We have often heard
that the falls of Caterskill present an interesting spectacle
in mid-winter; but, despite our strong desire to visit them, winter
after winter has passed away without the accomplishment of our
wish, until a few days ago. February 27th, a party of ladies,
who, to do them justice, are generally more alive to the beauties
of nature than our gentlemen, invited Mrs. C. and myself to join
in this tour in search of the wintry picturesque...but to visit
the scene in winter is a privilege permitted to few, and to visit
it this winter, when the spectacle (if I may so call it) is more
than usually magnificent, and, as the hunters say, more complete
than has been known for thirty years, is indeed worthy a long
pilgrimage. What a contrast to its summer aspect! No leafy woods,
no blossoms glittering in the sun, rejoice upon the steeps around!
Hoary winter
"O'er forests wide has laid
his hand,
And they are bare;
They move and moan a spectral band,
Struck by despair?"
There are overhanging
rocks, and the dark browed cavern; but where the spangled cataract
fell, stands a gigantic tower of ice, reaching from the basin
of the waterfall to the very summit of the crags. From the jutting
rocks, that form the canopy of which I have spoken, hang festoons
of glittering icicles. Not a drop of water, not a gush of spray
is to be seen; no sound of many waters strikes the ear, not even
as of a gurgling rivulet or trickling rill; all is silent and
motionless as death; and did not the curious eye perceive, through
two window-like spaces of clear ice, the falling water, one would
be lead to believe that all is bound in icy fetters. But there
falls the cataract, not imprisoned, but shielded like a thing
too delicate for the blasts of winter to blow upon. It falls,
too, as in the summer it falls, broken into myriads of diamonds,
which group themselves as they descend into wedge-like forms,
like wild fowl when traversing the blue air. I have said that
the tower or perforated column of ice reaches the whole height
of the first fall; its base rests on a field of snow-covered ice,
spread over the basin and rocky platform, that in some parts is
broken into miniature glaciers.
Near the foot it is more than thirty feet in diameter, but is
somewhat narrower above. It is in general of a milk-white colour,
and curiously embossed with rich and fantastic ornaments; about
its base are numerous dome-like forms, supported by groups of
icicles. In other parts are to be seen falling strands of flowers,
each flower ruffled by the breeze; these were of the most transparent
ice. This curious frost-work reminded me of the tracery and icicle-like
ornament frequent in Saracenic architecture: and I have no doubt
that nature suggested such ornament to the architect, as the most
fitting for halls where ever-flowing fountains cooled the sultry
air. Here and there, suspended from the projecting rocks that
form the eaves of the great gallery, are groups and ranks of icicles
of every variety of size and number. Some of them are twenty or
thirty feet in length. Sparkling in the sun-light, they form a
magnificent fringe. The scene is striking from many points of
view; but one seemed superior to the rest. Near by, and overhead,
hung a broad festoon of icicles: a little further on, another
cluster of icicles of great size, grouped with the columns all
in full sunlight, contrasting finely with the sombre cavern behind.
The icicles in this group appear to be broken off midway some
time ago, and from their truncated ends numerous smaller icicles
depend: they look like gorgeous chandeliers, or the richest pendants
of a gothic cathedral wrought in crystal. Behind these icicles
and the column, is seen a cluster of lesser columns and icicles,
of pure cerulean colour; then come the broken rocks and woods.
The icy spears -- the majestic tower -- the impending rocks overhead
-- the wild valley below with its contorted trees -- the lofty
mountains towering in the distance, compose a "wild and wondrous"
scene, where the Ice-king
"Builds, in the starlight clear
and cold,
A palace of ice, where the torrent falls,
With turret and arch, and fretwork fair,
And pillars blue as the summer air."
We left the spot
with lingering steps and real regret, for in all probability we
were never to see these wintry glories again. The royal architect
builds but unstable structures, which, like wordly virtues, quickly
vanish in the full light, and fiery trial.
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