From Durango, the metropolis of the San Juan, to Silverton the scenery
is of surpassing grandeur and beauty. The railroad follows up the
course of the Animas River (to which the Spaniards gave the musical
but melancholy title of "Rio de las Animas Perdidas," or River of Lost
Souls), until the picturesque mining town of Silverton is reached. The
valley of the Animas is traversed before the cañon is reached, and the
traveler's eyes are delighted with succeeding scenes of sylvan beauty.
To the right is the river, beyond which rise the hills; to the left are
mountains, increasing in rugged contour as the advance is made; between
the track and the river are cultivated fields and cosy farmhouses,
while evidences of peace, prosperity and plenty are to be seen on every
hand. Nine miles above Durango, Trimble Hot Springs are reached. The
spacious hotel stands within a hundred yards of the road to the left
of the track. Here are medicinal hot springs of great curative value,
and here, in the season, gather invalids and pleasure seekers to drink
the waters and enjoy the delights of this charming resort. Leaving the
springs behind, the train speeds up the valley, which gradually narrows
as the advance is made; the ascending grade becomes steeper, the hills
close in, and soon the view is restricted to the rocky gorge within
whose depths the raging waters of the Animas sway and swirl.
Animas Cañon has characteristics peculiarly its own. The railroad does
not follow the bed of the stream, but clings to the cliffs midway of
their height; and a glance from the car window gives one the impression
of a view from a balloon. Below, a thousand feet, are the waters of the
river--in places, white with foam; in quiet coves, green as ocean's
depths. Above, five hundred feet, climb the combing cliffs, to which
cling pines and hemlocks. The cañon here is a mere fissure in the
mountain's heart, so narrow that one can easily toss a stone across and
send it bounding down the side of the opposing rock wall until it falls
into the waters of the river coursing through the abyss below. Emerging
from this wonderful chasm, the bed of the gorge rises until the roadway
is but a few feet above the level of the stream. The close, confining
and towering walls of rock are replaced by mountains of supreme height.
The Needles, which are among the most peculiar and striking of the
Rockies, thrust their sharp and splintered peaks into the regions of
eternal frost.
Elk Park is a quiet little nook in the midst of the range, with vistas
of meadows and groves of pines, a spot which would furnish the artist
many a subject for his canvass.
At the end of Elk Park stands Garfield Peak, lifting its summit a
mile above the track. Beyond are marshaled the everlasting mountains,
and through them for miles extends, in varying beauty and grandeur,
the cañon of the Animas. Frequent waterfalls glitter in the sunlight,
leaping from crag to crag, only to lose themselves at last in the
outflowing river. Emerging finally from this environment of crowding
cliffs, the train sweeps into Baker's Park and arrives at Silverton in
the heart of the San Juan.
Silverton is interesting, both from its picturesque position and
from the fact that it is a mining town. The mountains by which it is
surrounded on all sides are honeycombed with the shafts and tunnels
of innumerable mines. Sultan Mountain, which overlooks the town, is a
noble and impressive elevation, and adds to the grandeur of the scene
by its regal presence.
[Illustration: MOUNT BEATLE.]
From Silverton the journey "Around the Circle" is continued by taking
the Silverton Railway, a road constructed up the difficult grades
of Red Mountain, and doing an immense business in the handling of
ores which are taken from these rich deposits; also employed in the
transportation of passengers. This wonderful road owes its construction
to the genius, daring and wealth of one man, Mr. Otto Mears, who has
for years been the "pathfinder" of the San Juan region, building toll
roads and opening the gates of prosperity to the many mining towns of
this mountainous country. He is the sole owner of the road, and has
conquered engineering difficulties of the most astounding character.
The line does not as yet bridge the gap between Silverton and Ouray,
and from Ironton, its terminus, stages carry tourists over the
mountains to the latter point, where the trip is resumed by the Denver
& Rio Grande Railroad.
The stage ride forms one of the most attractive features of this
most attractive journey. Lasting only two hours, passing over the
summits of ranges and through the depths of cañons, the tourist will
find this a welcome variation to his method of travel and a great
relief and recreation. The old fashioned stage, with all its romantic
associations, is rapidly becoming a thing of the past. A year or
two more and it will have disappeared, except in rare instances,
from Colorado. Here, in the midst of some of the grandest scenery on
the continent, the blue sky above and the fresh, pure, exhilarating
mountain air sending the blood bounding through one's veins, to clamber
into a Concord coach and be whirled along a splendidly-constructed
road, costing in some instances $40,000 a mile in its construction,
to behold the grandest of Nature's handiwork, and to be in such close
communion with the everlasting hills, is surely a novel and delightful
experience.
