The Secret Trees of the Christmas Mountains
Every year about this time, I get to thinking about the Christmas Mountains. If you’ve never heard of this Appalachian Mountain subrange located in north-central New Brunswick 70 kilometres west of Newcastle and just southeast of Mount Carleton, it’s not surprising.
It’s not a big mountain range, only 10 mountains — hills with rounded peaks, really — the highest of which is Mount Dasher at 750 metres. The other nine are North Pole Mountain, Mount St. Nicholas, Mount Dancer, Mount Prancer, Mount Vixen, Mount Comet, Mount Cupid, Mount Donder and Mount Blitzen. It’s not hard to figure out why they’re called the Christmas Mountains.
I first heard about the Christmas Mountains back in the 1960s. That’s when Arthur F. Wightman, a provincial surveyor and a member of the Canadian Permanent Committee on Geographical Names, was given the task of finding suitable names for the mountains. Since it was around Christmas when Wightman received his assignment, he decided to name the mountains after the reindeer in Clement Moore’s 1823 poem, A Visit From St. Nicholas, better known by its opening line: “Twas the night before Christmas.”
My uncle, Elwood Wright, first told me about the Christmas Mountains. Elwood had a considerable reputation as a hunting and fishing guide on the Tobique River back in the 1930s, 40s and 50s. He had spent years in the central New Brunswick wilderness and knew the landscape, and the lore of the landscape, like the back of his hand. Fortunately, he was always happy to pass on his love of the land and his experiences to me. I was like a human sponge absorbing lore and legend. Even now, when I think of those stories, I faintly smell the sweetness of his pipe tobacco and the unique aroma it created as it blended with the spruce-fir smell of the wilderness, and fly repellent.
It would have been just a few years after Wightman’s naming of the Christmas Mountains when my uncle and I were wading down a little stream that ran into the Tobique River. I wouldn’t have been much more than 11 or 12. The stream was not only terrific for trout fishing, but it also provided some incredible vistas of the rugged New Brunswick interior.
As we stood on a sandbar fishing what looked like a perfect place to hook a big one, Elwood turned his head toward me and pointed way off in the distance.
” Do you know the name of those mountains?” he asked.
“No”, I replied, wondering if that was something I should have known.
“Those are the Christmas Mountains.”
The Christmas Mountains. The name gave me a good feeling especially on such a hot day; it sounded cool and refreshing. With visions of presents, turkey, gravy and pie suddenly capturing my imagination, I forgot, for a moment, the mosquitoes buzzing ferociously around my head.
“And do you know,” my uncle continued, “what is special about the Christmas Mountains?”
“No,” I replied, thinking okay this is something important. I need to pay attention.
“There are secret trees that have decorations on them and if you look closely you might find one,” he said with a perfectly straight face, a face that left me wondering.
I’m still wondering. And I’m still looking. Over the last 50 years every time I’ve driven, walked or canoed in the Christmas Mountains wilderness, I’ve kept a sharp eye out for one of those secret, fully decorated trees. One time, about 20 years ago, I spent a couple of days camping in the area. Just wanted to be out in the wilderness, I told everybody. But really, I was searching and hoping.
It’s no wonder every year about this time, I get to thinking about the Christmas Mountains and those secret, beautifully decorated trees. Crazy, I suppose but what the heck. It’s the time of year when we’re allowed to suspend reality and let our imaginations take over. I know they’re out there though and I know one day I’ll find one. And it’ll be perfect — a real Christmas miracle.
