Franconia Mountains (N.H.); Natural history -- Outdoor books; White Mountains (N.H. and Me.)
If I went about this botanical errand doubtingly, let the reader
hold me excused. He has heard of a needle in a haystack. The case of
my violets was similar. The one man who had seen them was now dead.
Years before, he had pointed out to me casually (or like a dunce I had
_heard_ him casually) the place where he was accustomed to leave the
road in going after them--which was always long before my arrival.
This place I believed that I remembered within perhaps half a mile. My
only resource, therefore, was to plunge into the forest, practically
endless on its further side, and as well as I could, in an hour or
so, look the land over for that distance. Success would be a piece of
almost incredible luck, no doubt; but what then? I was here, the hour
was to spare, and the woods were worth a visit, violets or no violets.
So I plunged in, and, following the general course of the road, swept
the ground right and left with my eye, turning this way and that as
boulders and tangles impeded my steps, or as the sight of something
like violet leaves attracted me.
Well, for good or ill, it is a short story. There were plenty of
violets, but all of the common white sort, and when I emerged into
the road again my hands were empty. “Small,” “rare,” says the Manual.
My failure was not ignominious,--or I would keep it to myself,--and I
count upon trying again another season. And one thing I _had_ found:
my peace of mind. Subjectively, as we say, my hunt had prospered. Now
I could climb Bald Mountain with good hope of an hour or two of serene
enjoyment at the summit.
The climb is short, though the upper half of it is steep enough to
merit the name, and the “mountain” (it will pardon me the quotation
marks) is no more than a point of rocks, an outlying spur of Lafayette.
Its attractiveness is due not to its altitude, but to the exceptional
felicity of its situation; commanding the lake and the Notch, and the
broad Franconia Valley, together with a splendid panorama of broken
country and mountain forest; and over all, close at hand, the solemn,
bare peak of Lafayette.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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