The scenery on this journey between Silverton and Ouray is of the
greatest magnificence. This is especially true of that portion of the
route traversed by stage. The Silverton and Ouray toll road has long
been noted for its attractions in the way of scenery, the triangular
mass of Mount Abraham's towers to the left, while the road winds around
the curves of the hills with the sinuosity of a mountain brook. The
scene from the bridge over Bear Creek is one which once beheld can
never be forgotten. Directly under the bridge plunges a cataract to
a depth of 253 feet, forming a most noteworthy and impressive scene.
The toll road passes through one of the greatest mining regions in the
world, and the fame of Red Mountain is well deserved both from the
number and richness of its mines. Before Ouray is reached, the road
passes through Uncompahgre Cañon. Here the roadbed has been blasted
from the solid rock wall of the gorge, and a scene similar in nature
and rivaling in grandeur that of Animas Cañon is beheld.
[Illustration: MOUNT ABRAM, OURAY TOLL ROAD.]
Ouray is one of the most beautifully situated towns to be found
anywhere. Its scenery is idyllic. The village is cradled in a lovely
valley surrounded by rugged mountains. The situation of the town
is thus vividly described by Ernest Ingersoll in the "Crest of the
Continent": "The valley in which the town is built is at an elevation
of about 7,500 feet above the sea, and is pear-shaped, its greatest
width being not more than half a mile, while its length is about twice
that, down to the mouth of the cañon. Southward--that is, toward the
heart of the main range--stand the two great peaks, Hardin and Hayden.
Between is the deep gorge down which the Uncompahgre finds its way;
but this is hidden from view by a ridge which walls in the town and
cuts off all farther view from it in that direction, save where the
triangular top of Mount Abram peers over. Westward are grouped a series
of broken ledges, surmounted by greater and more rugged heights. Down
between these and the western foot of Mt. Hayden struggles Cañon Creek
to join the Uncompahgre, while Oak Creek leaps down a line of cataracts
from a notch in the terraced heights through which the quadrangular
head of White House Mountain becomes grandly discernible--the
easternmost buttress of the wintry Sierra San Miguel.
"At the lower side of the basin, where the path of the river is beset
with close cañon walls, the cliffs rise vertically from the level of
the village, and bear their forest growth many hundreds of feet above.
These mighty walls, two thousand feet high in some places, are of
metamorphic rock, and their even stratification simulates courses of
well-ordered masonry. Stained by iron, and probably also by manganese,
they are a deep red maroon. This color does not lie uniformly, however,
but is stronger in some layers than in others, so that the whole
face of the cliff is banded horizontally in pale rust color, or dull
crimson, or deep and opaque maroon. The western cliff is bare, but on
the more frequent ledges of the eastern wall scattered spruces grow,
and add to its attractiveness. Yet, as though Nature meant to teach
that a bit of motion--a suggestion of glee was needed to relieve the
somberness of utter immobility and grandeur, however shapely--she has
led to the sunlight, by a crevice in the upper part of the eastern wall
that we cannot see, a brisk torrent draining the snowfields of some
distant plateau. This little stream, thus beguiled by the fair channel
that led it through the spruce woods above, has no time to think of
its fate, but is flung out over the sheer precipice eighty feet into
the valley below. We see the white ghost of its descending, and always
to our ears is murmured the voice of the Naiads who are taking the
breathless plunge. Yet by what means the stream reaches that point from
above cannot be seen, and the picture is that of a strong jet of water
bursting from an orifice through the crimson wall, and falling into
rainbow-arched mist and a tangle of grateful foliage that hides its
further flowing."
[Illustration: CURRECANTI NEEDLE.]
Resuming the railroad journey at Ouray, the traveler will find much to
interest him in the run past Ridgway, where the Rio Grande Southern
connects with the Denver & Rio Grande, to Montrose, where the main
line is again reached, and, with faces turned once more to the
eastward, the homeward segment of the "circle" is entered upon, and
the greatest wonders of all this wonderful journey lie before. From
Cerro Summit a fine view can be had of the Uncompahgre Valley, its
river, and the distant peaks of the San Juan and Uncompahgre ranges
of mountains. Cimarron Cañon is entered shortly after leaving Cerro
Summit, the road following this cañon down Cimarron Creek to where it
empties into the Gunnison river. Here begins the tourist's experience
in the world-renowned Black Cañon of the Gunnison. The name is a
misnomer. There is nothing black about the cañon except the shadows
of the towering granite walls. The cliffs themselves show bright and
happy colors. Gay contrasts of pink and blue, bright complements of
red and maroon, all shades blended and differentiated, dashed on here
and there as with the broad, free-handed sweep of some master scenic
painter. The scene is varied, kaleidoscopic, constantly changing.
