Part 2

From Durango the tourist has the choice of two routes to complete the "Circle" tour; either via the Rio Grande Southern Railroad, through the Mancos Valley, the Lost Cañon, the Valley of the Dolores and the Dolores Cañon to Rico, over the Lizard Head Pass by Trout Lake and Telluride, down the San Miguel and Leopard Creek to Ridgway; or via the Denver & Rio Grande, through the Animas Cañon to Silverton, over the Rainbow Route (Silverton Railroad) to Ironton, and thence over the famous Ironton and Ouray Stage Road to Ouray.

RIO GRANDE SOUTHERN ROUTE.

Leaving Durango via the Rio Grande Southern line, the tourist is whisked across the Rio de Las Animas up Lightner Creek, past the silver and gold smelters with their seething furnaces and smoke and dust-begrimed workmen, and shortly past the famous coal banks where the black diamond is dug from the bowels of Mother Earth, and from there hauled to the smelters where it is used for the reduction and refining of its more exalted, but not more useful brethren.

Up through the valley the train speeds along among huge pines which thus far have escaped the woodman's axe, and which will be free from such invasion as long as Uncle Sam claims this particular spot as the especial reservation for the military post at old Fort Lewis.

From Fort Lewis the line passes through seemingly endless forests of pine trees, and after the reservation is passed an occasional saw-mill is sighted from its emitting unearthly screeches, which the knowing ones say is merely the head sawyer sharpening up.

Descending the mountain into the valley, the beholder looks out on a broad expanse of fertile, well-watered country, surrounded on all sides by snow-capped mountains, and dotted with the rancheros of the hardy pioneer, who has been well repaid for his daring in locating in this far-away but beautiful valley, by its productiveness, and now that the railroad, that greatest of all civilizers, has come, he has abundant opportunities for the disposition of his produce.

In the center of this valley lies Mancos station, which is the junction with the main line of the proposed extension of this road into Arizona.

To the south of Mancos station within a day's drive, and easily accessible, are the ruins of the strange habitations of an extinct and mysterious race known as the Cliff Dwellers. To those seeking curiosities and wonders, the great Cañon of the Mancos, the great Montezuma Valley, the McElmo Cañon, the Lower Animas Valley and the Chaco Cañon are the wonderlands of the world. They contain thousands of homes, and a town of the ancient race of Mound Builders and "Cliff Dwellers," that has attracted the curious ever since the discovery of America. The great Mancos Cañon contains hundreds of these homes which were built and occupied hundreds of years ago. Yet many of them are in a good state of preservation, and in them have been found hundreds of specimens of pottery, and implements of husbandry and warfare. This cañon is twenty miles south of Mancos, over a good wagon road. The cañon is cut through Mesa Verda, a distance of thirty miles, and the walls on either side rise to a perpendicular height of two thousand feet. These cliff dwellings are built in the sides of this cañon, as shown in the illustration. Fifteen miles farther west from the Mancos is situated the great Montezuma Valley, where thousands of fine specimens of pottery have been found among the ruins of that ancient people. On the west side of this valley is the great McElmo Cañon, also full of the ancient homes of the "Cliff Dwellers." Thirty-five miles south of Durango, in the valley of the Animas, are some extensive ruins of the Aztecs, and fifty miles further south are the wonderful ruins in the Chaco Cañon. These ancient Pueblos are, without doubt, the most extensive and the best preserved of any in the United States. Of these Prof. Hayden, in his report of the Geological Survey of the United States for the year 1866, says: "The great ruins in the Chaco Cañon are pre-eminently the finest examples of the works of the unknown builders to be found north of the seat of ancient Aztec Empire in Mexico." There are eleven extensive Pueblos in this cañon, nearly all in a good state of preservation, and their appearance indicates that they were once the home of fifteen hundred to three thousand people each. They are the most accessible from Mancos of any point on the line of railroads. From the thousands of ruins of cities, towns and families found throughout this great San Juan Valley, it is evident that once this great valley was the home of hundreds of thousands of this extinct race. That they were a peaceful and agricultural race of people is evidenced by the large number of their implements of husbandry and specimens of corn and beans found in these ruins, besides irrigating ditches and reservoirs for the storage of water.

