Susan Hartley Swett.
A DAMP JOURNEY ON A DOWN GRADE.
BY RALPH K. WING.
TIME was when a trip into the woods meant “roughing it.” Nowadays it may mean anything. An arm-chair in the stern of a skiff, propelled by a backwoods laborer, who lugs your boat from one lake to another over the highways of such travel—this is the ordinary type of the modern Adirondack voyage. The tourist languidly views the scenery through his eye-glass, and returns to his city friends to rapturously descant upon the perils and hardships undergone, and the bravery required for a sojourn in this “uncombed” region.
We had never taken an outing in such a manner. It was our intention to “do” the North Woods on business principles, take a tent, shun hotels, keep away from the usual paths of travel, carry our own canoe, do our own paddling, and, in fact, get the real benefit of genuine wild life in wild places.
Our canoe was at Blue Mountain Lake; and thither Will Maynard, my chum, and I made the thirty-mile stage ride from North Creek, the terminus of the railway. We reached the lake in the afternoon; and desiring to avoid the necessity of stopping over night at any of the hotels, we immediately looked around for a wagon to start us on our way. Our objective point was Rock Lake, about seven miles from Blue Mountain Lake, and a mile off the regular road. This pond gives rise to the Rock River, which flows into the Indian River, which again makes a junction with the upper Hudson far back in the remote wilderness. These water-courses we desired to follow, and continuing on the Hudson River to a few miles below the village of North Creek, portage over into Schroon River, from which Lake George, our ultimate destination, could easily be reached.
Good luck brought us an empty returning wagon, and it was soon engaged. About sunset we were landed at an inn at a point a mile and a half from Rock Lake. We discussed the feasibility of packing our boat and luggage this distance over a trail not too good and entirely unknown to us, before darkness settled down. Meanwhile we ate our supper, and then cut the Gordian knot by hiring two backwoodsmen to help us.
As, lagging somewhat behind our guides, we emerged from the end of the path we met them returning noiselessly, motioning to enjoin silence.
“What is it?” we whispered.