六级英语故事 6.4
The Great Lakes
The Great Lakes are the greatest wonder of America. It is the largest group of lakes in the world and the biggest body of fresh water.
It is hard to grasp that a land should contain several freshwater seas so big that a ship can steam out of sight of the shore for a day or more or even founder in giant waves, as happens from time to time.
Let us approach the lakes the best way: We should get on board a ship and start from the Lake Ontario. It is the smallest of the Great Lakes, but compared with the other lakes, Ontario is more illusive. This Niagara
Falls with its sheer thunderous drop has been an illusive barrier between this and other lakes, and the St. Lawrence sluicing out its eastern end draws Ontario's attention seaward.
The Welland Canal, 27 miles long, with eight locks to lift the ship over the Niagara Falls Escarpment to Lake Erie, has beautiful scenery on both sides. The ship drifts between backyards, orchards, and the back porch of a small farmhouse. Then, the ship breaks through the last lock and goes into Lake Erie.
Erie has a reputation for treacherous flash storms. The shallowest of the lakes, it can be pale as glass, and as smooth. Then a few hours later it can be insensately churning under a fugitive sky. Its shores are low-lying, its beaches are narrow, but it is succulently pastoral.
After a day's sailing, the ship passes the Detroit lighthouse at dusk.
Detroit lies beside us now, an immense suffusion of light, sound of machine and people.
The next day the ship enters Lake Huron, the second largest of the lakes. You can smell north here; the wind has the resinous taste of pine, and stings having blown a long way across cold water.
The ship enters St Mary's River at the upper end of Huron at twilight. The river is wide and still. On either side of the river the forest comes down to the water. The country behind rises to low hunched mountains. The overwhelming impression is its absolute silence. Not even Huron itself seemed so wide, so empty, so soundless as these woods. In this silence, a gull rises beside the rail and then wheels and soars high, floats for a moment and then vanishes.
Our destination now is Superior, the largest freshwater lake in the world, also the deepest of the Lakes. There is a graceful stillness on Lake Superior. The rounded humped mountains along the shores look like burial mounds of the gods.
The ship slowly steams up to Fort William. The town wears the look of any city, but what strikes one most is the gleaming tracks and lines of cars. Forty-eight hours later we enter Lake Michigan. It is the only one of the lakes that built Chicago. It is the main route of the Oceangoing ships. Its shores are green and tangled in the north and white with dunes to the east.
Now the whole lake is glassy, and the sky is black. There are distant rumbles, and suddenly the storm comes. In no time the ship begins to lift and roll. The curtains swing. Lightning illuminates the whole ship. From that windless dusk to this black age, tomorrow the ship is to reach Chicago. Chicago? Shouldn't it be a port it England or France? Well, it is better to lie and listen to the water.
The Great Lakes are the greatest wonder of America. It is the largest group of lakes in the world and the biggest body of fresh water.
It is hard to grasp that a land should contain several freshwater seas so big that a ship can steam out of sight of the shore for a day or more or even founder in giant waves, as happens from time to time.
Let us approach the lakes the best way: We should get on board a ship and start from the Lake Ontario. It is the smallest of the Great Lakes, but compared with the other lakes, Ontario is more illusive. This Niagara
Falls with its sheer thunderous drop has been an illusive barrier between this and other lakes, and the St. Lawrence sluicing out its eastern end draws Ontario's attention seaward.
The Welland Canal, 27 miles long, with eight locks to lift the ship over the Niagara Falls Escarpment to Lake Erie, has beautiful scenery on both sides. The ship drifts between backyards, orchards, and the back porch of a small farmhouse. Then, the ship breaks through the last lock and goes into Lake Erie.
Erie has a reputation for treacherous flash storms. The shallowest of the lakes, it can be pale as glass, and as smooth. Then a few hours later it can be insensately churning under a fugitive sky. Its shores are low-lying, its beaches are narrow, but it is succulently pastoral.
After a day's sailing, the ship passes the Detroit lighthouse at dusk.
Detroit lies beside us now, an immense suffusion of light, sound of machine and people.
The next day the ship enters Lake Huron, the second largest of the lakes. You can smell north here; the wind has the resinous taste of pine, and stings having blown a long way across cold water.
The ship enters St Mary's River at the upper end of Huron at twilight. The river is wide and still. On either side of the river the forest comes down to the water. The country behind rises to low hunched mountains. The overwhelming impression is its absolute silence. Not even Huron itself seemed so wide, so empty, so soundless as these woods. In this silence, a gull rises beside the rail and then wheels and soars high, floats for a moment and then vanishes.
Our destination now is Superior, the largest freshwater lake in the world, also the deepest of the Lakes. There is a graceful stillness on Lake Superior. The rounded humped mountains along the shores look like burial mounds of the gods.
The ship slowly steams up to Fort William. The town wears the look of any city, but what strikes one most is the gleaming tracks and lines of cars. Forty-eight hours later we enter Lake Michigan. It is the only one of the lakes that built Chicago. It is the main route of the Oceangoing ships. Its shores are green and tangled in the north and white with dunes to the east.
Now the whole lake is glassy, and the sky is black. There are distant rumbles, and suddenly the storm comes. In no time the ship begins to lift and roll. The curtains swing. Lightning illuminates the whole ship. From that windless dusk to this black age, tomorrow the ship is to reach Chicago. Chicago? Shouldn't it be a port it England or France? Well, it is better to lie and listen to the water.
