High up in the Rocky Mountains are lakes which shine as brightly as
dewdrops in a garden. These mountains are a vast hanging garden in
which flowers and waterfalls, forests and lakes, slopes and terraces,
group and mingle in lovely grandeur. Hundreds of these lakes and tarns
rest in this broken topography. Though most of them are small, they
vary in size from one acre to two thousand acres. Scores of these
lakes have not been named. They form a harmonious part of the
architecture of the mountains. Their basins were patiently fashioned
by the Ice King. Of the thousand or more lakes in the Colorado
mountains only a few are not glacial. The overwhelming majority rest
in basins that were gouged and worn in solid rock by glaciers. John
Muir says that Nature used the delicate snowflake for a tool with
which to fashion lake-basins and to sculpture the mountains. He also
says: "Every lake in the Sierra is a glacier lake. Their basins were
not merely remodeled and scoured out by this mighty agent, but in the
first place were eroded from the solid." The Rocky Mountain lakes are
set deep in cañons, mounted on terraces, and strung like uncut gems
along alpine streams. The boulders in many of their basins are as
clean and new as though just left by the constructive ice.
These lakes are scattered through the high mountains of Colorado, the
greater number lying between the altitudes of ten thousand and twelve
thousand feet. Few were formed above the altitude of twelve thousand,
and most of those below ten thousand now are great flowerpots and hold
a flower-illumined meadow or a grove. Timber-line divides this
lake-belt into two nearly equal parts. Many are small tarns with rocky
and utterly wild surroundings. Circular, elliptical, and long, narrow
forms predominate. Some lie upon a narrow terrace along the base of a
precipice. Many are great circular wells at the bottom of a fall;
others are long and narrow, filling cañons from wall to wall.
[Illustration: CRYSTAL LAKE, A TYPICAL GLACIER LAKE]
Glaciers the world over have been the chief makers of lake-basins,
large and small. These basins were formed in darkness, and hundreds
and even thousands of years may have been required for the ice to
carve and set the gems whose presence now adds so much to the light
and beauty of the rugged mountain-ranges. The ponderous glaciers or
ice rivers in descending from the mountain-summits came down steep
slopes or precipitous walls and bore irresistibly against the bottom.
The vast weight of these embankments of ice moving almost end-on,
mixed with boulders, tore and wore excavations into the solid rock at
the bottom of each high, steep descent.
Nature's ways are interestingly complicated. Both the number and the
location of many of these glacier lakes are due in part to the
prevailing direction of the wind during the last glacial epoch. This
is especially true of those in the Snowy Range of the Rocky Mountains,
which fronts the Great Plains. The majority of the lakes in this range
are situated on its eastern slope. Westerly winds undoubtedly
prevailed on these mountains during the depositing of the snows which
formed and maintained the glaciers that excavated these lake-basins.
As a result, much of the snow which fell on the summit and its
westerly slope was swept across and deposited on the eastern slope,
thus producing on the eastern side deeper ice, more glaciers, and more
appreciable erosion from the glaciers. The eastern summit of this
range is precipitous and is deeply cut by numerous ice-worn cirques
which extend at right angles to the trend of this range. These cirques
frequently lie close together, separated by a thin precipitous wall,
or ridge. On the westerly side of the range the upper slopes descend
into the lowlands through slopes and ridges rounded and but little
broken. Over these it is possible to ride a horse to the summit, while
foot travel and careful climbing over precipitous rocky walls is in
most places required to gain the summit from the east.
Westerly winds still blow strongly, sometimes for weeks, and the
present scanty snowfall is largely swept from the western slopes and
deposited on the eastern side. So far as I know, all the remaining
glaciers in the front ranges are on the eastern slope. The Arapahoe,
Sprague, Hallett, and Andrews Glaciers and the one on Long's Peak are
on the eastern slope. They are but the stubs or remnants of large
glaciers, and their presence is due in part to the deep, cool cirques
cut out by the former ice-flows, and in part to the snows swept to
them by prevailing westerly winds.
Though these lakes vary in shape and size, and though each is set in a
different topography, many have a number of like features and are
surrounded with somewhat similar verdure. A typical lake is elliptical
and about one fifth of a mile long; its altitude about ten thousand
feet; its waters clear and cold. A few huge rock-points or boulders
thrust through its surface near the outlet. A part of its circling
shore is of clean granite whose lines proclaim the former presence of
the Ice King. Extending from one shore is a dense, dark forest. One
stretch of low-lying shore is parklike and grassy, flower-crowded, and
dotted here and there with a plume of spruce or fir. By the outlet is
a filled-in portion of the lake covered with sedge and willow.
In summer, magpies, woodpeckers, nuthatches, and chickadees live in
the bordering woods. In the willows the white-crowned sparrow builds.
By the outlet or in the cascades above or below is the ever-cheerful
water-ouzel. The solitaire nesting near often flies across the lake,
filling the air with eager and melodious song. Along the shore,
gentians, columbines, paintbrushes, larkspur, and blue mertensia often
lean over the edge and give the water-margin the beauty of their
reflected colors.
