Starting on we had a splendid drive for five miles through the most wonderful of Nature’s parks; immense pines, a profusion of flowers of all colors with the Indian Paint Brush scattered here and there among them. One could imagine some landscape gardener had laid out the grounds, except for the immensity of it. Snow-capped mountains in the distance completed the scene, and when we camped at noon we felt we would like to spend several days here. The grass was knee-high in the little parks and our horses had not had such good feed since starting. It certainly was worth climbing up just to be here, and we lingered longer than usual for lunch, and then drove only five miles farther before camping for the night on a little creek that runs down a canyon into the Gunnison River below.
We dished one of our hind wheels again coming down a steep rocky piece of road, and had to take it off and put it on the other side after dishing it back; but we are getting used to little things like this, and bad roads, so take them philosophically. We fished some in this creek where we camped, but, while we saw a few trout, could not induce any to bite. That night we had a fine camp fire and the horses a good rest and good feed.
This is the Gunnison Forest Reserve and we were surprised to find several hundred cattle up here, but later ascertained that the Government allows a certain number to be pastured up here at twenty cents per head a month for cattle, and thirty cents for horses. There are no sheep up here; the cattle men killed them off, and while there was quite a row over it, probably no one will try sheep for a while. They can only pasture them here for three months, July, August, and September. There is no grazing before July and too much snow after September, so it makes a very short season.
THE TWO NORMANS
We start Tuesday morning for Sapinero which we expect to find a town where we can buy some grain for the horses and make a few other purchases. We were disappointed in this, however. All we found was a hotel and postoffice and two saloons. Couldn’t get much of anything, and no feed. On our way down this morning the trail skirted the side of the canyon and we could catch a glimpse now and then of the river, looking like a tiny brook, far down below. We could look across to the mesa on the other side, called “Blue Mesa,” and up and down the canyon, so that we had some fine views. The land, however, was bare and rocky and as we got lower down the vegetation assumed more of the character of the desert. When we finally arrived at the river level and left Sapinero, the road followed the river first along the bank, and then back in the hills. The road along the bank would be green and shady, but a hundred yards away behind a hill you could easily imagine you were in the desert.
Finding a good camping spot near the river, we stopped at 3 P. M. for the balance of the day and tried to catch some trout in the river, but with poor success. Norman Bradley caught two, I believe, but for some reason the Gunnison River did not yield us much fish, and we met several fishing parties, all of them complaining about the fishing. As the Gunnison is supposed to be a good trout stream I presume we, as well as the other kickers, were poor fishermen.
The next morning we drove to Iola, fourteen miles, and here on the banks of the Gunnison I found Mr. Stevens and his ranch of a thousand acres. I had a letter to him from Mr. Adams and he let us camp on his land and fish all we wanted to. Right here seems to be the trout fisherman’s Mecca and we were supposed to catch rainbow trout galore, but didn’t. The boys had more fun with a town of prairie dogs back of camp then they did fishing. As the fish didn’t bite, they turned their attention to the dogs and carried on a regular campaign against them, but the casualties were not heavy. We were also entertained by a bull fight right by our wagon, but as the bulls had been dehorned it was not bloody, just exciting and noisy.
THE BLACK CANYON OF THE GUNNISON