Ouray lies at peace with the world, in a basin whose sides are like a giant’s punch-bowl, only that the confinement is by a succession of mountain ranges piling up behind each other until the highest attain an altitude of 14,235 feet, and hold perpetual carnival with the snow-storm. That little basin seems to be the paint-pot of the Titans, and the mountains their mixing-boards. Letting our sight travel slowly up the soaring slopes, every step of the way is one of beauty. Clothed with a luxurious growth of yellow aspen, the brown of oak, the deep green of spruce, and the silver sheen of mountain pine, the picture needs only a frame to make it perfect. And there above is the thing desired; for where the timber line ends, the flaming colors of red, orange, purple, gray and brown stone begins, rising ever higher until they fade away behind the mists that gather about the peaks.
As we proceed on the way to Silverton the road inclines through forests whose autumn tints keep the eye dancing with admiration, and having descended two thousand feet, the mouth of Bear Creek is reached, where it rolls along a terrible cataract, known as Bear Creek Cascade. A little further on, we dash out upon a bridge which spans a dizzy height, for, there below us, the raging creek plunges over a precipice 275 feet high, and is dashed into vapor upon the rocks. It is a startling sight to behold the surging waters, and watch the mad plunge that falls into a caldron as angry as ever witches stretched hands about.
MOUNT OURAY, COLORADO.—Mount Ouray, like Pike’s Peak, holds the honorable distinction of lifting its head so high as to be always covered with a sheet of snow. Its peak is more than 14,000 feet above the level of the sea, and there it rests in lofty grandeur, looking down like a white-robed priest upon the little valleys nestling at its feet. It is a beautiful sight to stand at the foot of this mountain and watch a railroad train dashing back and forth, here and there, and zigzagging hither and yonder with no apparent purpose, but always climbing higher and higher, until it goes out of sight behind a ridge or through a tunnel, sending back a white flake of steam as it whistles good-bye. When you go to Colorado don’t fail to visit Ouray.
EXCAVATIONS in the CLIFFS, MANCOS CAÑON.
RUINS OF CLIFF DWELLINGS IN MANCOS CAÑON.