Coordinates: 44°01′38″N 71°41′00″W / 44.0273°N 71.6833°W / 44.0273; -71.6833
The East Branch of the Pemigewasset River is a 15.8-mile-long (25.4 km) river located in the White Mountains of New Hampshire in the United States. It is a tributary of the Pemigewasset River, part of the Merrimack River watershed.
The East Branch is a longer and larger river than the river that it flows into, but it is named a branch of the main stem because its source lies deep in the Pemigewasset Wilderness of the White Mountains, while the main Pemigewasset River flows directly from Franconia Notch, a major pass through the mountains. The East Branch begins in the locality known as Stillwater, in a wide valley north of Mount Carrigain and Mount Hancock, where several large brooks converge. The river flows west and southwest through the heart of the Pemigewasset Wilderness, picking up tributaries such as the North Fork of the Pemigewasset and Franconia Branch before reaching, at the Lincoln Woods Visitor Center, the Kancamagus Highway stretch of New Hampshire Route 112.
Now into developed areas, the East Branch meets the Hancock Branch coming from the southeast and flows past the Loon Mountain ski area to the village of Lincoln, New Hampshire. The river crosses into Woodstock and ends at the Pemigewasset River just downstream from the Interstate 93 highway bridges.
Famous quotes containing the words east, branch and/or river:
“A puff of wind, a puff faint and tepid and laden with strange odours of blossoms, of aromatic wood, comes out the still night—the first sigh of the East on my face. That I can never forget. It was impalpable and enslaving, like a charm, like a whispered promise of mysterious delight.... The mysterious East faced me, perfumed like a flower, silent like death, dark like a grave.”
—Joseph Conrad (1857–1924)
“True variety is in that plenitude of real and unexpected elements, in the branch charged with blue flowers thrusting itself, against all expectations, from the springtime hedge which seems already too full, while the purely formal imitation of variety ... is but void and uniformity, that is, that which is most opposed to variety....”
—Marcel Proust (1871–1922)
“It is like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre.... As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. Like the Roman, I seem to see “the River Tiber foaming with much blood.””
—J. Enoch Powell (b. 1912)