ANIMAS CAÑON AND NEEDLE MOUNTAIN.
TOLTEC GORGE.
The approach to this great scenic wonder prepares the traveler for something extraordinary and spectacular. A black speck in the distance against the precipitous surface of a frowning cliff is beheld long before Toltec is reached, and is pointed out as the entrance to the tunnel, which is the gateway to the Gorge. As the advance is made around mountain spurs and deep ravines, glimpses are caught of profound depths and towering heights, the black speck widens into a yawning portcullis, and then the train, making a detour of four miles around a side cañon, plunges into the blackness of Toltec tunnel, which is remarkable in that it pierces the summit of the mountain instead of its base. Fifteen hundred feet of perpendicular descent would take one to the bottom of the gorge, while the seared and wrinkled expanse of the opposite wall confronts us, lifting its massive bulwarks high above us,
"Fronting heaven's splendor,
Strong and full and clear."
When the train emerges from the tunnel it is upon the brink of a precipice. A solid bridge of trestle-work, set in the rock after the manner of a balcony, supports the track, and from this coigne of vantage the traveler beholds a most thrilling spectacle. The tremendous gorge, whose sides are splintered rocks and monumental crags, and whose depths are filled with the snow-white waters of a foaming torrent, lies beneath him, the blue sky above him, and all around the majesty and mystery of the mountains.
ANIMAS CAÑON.
Animas Cañon is one of the wildest and most picturesque gorges in the Rocky Mountains. Through it the Rio de las Animas Perdidas, or "River of Lost Souls," finds its way to the valley below. For a dozen miles north of Durango the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad traverses the fertile and cultivated valley of the Animas in its approach to the cañon. Soon the valley becomes more broken and contracted, the approaching walls grow more precipitous and the smooth meadows give place to stately pines and sighing sycamores. The silvery Animas frets in its narrowing bed and breaks into foam against the opposing boulders. The road climbs and clings to the rising cliffs, and presently the earth and stately pines have receded and the train rolls along a mere granite shelf in mid-air. Above, the vertical wall rises a thousand feet; below, hundreds of feet of perpendicular depth and a fathomless river. The cañon is here a mere rent in the mountain, so narrow one may toss a pebble across, and the cramped stream has assumed the deep emerald hue of the ocean. In the shadows of the rocks, all is solitary, and weird, and awful. The startled traveler quickly loses all apprehension in the wondrous beauty and grandeur of the scene, and, as successive curves repeat and enhance the enchantment, nature asserts herself in ecstasy. Emerging from the marvelous gorge, the bed of the cañon rapidly rises, until the roadway is but a few feet above the stream. Dark walls of rock are replaced with clustering mountains of supreme height, whose abruptness defies the foot of man, and The Needles, the most peculiar and striking of the Rockies, thrust their splintered pinnacles into the region of perpetual snow.
