Who was Shiff the Gunman—myth, merchant, or something in between? This article explores the life of Carroll Barrows Shiffer, known nationwide as “Shiff the Gunman,” a solitary, reclusive New Hampshire firearms dealer who carefully blurred the line between fact and legend and whose North Woodstock, New Hampshire, cabin became a destination for collectors across the country. Through letters, objects, and reputation, Shiffer built an authority that outlived him, reminding us that history is shaped not only by what is true, but by what endures, leaving behind a legacy that still surfaces in auctions and archives today.

In October 1981, The Christian Science Monitor explored a heated controversy brewing over the skies above the White Mountains, where two Air National Guard units proposed a Military Operating Area (MOA) for high-speed, low-altitude training flights—a plan that struck deep into the region’s identity as a place of quiet recreation and scenic beauty. What thrilled pilots as valuable preparation for possible combat scenarios alarmed hikers, campers, and local residents, who argued that sudden, engine-throbbing fighter sorties—sometimes as low as 100 feet above ground—could disrupt the natural experience and even threaten wildlife habitats. With voices from community advocates and public officials opposing the proposal and urging the Air Force to consider alternatives, the story captures a moment when local quality of life, tourism, and environmental stewardship clashed with military training needs over one of New Hampshire’s most cherished landscapes.

This gripping article recounts two of the most daring dog-sled ascents ever attempted on Mount Washington, beginning with Arthur T. Walden and the legendary lead dog Chinook’s perilous climb in 1926, and culminating in Florence Murray Clark’s extraordinary solo ascent in 1932. Set against hurricane-force winds, sheer ice slopes, and life-or-death decisions, the story captures both the physical danger of winter travel on New England’s highest peak and the remarkable resolve of those who dared to challenge it—especially Clark, who became the first woman to drive a dog team to the summit without assistance. Together, these intertwined accounts illuminate a little-known chapter of White Mountains history where endurance, courage, and human–animal partnership were tested at the very edge of possibility.

In the early 1900s, a small factory in Lincoln, New Hampshire briefly transformed local forests into millions of wooden clothespins. This article explores the little-known history of the Dodge Clothespin Factory, its ties to J. E. Henry & Sons and the Dodge Clothespin Company of Coudersport, Pennsylvania, and how a short-lived industry left a lasting imprint on the landscape—where the Nordic Inn stands today.

For more than seven decades, Malvina Govoni Frank fed a valley, one bowl of spaghetti at a time. Beginning at the age of thirteen, working beside her mother, Clementina, in a North Woodstock kitchen, Malvina learned a craft that would become both her livelihood and legacy. What started as homemade spaghetti delivered by horse and wagon to mill girls and neighbors grew into a beloved family restaurant that served thousands each summer, drawing locals, hotel guests, and even governors to its tables. Through hard work, long nights, and generations of change, the family stitched Old World traditions into daily life, proving that food can be both sustenance and story — and that a simple recipe, faithfully kept, can bind a community together for nearly a century.

By Jim Hamilton (Spring 1992, The Resuscitator) NOTE: If you’d like to start at the beginning, head on over to Bearding the Old Man—Part One Collecting information about the 1955 bearding of the Old Man of the Mountains led us to David “Stretch” Hays, trailmaster of the AMC trail crew that summer who had mentioned […]

Stepping through the front door of Priscilla Cox’s home in Woodstock was like crossing a threshold into two centuries of Upper Pemigewasset Valley history. Built circa 1800 and expanded over generations, the house first sheltered Thomas and Margaret Pinkham when they arrived in 1806, later becoming the Russell family’s farm—complete with flax fields, a sawmill, and ironwork forged in Franconia. It even served as a station on the Underground Railroad, with a hidden space beneath the attic floorboards where freedom seekers found refuge. The Burney and Cox families followed, each adding new stories: marriages linking Quebec to Woodstock, a son lost at the Battle of the Bulge, summers filled with cousins and farm chores, and a cast of unforgettable hired hands whose tales Priscilla treasured. Except for a brief wartime relocation, Priscilla lived her entire life within those walls.

In 1900, Rev. John E. Johnson published “The Boa Constrictor of the White Mountains”—a fiery exposé warning that the New Hampshire Land Company posed an existential threat to the region’s forests, farms, and mills. Calling the corporation “a boa constrictor” determined “to depopulate and deforest” vast tracts of the White Mountains, Johnson argued that unchecked land speculation and aggressive timbering would destroy not only the natural landscape but also the agricultural and manufacturing backbone of New Hampshire. His impassioned writing, first delivered as a pamphlet in North Woodstock on July 4, 1900, helped fuel the growing public outcry that would ultimately lead to national forest protection in the Northeast—and, eventually, the passage of the Weeks Act.

Little is known about the first attempt to beard the Old Man of the Mountain because there are no known photographs or newspaper reports to document the event and the principal players included the celebrated son of the other “Old Man”—Joe Dodge—who would not have taken kindly to knowing that son Brookie “Hirum” went AWOL from Lakes of the Clouds to pull off the daring stunt. It’s interesting that the secret was so well kept that, years later, a second bearding party knew that Hirum and an accomplice had attempted to attach a tree to the Old Man’s chin, but were probably unsuccessful. After all, if a tree falls in a forest with nobody around to hear it, does it actually make a sound?