MARY LAKE AND LONG’S PEAK, ESTES PARK.
ENTRANCE TO ESTES PARK, FROM ROCKY POINT.
HIGH LINE CANAL, SILVER FLUME AND PLATTE RIVER.
The temptation is very great to step aside into Estes Park, and explore Long’s Peak, which, though thirty-six miles distant, looms up in the clear atmosphere like a frosty-crowned giant almost near enough to speak to. But the rest of our party have preceded us and are no doubt in need of photographic supplies, so we hurry on, pausing only long enough to take a snap-shot at Boulder Falls. Reaching Fort Collins, we had the good fortune to find the others of our party awaiting us. They had made an extensive trip through Estes Park, and had a splendid lot of views as a reward for their labors. It was fortunate, therefore, that we did not stop, for we could have done no more than duplicate their work, and repeated the experiences which they reported to me substantially as follows:
After dividing our party, as already explained, two of our photographers followed the Colorado Central Branch of the Union Pacific to Loveland, at which place they side-tracked our camera car, and having made preparations for the trip, started west to make a tour of Estes Park, their principal objective point being Long’s Peak. The park is conveniently reached by a daily stage-line, which travels over a good road and, with the exception of a few miles of level plains, traverses a picturesque region, with mountains sweeping every side, the monotony of which is relieved by many lakes, thirty-five of which may be seen from a single station, scattered over the plain and bathing the foot-hills. The road leads up Bald Mountain and Pole Hill to an elevation that brings into view the valleys of three rivers, and from Park Hill the whole entrancing scenery of Estes Park, probably the finest in Colorado, is spread out in one unbroken and bewildering panorama of astounding beauty. It is not all a vision of primeval nature, for the vast table-land is abloom with fields of husbandry, and immense herds of cattle give animation to the seemingly boundless pasturage.
From Ferguson’s ranch there is a lovely prospect of Mummy range, with its conspicuous peaks, aglow with the soft colors of sunset in the evening, and mist-crowned in the early hours of the day. On the west are the Front and Rabbit Ear ranges, whose inaccessible heights run up so sharply to where storms have their breeding places, that they are browned by exposure and look inexpressibly bleak. Here, on these wild peaks, safe from human foes, bear and mountain sheep have their habitations, and the caterwaul of the puma rings out upon the air of lofty desolation as a warning to those who would attempt to gain their savage haunts.