The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1881-10-21
OUR CORRESPONDENT AMONG
THE MOUNTAINS OF THE
MID CONTINENT.

IHA MOUN1A1NN VI Al d
MID CONTINENT.
ESTES PARK, COLORADO,
August 2. 1881.
The tourist meets succession of sur
prises as he journeys from point to
point in this scenic region, the once
great American desert. / wish it were
possible to give your readers picture
of the region along the line of the
Union Pacific r. r., from Denver to
Longmont. Great wheat fields, yellow
and golden, ready for the reaper, spread
out like great sea as far as the eye can
reach. In the distance, snow-capped
mountains lift their hoary heads into
the purest of ether. "Tenderfeet," in
their innocence visiting this state,
imagine it's great source of wealth is in
the mines, but trip through the Cache
La Pondre farming districts, and
thence to the southwark along the foot
hills through the fertile valley of the
st. Vain will dissipate all such illu-
sions. No finer wheat is grown in the
world than here, under splendid sys-
tenn of irrigation, the crop this year
yielding from Is to 40 bushels to the
acre. A place with the driver is the
seat of honor, and Concord coach
with six spanking mountain steeds,
and Allie Perry handling the ribbons,
means business. Estes Park, a silver
trimmed basin about 10 miles square,
surrounded by the grim old crests of
the Rockies, is IS miles away. The
route is an ever-changing scene Of PAN
oramic views, winding along crystal
streams, through cool and quiet glens,
| by the side of great mountains, thread
| ing the recesses Of pine forests, and
over tortuoNs mountain passes, the
great monarchs of the range lifting
their heads thousands of feet above,
while cool breeZes sweep through the
great pines, filling the air with weird
music, like the chorus of thousand
muff1ed Aeolian harps. On and on,
sometimes creeping over shelving rocks
with scarce foOthold for the horses,
where a mistake of few inches would
send horses, coach, and contents over
the precipice into the awful chasm be-
low. Would / could picture to your
readers my first view of Estes Park,
this western Eden, as our six horses
came dashing out through rocky lodges
into these great meadows, verdure-clad,
with mountain streams born of the
snow fields, dashing madly through
mountain gorges, or ripping through
meadows green, while old Longs Peak,
snow-capped, 1921 feet high, crowned
his peak with a crown of gold, a halo
of glory stolen from the fading bright
ness of the setting sun. The sharp
crack of the drivers whip echoes from
crag to peak, and our six horses turn
into a keen gallop, dash through the
park, bringing up at the hotel, where
we were met by our old friend Stetson,
formerly of the Astor House, who
knows how to keep a hotel and fur
nishes his guests with spread that
will satisfy the most fastidious epicure.
This hotel, finely located, is filled with
guests from all sections, and every day
parties drive, fish, hunt, go on pienics,
OF make the ascent of Longs Peak or
other mountain ranges. The Park is
divided into ranches. the hotel and
about 5000 acres being owned by the
Earl of Dunraven, an Irish Member of
Parliament.
There are several ranehmen run
ming large diaries who have built cot
tages that are filled with guests the
entire summer. One of the finest
private houses in the Park is elk
horn Lodge" on Fall River, owned by
w. f. James, Esq, whose cottages are
full from Spring to Fall. He has a
herd of $50 full blood Herefords. Ii
one prefers private house to the hotel,
this is the@lace to stop. Rates are
from 80 to $12 per week. Two rail
roads are pushing their way into the
Park and next year one can leave Den
yer in the morning and dine at noon at
Stetson's, upon game, trout and all the
delicacies Of the season. With railroad
facilities, mine host Stetson will need
six times his present space to accom-
modate his guests. But we must scale
Longs Peak. Ponies are saddled,
wraps and provender packed, the guide
gives the order to mount, and we are
off at p. M. to ride miles to Lambs,
at the base of the mountain, where we
rest our weary limbs and dream of the
triumphs of the coming day. With
the morning dawn all is astir Break
| fast is over and we are in the saddle,
our eyes turned upward to the deep
cash in the mountain, and the over
hanging rocks 1000 feet high. Wind
ing our way upward the trees grow
small and gnarled until we pass timber
| line. But the floWerS-their beauties
are beyond description, blooming year
by year for centuries, seen only by the
eye of the great Creator. Pure noun
tain streams dash madly down their
rocky bed. fed by the wasting snow
and ice that cover the mountain-side
from generation to generation. Sun
rise on the ascent is picture never to
fade from the memory, The gliding
of the grim old Peak, the glistening
rays Of the rising sun falling on the
pure white snow and ice, the lights
and shadows shimmering through the
thick pines, while all the plain lies
hushed in the drowsiness of the break
ing twilight, is picture that no mas
ter can put on canvass. The earth, the
sky, and sunshine seem like IL new Gre
alton.
Three miles from the top the guide
ordered us to dismount and leave our
ponies and now business begins, and
we thread our way under shelving
rocks and over great boulders, scarcely
daring to look down from our dizzy
height to the awful chasm below.
Faltering and shivering we pick our
way along amongst rocks that seem
ready to go pitching down the chasm
at the slightest touch. The rarefied
air sets our lungs to working like a
pair of bellows, while some of our par
Ety find their heart beating like lover
proposing to his sweetheart The
cheering words of the guide ring out
among the lodges. inspiring us as we
almost despair of reaching the crest of
the peak. Jingling beneath the rocks
and boulders we hear but cannot see
the pure waters that rush down the
mountain side. The last 500 feet is
very diffic alt and it takes an hour to
make the ascent and one misstan