These lakes above the limits of tree-growth do not appear desolate,
even though stern peaks rise far above. The bits of flowery meadow or
moorland lying close or stretching away, the songful streams arriving
or departing, soften their coldness and give a welcome to their
rock-bound, crag-piled shores. Mountain sheep are often visitors. They
come to drink, or to feed and play in the sedgy meadow near by.
Ptarmigan have their homes here, and all around them nest many birds
from the southland.
Into these lakes swift waters run, and here the snowy cataract leaps
in glory. From the overshadowing cliffs, flattened and lacy streams
flutter down. During the summer there is the ever-flowing harmony, the
endless animation, of falling water; and in winter there is the silent
and architectural symphony of the frozen waterfall. Many lakes during
summer are partly edged with inthrusting snow and ice piles; from time
to time fragments of these piles break away and become miniature
icebergs in these small arctic seas.
Although filled with the purest and clearest water, from a distant
height they often appear to contain a brilliant heavy liquid. Under
different lights and from different points of view they are emerald,
opal, inky black, violet, indigo-blue, and sea-green. I have
approached one from a high distant point, and as I descended and
waveringly advanced, the lake took on a number of deep colors, each
melting like a passing shadow from one into the other. Occasionally,
too, it almost vanished in dull gray or flashed up in molten silver.
The colors shown were as vivid as if made of the brilliant fire of
the northern lights. All these changing colors played on the lake,
while the surrounding peaks towered in cold and silent desolation,
changeless except when occasionally swept with the filmy bluish
shadows of the clouds.
Below the timber-line these lakes are more appealing, and many in the
midst of groves and meadows help to form delightful wild parks. Others
are hidden away in black forests; tall, crowding firs and spruces rise
from their edges and hide them completely, even when one is only a
yard or two from their shores. I camped for a week within a stone's
throw of one of these forest-embowered gems without suspecting its
presence. Returning to camp one evening from an encircling ramble, I
was startled by stepping into a lake-edge. For a moment I was puzzled.
Instinctively I felt that my camp was about the width of the lake
ahead of me. Although I felt certain of my bearings, my mental
processes were such that I was unwilling to trust this strange lake.
Instead of walking around its poetic shore, I lashed two water-soaked
logs together with willows and on this rude raft made my way directly
across. My camp was within fifty feet of the place where I landed.
Elements of peculiar attractiveness are combined in the lakes that are
situated along the timber-line. Some have a treeless mountain or a
rugged snow-piled peak rising boldly behind, and an acre or so of
meadow between one shore and the forest. A segment of wind-distorted
trees, a few enormous rock domes, a fine pile of boulders, and a strip
of willow with clumps of spruces and firs combine to give a charming
border.
Among the best known of these Colorado lakes are Grand, Trapper's,
Bierstadt, Trout, San Cristoval, Chicago, Thunder, Silver, Moraine,
and Twin Lakes. Grand Lake, probably the largest, is about three miles
long by one mile wide. Its basin appears to be largely due to a
morainal dam. The San Cristoval basin appears to have been formed by a
mud stream which blockaded a mountain valley. The lakes of the Long's
Peak region are my favorites. These are numerous and show a variety of
forms. Grand Lake and a few others lie to the west; Thunder Lake,
Ouzel Lake, and a dozen others are in Wild Basin to the south; Odessa,
Bierstadt, and the score of lakes in Loch Vale and Glacier Gorge are
to the north. All are within ten miles of the summit of this peak.
These lakes and their splendid mountain setting will in time give
scenic fame to the region.
The alpine lakes in the mountains of the West are but little known to
travelers. Many Western people appreciate the beauty of the Swiss and
Italian lakes but do not even know of the existence of the shining
lakes in their own mountains. But the unexcelled beauty and grandeur
of these lakes, their scenic surroundings, and the happy climate in
which they repose will in due time give them fame and bring countless
travelers to their shores.
[Illustration: TRAPPER'S LAKE]
In exploring the mountains I have often camped on a lake-shore. These
camps were conveniently situated for the exploration of neighboring
slopes and the valley below; or for making excursions to the more
rugged scenes,--the moraines, snow-fields, cirques, and peaks
above. Many an evening after a day with the moraines and the
forests, or with the eagles and the crags, I have gone down to one of
these ideal camping-places. Here through the night my fire blazed and
faded in the edge of a meadow before a templed cluster of spruces on a
rocky rim above the lake.
Many times camp was so situated that splendid sunsets or the lingering
pink and silver afterglow were at their best behind a broken sky-line
ridge. My camp-fire was reflected in the lake, which often sparkled as
if enamel-filled with stars. Across one corner lay softly the inverted
Milky Way. Shooting stars passed like white rockets through the silent
waters. The moon came up big and yellow from behind a crag and in the
lake became a disc of gold. Many a night the cliffs repeated the
restlessness of the wind-shaken water until the sun quieted all with
light. During the calm nights there were hours of almost unbroken
silence, though at times and faintly a far-off waterfall could be
heard, the bark of a fox sounded across the lake, or the weird and
merry cries of the coyote were echoed and reëchoed around the shore.
