I Did Not Reach This Gorge Till Late, And It Was
An Hour After Dark Before I Groped My Way Into This Dark,
Unlighted Mining Town, Where, However, We Were Most Fortunate
Both As To Stable And Accommodation For Myself.
BOULDER, November 16.
I fear you will grow tired of the details of these journal
letters. To a person sitting quietly at home, Rocky Mountain
traveling, like Rocky Mountain scenery, must seem very
monotonous; but not so to me, to whom the pure, dry mountain air
is the elixir of life. At Golden City I parted for a time from
my faithful pony, as Clear Creek Canyon, which leads from it to
Idaho, is entirely monopolized by a narrow-gauge railroad, and is
inaccessible for horses or mules. To be without a horse in these
mountains is to be reduced to complete helplessness. My great
wish was to see Green Lake, situated near the timber line above
Georgetown (said to be the highest town in the United States), at
a height of 9,000 feet. A single day took me from the heat of
summer into the intense cold of winter.
Golden City by daylight showed its meanness and belied its name.
It is ungraded, with here and there a piece of wooden sidewalk,
supported on posts, up to which you ascend by planks. Brick,
pine, and log houses are huddled together, every other house is a
saloon, and hardly a woman is to be seen. My landlady apologized
for the very exquisite little bedroom which she gave me by saying
"it was not quite as she would like it, but she had never had a
lady in her house before." The young "lady" who waited at
breakfast said, "I've been thinking about you, and I'm certain
sure you're an authoress." The day, as usual, was glorious.
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