Instead you often find unsuitable places for camping
with dust and heat in place of cool retreats; instead of the
cheerful campfire anticipated, you may work hard to get a
"smudgy smouldering fire." Your meal will in all probability
consist of raw salmon eaten at The Sign of the Smoke Screen;
while your dry bed of balsam boughs may turn out to be rain
trickling down your neck, Niagara-like, and your resting place a
veritable Lake Erie. Your fragrance of a thousand flowers may be
the pungent aroma of the skunk, borne by the evening breeze; and
your evening serenade perhaps will be made by an immense number
of "no see ems" whose shrill and infinitely fine soprano is paid
for in so many installments of blood, to say nothing of the
furious itching and nights of "watchful waiting." Even to enjoy
Nature in her finer moods you must always pay a price, and
people gain "beauty, as well as bread, by the sweat of their
brows."
But here we are at Crawford's notch, gazing at the mountains
that tower far above us. Their bases already lie in deep shadows
which are creeping continually upward. We lifted our eyes toward
the masses of light gray rock many hundreds of feet in height,
which kept watch over the lovely glen below. There were the tops
of the mountains bathed in floods of golden light, while their
lower levels were already dim with twilight gloom.
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