More often the white-crowned sparrow sang hopefully in the night.
Morning usually was preceded by a horizon of red and rose and gold.
Often, too, vague sheep and deer along the farther shore were slowly
developed into reality by the morning light. From all around birds
came to bathe and drink, and meet in morning song service.
Occasionally I remained in camp almost motionless from early morning
until the stars of evening filled the lake, enjoying the comings and
goings and social gatherings of the wilderness folk.
These lakes, if frozen during calm times, have ice of exceeding
clearness and smoothness. In early winter this reflects peak, cloud,
and sky with astonishing faithfulness. In walking across on this ice
when the reflective condition was at its best, I have marveled at my
reflection, or that of Scotch, my dog, walking on what appeared to be
the surface of the water. The lakes above timber-line are frozen over
about nine months of the year, some of them even longer. Avalanches
of snow often pile upon them, burying them deeply.
Gravity and water are filling with débris and sediment these basins
which the glaciers dug. Many lakes have long since faded from the
landscape. The earthy surface as it emerges above the water is in time
overspread with a carpet of plushy sedge or grass, a tangle of willow,
a grove of aspen, or a forest of pine or spruce. The rapidity of this
filling is dependent on a number of things,--the situation of the
lake, the stability of the watershed, its relation to forests, slopes,
meadows, and other lakes, which may intercept a part of the
down-coming sediment or wreckage. This filling material may be
deposited evenly over the bottom, the lake steadily becoming
shallower, though maintaining its original size, with its edge clean
until the last; or it may be heaped at one end or piled along one
side. In some lakes the entering stream builds a slowly extending
delta, which in time gains the surface and extends over the entire
basin. In other lakes a side stream may form an expanding dry delta
which the grass, willows or aspens eagerly follow outward and cover
long before water is displaced from the remainder of the lake's
rock-bound shores. With many, the lower end of the basin, shallow from
the first, is filled with sediment and changed to meadow, while the
deep upper end lies almost unchanged in its rock basin. Now and then a
plunging landslide forms an island, on which the spruces and firs make
haste to wave triumphant plumes. Lake Agnes on the northern slope of
Mt. Richthofen was formed with a rounded dome of glaciated rock
remaining near the centre. This lake is being filled by the slow
inflow of a "rock stream."
Landslides, large and small, often plunge into these lakes. One of the
largest rock avalanches that I ever saw made one wild leap into Chasm
Lake and buried itself. This was about the middle of June. This
glacier lake is on the eastern side of Long's Peak and is in a most
utterly wild place. The lake was still covered with thick ice, and on
the ice the snow lay deep. But spring was melting and loosening things
in the alpine heights. As I stood on a talus slope above the outlet
of the lake, an echoing on the opposite cliffs told me that a
rock-slide was coming down. Almost instantly there was the ripping
whizz of falling stone. A huge stone struck and pierced twenty feet of
snow and more than four feet of ice, which covered the lake. At the
same instant there came sounds of riot from above. More stones were
coming down. The crash of their striking, repeated and reëchoed by
surrounding cliffs and steeps, made an uproarious crashing as though
the top of Long's Peak had collapsed. It was an avalanche of several
thousand tons off the slope of Mt. Washington.
This avalanche was formed of a quantity of broken granite sufficient
to load a number of freight-trains. It smashed through the icy cover
of the lake. The effect was like a terrific explosion. Enormous
fragments of ice were thrown into the air and hurled afar. Great
masses of water burst explosively upward, as if the entire filling of
water had been blown out or had leaped out of its basin. The cliffs
opposite were deluged. The confused wind-current which this created
shredded and separated much of the water into spray, dashing and
blowing it about. I was thoroughly drenched. For half a minute this
spray whirled so thickly that it was almost smothering.
Water and ice are incessantly at work tearing down the heights. Water
undermines by washing away the softer parts and by leaching. Every
winter ice thrusts its expansive wedge into each opening. Places are
so shattered by this explosive action that thousands of gallons of
water are admitted. This collects in openings, and the following
winter the freezing and forcing continues. During the winter the
irresistible expansion of freezing water thus pushes the rocks and
widens the openings with a force that is slow but powerful. Winter by
winter rocks are moved; summer by summer the water helps enlarge the
opening. Years or centuries go by, and at last during a rainy time or
in the spring thaw a mass slips away or falls over. This may amount to
only a few pounds, or it may be a cliff or even a mountain-side.
The long ice-ages of the earth appear to have their sway, go, and
return. These alternate with long climatic periods made up of the
short winters and the other changing seasons such as we know. The
glacier lake is slowly created, but an avalanche may blot it out the
day after it is completed. Other lakes more favorably situated may
live on for thousands of years. But every one must eventually pass
away. These lakes come into existence, have a period of youth,
maturity, and declining years; then they are gone forever. They are
covered over with verdure--covered with beauty--and forgotten.