'
The view from Paltz Point is magical. The long line of the Catskills
sweeps boldly across the near northern horizon. Nowhere do those
mountains seem so majestic, or their forms so broken and beautiful;
nearer are the Olive mountains, beyond which flows the Esopus. Rondout
creek, the Wallkill, and the Hudson, water the fertile vales lying among
the hills. To the south stretches the line of the Shawangunk toward the
Delaware river, and on the extreme southern and southeastern horizon
rise the Highlands, with the river gap, the rifted sides of the Storm
King, the Beacons, the great broad shoulders of Schunemunk;--even the
white buildings on the plain at West Point may be seen glittering in the
afternoon sun. A clear atmosphere is needed for the full enjoyment of
the view, as the panorama is so vast that even a slight haze obscures
many of the more interesting distant objects. And what words could
describe the jutting headlands--wild, broken lines of white cliffs
stretching to the southward, deep chasms, steep, forest-clad mountains,
green or blue as distance, sunshine, or shadow may decree, and the
tranquil green lake, smiling as a deep, strong and cheerful spirit amid
the ruins of a shattered, wasted life? As our travellers gazed, they
thanked God that His world was so beautiful, and wondered if even Aunt
Sarah would not be willing to run the risk of being thought strong
minded to see so fair a corner of it.
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