each side towered the mountain escarpment; on the left, the range rose in still sublimer altitude, with grand precipices, like a majestic wall or a line of palisades, climbing sheer from the half-way forest upward. The crowded rows of pines along the broken and wavy crest were diminished to a mere fringe. As we rowed slowly through the still narrowing gorge, the mountains soared higher and higher, as if to scale the clouds, presenting truly a terrific aspect. I shrank within myself, and appeared to dwindle beneath it. Something akin to dread pervaded the scene. The mountains appeared to be knitting their brows into threatening frowns at our daring intrusion into the solitudes. Nothing seemed native to the awful landscape but the plunge of the torrent and the scream of the eagle. Below, at our left, the dark Ausable dashed onward with hoarse, foreboding murmurs, in harmony with the loneliness and wildness of the spot.”
VIEW OF THE THOUSAND ISLANDS IN ST. LAWRENCE RIVER.—The Thousand Islands is no misnomer, for they seem to be beyond number, scattered like myriads of emeralds, with deep water between, and yet so close together that they almost clasp hands across the dashing channel. Every islet is a dome of rocks, ground into symmetrical shape by glacial action long ago, then covered by a sediment from the river sufficient to support a profuse vegetation. Many wealthy persons have purchased possessions in these picturesque islands, upon which they have erected stately and imposing summer residences, some of them rivaling in splendor the ancient palaces of Venice.
THE SUMMIT OF WHITE-FACE MOUNTAIN.
From the top of Mount Marcy, overlooking Indian Pass, the view is inspiring in its expansive and tumultuous grandeur. Towards the southeast gleams the white crest of Boreas Mountain, and rising beyond is the leaning tower-like peak of the Dial, which pays its obeisance to Dix’s Peak, that from afar exhibits the form of a crouching lion. “Thence stagger the wild, savage and splintered tops of Gothic Mountain, at the Lower Ausable Pond, linking themselves on the east with the Noon-Mark and Roger’s Mountains, that watch over Keene’s Valley. To the northeast rise the Edmonds Pond Summits—the mountain-picture closed by the sharp crest of Old White-Face, the stately outpost of the Adirondacks.”
A trip through Ausable Chasm is one of unspeakable delight and enrapturing surprises. Just above the point where the chasm begins there is an old mill, once run by a wheel driven by a sluice connected with the river, but steam has superseded this natural power and detracted somewhat from the interest which would otherwise invest the place. The dam is still there, however, and over its brink the water flows in softest measures, to strike the rocky shelves below, where it boils and brawls in confused dismemberment until joined again in an unbroken stream. The banks rise rapidly, while the river draws deeper into its bed, until presently making a leap at Giant Falls it plunges into a great gorge whose walls have been eaten by the floods and ice of centuries. But it is by a succession of falls and cataracts that the stream reaches its greatest depression, which is known as the Grand Flume. Elbow Falls scarcely deserve to be dignified by so large a title, as they are rapids rather than falls; but for beauty they are almost incomparable, and afford an opportunity for the painter’s brush as great as may be found anywhere in the Adirondacks.