Here the train rolls along between frowning and exalted walls: there
a stream of water, Chippeta Falls, white as wool, pitches from the
brow of a precipice two thousand feet above; yonder a side cañon yawns
with capacious mouth as if to engulf us. Now we are in a spacious
amphitheater, in the center of which stands a tremendous monument
of solid stone, a spire graceful as if hewn by the hand of a Gothic
builder, and terminating in a sky-piercing pinnacle. This is the famed
"Currecanti Needle." Thus for twenty miles the ever-changing variety of
the Black Cañon holds the awe-stricken attention of the traveler. At
last the train rolls out into the valley of the Gunnison, and pastoral
scenes take the place of the tumultuous grandeur just beheld.
But soon a new marvel demands attention. The ascent of Marshall Pass
is just begun. We have just gone through the mountains, now we are to
go over them. The Pacific slope is now to be achieved. Two powerful
engines puff vigorously and take us spinning up the ringing grooves of
this marvelous road, climbing grades of 211 feet to the mile with as
much apparent ease as though we were traversing the level plain. What a
varied panorama of mountain views meets the gaze, and when the summit
is reached. 10,852 feet above the distant sea, the train pauses and
the eye sweeps the prospect as far as vision reaches. To the right,
fading away into the blue distance, can be seen the serrated range of
the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, snow-covered pyramids of transcendent
beauty. To the left towers fire-scarred Mount Ouray, a volcano whose
fires died out ages ago, while opposite stands its companion peak,
Mount Shaveno. Beneath is the pathway of our ascent, four lines in
view, each one an ascending circle of our tortuous upward journey.
[Illustration: CATHEDRAL SPIRE.]
Half a dozen revolutions of the wheels and we are on the Atlantic
slope. The waters all run to the eastward now. One engine holds the
train in check. There are no smoke and cinders. Pneumatic breaks
skillfully applied by the engineer control the power of gravitation,
which is the sole force needed to carry the long train down its winding
way. The sinuosity of the descent is something indescribable. A glance
at the illustration of the alignment of the road over Marshall Pass
will convey a better idea than anything that could be said. The descent
is ended at Poncha Springs, and the train enters the valley of the
Arkansas.
At Poncha are some of the most remarkable hot springs to be found
anywhere in the West. There are over one hundred of these springs; the
water varies in temperature from 90 to 185 degrees Fahrenheit. The
analysis of the Poncha Springs corresponds almost exactly with that of
the waters of the Hot Springs in Arkansas.
From the Arkansas Valley can be obtained a fine view of the Collegiate
range of mountains, including the peaks of Harvard, Yale and Princeton,
all of which reach an altitude greater than fourteen thousand feet.
The crowning attraction, the wonder of wonders, the marvel of marvels,
yet remains to be seen. The Grand Cañon of the Arkansas lies before
us. There are no words in the language which can describe this cañon.
There are no pigments on the artist's palette that can paint it; it is
indescribable and entirely beyond the reach of mimetic art. The Grand
Cañon is seven miles in length--seven miles of wonders, seven miles
of the grandest, most awful scenery in the world. To the right boils
and surges the Arkansas River, above which tower the red rocks of the
cañon. To the left are cliffs, jutting in places above the track, and
rising to tremendous and awe-inspiring heights. The progress down the
cañon is by means of many intricate curves, and it seems as though the
engine would dash itself to atoms against the cliffs, but each time
a slight turn is made and the train rounds the promontory in safety.
Soon the tourist finds himself in the heart of the mountain. Peak
upon peak rises above him, until the splintered summits seem to touch
the sky. Darker and darker grow the shadows, narrower and still more
narrow grows the gorge, deeper and deeper grows the gloom, the river
ceases its roaring, the noise of the train is hardly perceptible, for
the engineer has "slowed up," and the Royal Gorge is at hand. Here the
cañon is not wide enough for road and river, and here is one of the
most remarkable feats of engineering. Right across the gorge, fifty
feet wide at the base and perhaps seventy at the summit, which soars
above to a height of nearly three thousand feet, a series of great iron
braces has been thrown, from which huge iron bars depend, holding a
long iron bridge in suspension, that clings to the face of the cliff,
and runs, not across, but parallel with the course of the river. The
eye can scarcely comprehend the stupendous height of the perpendicular
cliffs whose summits pierce the heavens half a mile above our heads.
[Illustration: APPROACH TO THE BLACK CAÑON.]
After beholding the Royal Gorge the traveler has a superlative
comparison for all that is wonderful and grand in nature. He has seen
something which he can never forget, and of the many marvels of this
marvelous journey "Around the Circle," the greatest of them all, the
crowning glory, is the Royal Gorge.
It will not be inappropriate to make some special mention of several of
the more important points of interest on the circle tour, and we add
below a short description of the "Royal Gorge," "Toltec Gorge," "Animas
Cañon," "Black Cañon of the Gunnison," and the "Marshall Pass."