If, on some sunshiny afternoon you look up from the camp and see a ghost-moon hanging, no more than a foot above the highest spire, you must surely be "citified" if you do not pause to drink in its weird sublimity and wild beauty.
Many winters of storm and snow have loosed the rocks and carried them down the mountain.

Those thrown down years ago are moss-covered and have collected enough soil in their crevices to nourish underbrush and large trees.

But there are bare rocks along Eagle Creek to-day large enough for a man to hew a cabin from.

Standing in awe of their size one surely must look curiously up the mountain to find the spaces they once occupied.

Then, taking in the size of the peak it is equally natural that one should be filled with a desire to climb it and look down the other side and across the vista to the neighboring ranges.