Near Bennington, Vt.
Sun., July 19, 1925
Because of the insects yesterday morning, we could hardly stay down at the river long enough to take our plunges. Later while fishing, the only bites Bill got were on his face, neck, hands, wrists and ankles, even though slathered with fly-oil.
As we prepared to leave our "buggy" camp, a tiny field mouse played hide and seek between the cylinders of the motorcycle, remaining there unafraid until Bill started the engine. At the Seersburg Power Station on the Deerfield River, we were greeted by the most terrifying sound, like express trains rushing towards us from every direction--the starting of the generators. After Bill had an informative talk with the operator, we drove to Whitingham Dam, a third as long, but three times higher than Somerset, with an interesting "Tunnel to Hell," a tremendous concrete funnel preventing overflow. We camped last night near another power station, Davis Bridge, also on the Deerfield, and the coldest water in which we had ever bathed.
In the morning we drove back over the mountain towards Bennington to this attractive stop I had noticed on our way up. While I did a huge washing in the brook, Bill caught a couple of nice trout. After putting them on the fire to "stodge" for supper, I had the most ideal shower imaginable, lying back in a perfect armchair in the rocks, under a small, not too cold, falls.
In my writing now in the tent with the electric light hanging over my page, and catching faint strains of harp and fiddle from Bill's earphones. A Bonfire crackles in front, near the brook, and there is not a bug or beastie to annoy. In fact this whole camp has been perfect.