“And I’ve got a collapsible camp lantern, that you can see to shut it up by,” said Lou.
“Then we’ll do with just those things,” Art said. “Of course, everybody’ll bring his own cup and knife and spoon. Oh, and how about maps and compasses, Mr. Rogers? Will we need compasses?”
“You bet, we’ll all take compasses. Everybody’s got to have a compass in his pocket before we start.”
“Why?” asked Frank. “Can’t you always see where you are going on a mountain? Those pictures of Washington you showed us looked as if the mountain was all bare rock.”
“That’s just why we need the compasses,” Mr. Rogers answered. “You can follow a path through woods, no matter how thick a cloud you may be in, but when you get up on the bare ledges of the Presidentials, the path is marked only by little piles of stones, called cairns, every fifty feet or so, and when a cloud comes up you can’t see, often, from one to the next, and if you once get away from the path and started in a wrong direction, you are lost. Many people have been lost on Mount Washington just that way, and either starved or frozen to death. If you have a compass, you can steer a compass line down the mountain till you come to water, and follow the brook out toward the north where there are houses at the base. But if you haven’t a compass, and get to going south, you get into a wilderness, and it would go hard with you. Mount Washington is really a dangerous mountain, even if it is only 6,293 feet high. The storms come quickly and often without warning, and it can get very cold up there, as I told you, even in midsummer. Yes, sir, we’ll all take compasses, and before we tackle the old boy we’ll have some lectures, too, on how to act in case of cloud!”
“Don’t we want maps, too?” said Art. “Gee, it sounds more exciting every minute!”
“I have the maps,” Mr. Rogers said. “Here are the government maps of the Presidentials, and here is the little Appalachian Club book, with maps and trails.”
He brought out a small book in a green leather cover like a pocketbook, and opened it, unfolding two maps of the Presidential range, like big blueprints.
The boys leaned their heads together over it, and began to spell out the trails.
“Gulf Side Trail,” cried Art. “That sounds good.”