Leaving Mancos, the road winds up the sloping sides of a flat-topped mountain, and there on its summit, among huge pines centuries old, bubbles up a clear, cold spring of sparkling water, forming the stream that flows down through the beautiful Lost Cañon, and is called by the unpoetic name of "Lost Cañon Creek."

Lost Cañon is a novelty in itself, as its sides are densely wooded and softly carpeted with a thick bed of moss and leaves, beautifully colored by millions of Colorado wild flowers whose delicate beauty is unrivaled.

Emerging from Lost Cañon the traveler is whirled up to the beautiful valley of the Dolores River, with its many ranches and farms, past the town of the same name. Off to the left, flowing to the eastward, comes bubbling down the mountain side into the larger river, the West Dolores, and no more famous or prolific trout stream exists than this.

Continuing on up the main river, the valley begins to narrow down, until we are once more within the walls of a cañon which takes its name from the stream flowing through it. While this cañon is not particularly deep, its natural beauties are manifold and are sure to make a lasting and delightful impression on the beholder.

Rushing out of the cañon the tourist is now landed at Rico. Rico is one of the most important mining towns of the State, whose mines dot the mountain sides, and whose product is packed in the cars on the backs of the ever-patient and faithful burro, without which no mining camp can be complete. The town is located in what was at one time the crater of a large volcano. Precipitous mountains with poetic names arise upon all sides of it, gradually widening, until by describing a circle of their summits they appear as the top of a huge funnel. Among them is the famous Telescope Mountain, a freak of nature only to be seen to form a proper realization of the aptness of its name. The place has much of historic interest, as evidences of early Spanish discoveries are found on many sides.

Leaving Rico, the line continues up the Dolores, which grows smaller and smaller, until it becomes a mere silver thread winding in and out among huge rocks and boulders. Thirteen miles north of Rico, and after climbing many miles of three and four per cent, grades, the summit of the Lizard Head Pass is reached at an elevation of nearly 11,000 feet. From the summit and to the left will be seen the Lizard Head, a peculiar rock formation capping a tall, bare mountain. This rock derives its name from its resemblance to the head of a mountain lizard, though at the same time it may be said to resemble the shaft of some large monument.

Descending the pass through the mountain gorges over rushing mountain streams, one finds one's self at Trout Lake. No more graphic description of this sheet of beautiful blue water can be given than a verse from a poem by "H. H."

"The mountain's wall in the water; It looks like a great blue cup; And the sky looks like another Turned over, bottom side up."

Here the sport-inclined tourist may spend a few days, for the lake is inhabited by thousands and thousands of mountain trout.

Shortly after leaving Trout Lake, the famous Ophir Loop is passed. Here the skill of the engineer was taxed to its utmost, for the track winds in zig-zags down the mountain side, rushing through a deep cut here, over a mountain torrent and a high bridge there, darting around sharp curves, in and out of snowsheds, until on the opposite mountain and high above us is to be seen a line of freshly-turned earth, which the knowing ones say is the track over which we have just passed.

From Vance Junction, a side trip of ten miles, which will well repay the tourist, can be made to Telluride, a mining town of some 2,500 inhabitants, nestling among snow-capped mountains, rising to stupendous heights and rich in gold and silver.

From Vance Junction the journey is continued down the San Miguel River, past Placerville, until the river leaves the rail, and again we commence to go up; this time over the Dallas Divide. This pass resembles Marshall Pass, though not quite so long. After reaching the summit, the line runs down the eastern slope along Leopard Creek, high above it on the mountain side, giving a most magnificent view of the Uncompahgre Range to the south with its gentle slopes softly colored by the deep, dark foliage of dense pine and fir forests, gradually rising until the mountains develop into a huge mass of shattered pinnacles, their topmost points covered with the everlasting snow.

Arriving at Ridgway, a city of some 1,500 inhabitants, the journey is again resumed on the original route via the Denver & Rio Grande.

