EAGLE ROCK, SHOSHONE FALLS.—The photograph on page 111 gives us a fine front view of Shoshone Falls, while on this page we see them from the side and just above the final plunge. The principal attraction in this picture is Eagle Rock, which occupies a prominent position in the foreground. On the top of the rock there is an eagle’s nest, from which many a young brood has taken its flight, for from all the indications the nest has been in existence for centuries. It is a fitting place for the fearless bird of freedom to rear its young, safe from the raids of wild animals and on the very brink of the dashing and roaring waters. Nothing but an eagle would dare approach such a place.
PROFILE ROCK, NEAR OURAY.
From Gunnison the road follows Tomachi Creek eastward, passing over a country devoid of particular interest, except as views are afforded of high mountains in the Fossil Ridge, Sagauche and Sangre de Cristo ranges far away, until the ascent of Marshall’s Pass is begun. The road now rises rapidly until it crosses the Rocky Mountains, at an elevation of 11,000 feet. But the ascent is indirect, in a serpentine course close to the cone of Mount Ouray, which penetrates the depths of heaven, to a height of 14,000 feet; so lofty that the sun shines brightly upon its snow-covered summit, while the earth below is wrapped in the sable garments of deepest night. Round and round, but in an ascending circle, the laboring train makes its toilsome way, until we see the tracks below us looking like a succession of terraces. At the apex we run through a long tunnel of snow-sheds, through openings in which a view may be had of the extinct crater of Ouray, while a hundred miles away towards the south, and across a wide expanse of plain, the frosted ridge of Sangre de Cristo is clearly visible through the tenuous air. The ride over this great mountain is one of the most delightful and picturesque in all the world, and leaves an impression which is as charming and fadeless as the memory of a boy’s first triumph. After passing down the mountain side, a short run brings us to Poncha Junction, at the entrance of the Valley of the Arkansas, and a few miles further Salida is reached, a splendid little town that is begirt with mountains, but reposes like a jewel in a green sea of amazing fertility and beauty. As we rush eastward down this lovely valley, some wondrous sights are viewable from our car. On the right the Arkansas River bowls along close by the track, while far beyond the horizon is belted with the Sangre de Cristo range. On our left our eyes are gladdened with the sight of three bristling peaks, known as Harvard, Princeton and Yale, which rise above their more humble brothers in the Park range. The scene now undergoes a quick change, for the valley becomes rapidly narrowed by the mountains drawing together, as if to bar our passage; but as their seared sides and snowy crests become more distinct by a closer approach, the scenery increases in interest until soon it develops into positive grandeur. At Parkdale we observe that the sloping sides of the mountains are becoming more abrupt and rocky, until five miles beyond, the gigantic, the marvelous and the terror-inspiring Royal Gorge bursts full upon our amazed and startled senses. The colossal peak has been cut in twain; sliced by the persistent waters of the Arkansas, that with remorseless jaws have eaten through the heart of the giant mountain that lay down in its way; and there the great gash breaks before us, into which the ravening river rushes, with a growling voice and imperious dash, as reckless as a bandit, and impetuous as a fiery youth. Pines and aspens struggle up the mountain sides, but where the waters have split a way there is nothing save vertical walls of stone that soar up, up, so high that it wearies the sight to travel to their summits. There are seams and depressions in their awful cliffs, and projections and cavities that show imprints of the teeth of frost, and away up on these eagles have found resting places, and built their eyries where only the storm-god can reach them. Distance, as expressed in feet on paper, conveys scarcely an idea of mountain height or cañon depth, for the awesome presence is lacking. But the height of the walls of the Royal Gorge, or, as it is sometimes called, the Grand Cañon of the Arkansas, is 3,000 feet, or more than half a mile, while the chasm is only fifty feet wide where the river rushes through, and but seventy feet at the summit. Three Eiffel towers, set upon top of each other, would hardly reach the crown of these tremendous cliffs, around the crests of which flying eagles look like flies lazily swimming in a haze of distance. In order to avoid cutting a road-bed through the base of the perpendicular cliffs, which come very close together, an iron bridge has been thrown around the defile and suspended by anchoring its sides in the granite walls, so that it has no pillared supports, for none are needed. Upon this suspended bridge, which runs parallel with and over the stream, every passenger train stops for the space of several minutes to give opportunity for an inspection of the Royal Gorge, which is most appalling and wonderful at this point.
MOUTH OF GRAND RIVER CAÑON.—In this photograph we see the beginning of the magnificent scenery of Grand River Cañon in Colorado and Utah. It is the doorway or portal to a series of the most splendid views to be found anywhere in the world. No one can realize the true grandeur of this western scenery without beholding it, and the next best thing to seeing it in reality is its reflected image in this series of matchless photographs, taken specially for this work. The camera is a mirror in which the objects are reflected true to nature, and this reflection is caught by the rays of the sun and printed indelibly and beautifully upon the pages of the book.