Summary

Portrait of Theodore Winthrop Theodore Winthrop Life in the Open Air — Chapter XI. Toward Katahdin (1863)

We paddled from the camp to the lake-foot, and there, while the others compacted the portables for portage, Iglesias and I, at cost of a ducking with mist-drops from the thickets, scrambled up a crag for a supreme view of the fair lake and the clear mountain. And we did well. Katahdin, from the hill guarding the exit of the Penobscot from Ripogenus, is eminent and emphatic, a signal and solitary pyramid, grander than any below the realms of the unchangeable, more distinctly mountainous than any mountain of those that stop short of the venerable honors of eternal snow.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Theodore Winthrop Theodore Winthrop Life in the Open Air — Chapter XI. Toward Katahdin (1863)

We trod the trail, we others, easier than Cancut. He found it hard to thread the mazes of an overgrown path and navigate his canoe at the same time. “Better,” thought he, as he staggered and plunged and bumped along, extricating his boat-bonnet now from a bower of raspberry-bushes, now from the branches of a brotherly birch-tree, — “better,” thought he, “were I seated in what I bear, and bounding gayly over the billow. Peril is better than pother.”
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Theodore Winthrop Theodore Winthrop Life in the Open Air — Chapter XI. Toward Katahdin (1863)

Iglesias and I took up the packs and hurried on with minds intent on berries. Berries we always found, — blueberries covered with a cloudy bloom, blueberries pulpy, saccharine, plenteous.
Often, when a portage was not quite necessary, a dangerous bit of white water would require the birch to be lightened. Cancut must steer her alone over the foam, while we, springing ashore, raced through the thick of the forest, tore through the briers, and plunged through the punk of trees older than history, now rotting where they fell, slain by Time the Giganticide. Cancut then had us at advantage.
Source: Wikisource

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