Summary

Portrait of Frank Bolles Frank Bolles At the North of Bearcamp Water

The only sounds which I could hear, and they were only occasional, were produced by the fall of masses of snow from spruce limbs, and the sighing of the breeze in the tree-tops far below me in the ravine. When the wind ceased, the hush was wonderful. In so vast a space it seemed as though some voice of nature must make itself heard; but above, below, northward towards Canada, eastward towards the ocean, southward, where Winnepesaukee’s waters were too dazzling to watch, and westward, among the snowy ravines of clustered mountains, all was absolute repose and silence.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Frank Bolles Frank Bolles At the North of Bearcamp Water

Early in the afternoon I followed the western stream to its source, where, in a dark hollow at the head of the west ridge, hidden wholly from view by the forest, lies a small mountain lake. Perhaps it would be more truthful to call it a large pool, fed as it is mainly by melting snow or the streams of rain-water poured into it from the crags of Chocorua. Beneath its shallow water the maroon and dark green sphagnum formed a submerged carpet of intense colors. The growing tops of the moss, star-shaped and erect, glowed with the tint of life.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Frank Bolles Frank Bolles At the North of Bearcamp Water

From the ridge I could see many a mile of forest, and many a mountain peak, none fairer than Chocorua. A grouse rose from the scrub at my feet, and flew nearly an eighth of a mile before alighting.
The little child’s beauty haunted me as I strolled down the railway track, and I wondered what her future would be if she grew up in that snug nook in the woods and sand; what her character would be with its mingling of Celtic, Gallic, and Saxon elements; frozen in the northern winter and burned under the hot summer suns of the Ossipee plains.
Source: Gutenberg

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