A continuation of the hills, south of the valley we
had passed in the morning, swung round the south shore of the lake
and culminated in what I called Santa Claus Mountain; for the
outline of its rugged top looked as if the tired old fellow had
there lain down to rest, that he might be ready to start out again
on his long winter journey. I knew then that the beautiful valley,
through which we had just passed, must be that vale where his
fairies dance when it is moonlight.
About the outlet the country was wild and rugged, and from the
point where the river leaves the lake the water breaks into a
tossing foaming rapid. According to the trappers, the river from
this point to Bald Mountain rushes down a continuous rocky slope,
the hills in many places rising perpendicular from its edge.
Turning again we passed northward up the lake. It proved to be a
succession of lake expansions, narrowing in one part, where it is
bordered by the cliffs, and the current is very rapid. The lake is
surrounded by hills of solid rock, some of those on the west
arising abrupt and separate, one, Mount Pisa, distinctly leaning
towards the east.
