A Single Dell Of Bright Green
Grass, On Which Dwarf Clumps Of The Scarlet Poison Oak Look Like
Beds Of Geraniums, Slopes Towards The West, As If It Must Lead To
The River Which We Seek.
Deep, vast canyons, all trending
westwards, lie in purple gloom.
Pine-clad ranges, rising into
the blasted top of Storm Peak, all run westwards too, and all the
beauty and glory are but the frame out of which
rises - heaven-piercing, pure in its pearly luster, as glorious a
mountain as the sun tinges red in either hemisphere - the
splintered, pinnacled, lonely, ghastly, imposing, double-peaked
summit of Long's Peak, the Mont Blanc of Northern Colorado.[10]
[10] Gray's Peak and Pike's Peak have their partisans, but
after seeing them all under favorable aspects, Long's Peak stands
in my memory as it does in that vast congeries of mountains,
alone in imperial grandeur.
This is a view to which nothing needs to be added. This is truly
the "lodge in some vast wilderness" for which one often sighs
when in the midst of "a bustle at once sordid and trivial." In
spite of Dr. Johnson, these "monstrous protuberances" do "inflame
the imagination and elevate the understanding." This scenery
satisfies my soul. Now, the Rocky Mountains realize - nay,
exceed - the dream of my childhood. It is magnificent, and the
air is life giving. I should like to spend some time in these
higher regions, but I know that this will turn out an abortive
expedition, owing to the stupidity and pigheadedness of Chalmers.
There is a most romantic place called Estes Park, at a height of
7,500 feet, which can be reached by going down to the plains and
then striking up the St. Vrain Canyon, but this is a distance of
fifty-five miles, and as Chalmers was confident that he could
take me over the mountains, a distance, as he supposed, of about
twenty miles, we left at mid-day yesterday, with the fervent
hope, on my part, that I might not return. Mrs. C. was busy the
whole of Tuesday in preparing what she called "grub," which,
together with "plenty of bedding," was to be carried on a pack
mule; but when we started I was disgusted to find that Chalmers
was on what should have been the pack animal, and that two
thickly-quilted cotton "spreads" had been disposed of under my
saddle, making it broad, high, and uncomfortable. Any human
being must have laughed to see an expedition start so grotesquely
"ill found." I had a very old iron-grey horse, whose lower lip
hung down feebly, showing his few teeth, while his fore-legs
stuck out forwards, and matter ran from both his nearly-blind
eyes. It is kindness to bring him up to abundant pasture. My
saddle is an old McLellan cavalry saddle, with a battered brass
peak, and the bridle is a rotten leather strap on one side and a
strand of rope on the other.
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