THE RAINBOW ROUTE.

From Durango, the metropolis of the San Juan, to Silverton the scenery is of surpassing grandeur and beauty. The railroad follows up the course of the Animas River (to which the Spaniards gave the musical but melancholy title of "Rio de las Animas Perdidas," or River of Lost Souls), until the picturesque mining town of Silverton is reached. The valley of the Animas is traversed before the cañon is reached, and the traveler's eyes are delighted with succeeding scenes of sylvan beauty. To the right is the river, beyond which rise the hills; to the left are mountains, increasing in rugged contour as the advance is made; between the track and the river are cultivated fields and cosy farmhouses, while evidences of peace, prosperity and plenty are to be seen on every hand. Nine miles above Durango, Trimble Hot Springs are reached. The spacious hotel stands within a hundred yards of the road to the left of the track. Here are medicinal hot springs of great curative value, and here, in the season, gather invalids and pleasure seekers to drink the waters and enjoy the delights of this charming resort. Leaving the springs behind, the train speeds up the valley, which gradually narrows as the advance is made; the ascending grade becomes steeper, the hills close in, and soon the view is restricted to the rocky gorge within whose depths the raging waters of the Animas sway and swirl.

Animas Cañon has characteristics peculiarly its own. The railroad does not follow the bed of the stream, but clings to the cliffs midway of their height; and a glance from the car window gives one the impression of a view from a balloon. Below, a thousand feet, are the waters of the river--in places, white with foam; in quiet coves, green as ocean's depths. Above, five hundred feet, climb the combing cliffs, to which cling pines and hemlocks. The cañon here is a mere fissure in the mountain's heart, so narrow that one can easily toss a stone across and send it bounding down the side of the opposing rock wall until it falls into the waters of the river coursing through the abyss below. Emerging from this wonderful chasm, the bed of the gorge rises until the roadway is but a few feet above the level of the stream. The close, confining and towering walls of rock are replaced by mountains of supreme height. The Needles, which are among the most peculiar and striking of the Rockies, thrust their sharp and splintered peaks into the regions of eternal frost.

Elk Park is a quiet little nook in the midst of the range, with vistas of meadows and groves of pines, a spot which would furnish the artist many a subject for his canvass.

At the end of Elk Park stands Garfield Peak, lifting its summit a mile above the track. Beyond are marshaled the everlasting mountains, and through them for miles extends, in varying beauty and grandeur, the cañon of the Animas. Frequent waterfalls glitter in the sunlight, leaping from crag to crag, only to lose themselves at last in the outflowing river. Emerging finally from this environment of crowding cliffs, the train sweeps into Baker's Park and arrives at Silverton in the heart of the San Juan.

Silverton is interesting, both from its picturesque position and from the fact that it is a mining town. The mountains by which it is surrounded on all sides are honeycombed with the shafts and tunnels of innumerable mines. Sultan Mountain, which overlooks the town, is a noble and impressive elevation, and adds to the grandeur of the scene by its regal presence.

From Silverton the journey "Around the Circle" is continued by taking the Silverton Railway, a road constructed up the difficult grades of Red Mountain, and doing an immense business in the handling of ores which are taken from these rich deposits; also employed in the transportation of passengers. This wonderful road owes its construction to the genius, daring and wealth of one man, Mr. Otto Mears, who has for years been the "pathfinder" of the San Juan region, building toll roads and opening the gates of prosperity to the many mining towns of this mountainous country. He is the sole owner of the road, and has conquered engineering difficulties of the most astounding character. The line does not as yet bridge the gap between Silverton and Ouray, and from Ironton, its terminus, stages carry tourists over the mountains to the latter point, where the trip is resumed by the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad.

The stage ride forms one of the most attractive features of this most attractive journey. Lasting only two hours, passing over the summits of ranges and through the depths of cañons, the tourist will find this a welcome variation to his method of travel and a great relief and recreation. The old fashioned stage, with all its romantic associations, is rapidly becoming a thing of the past. A year or two more and it will have disappeared, except in rare instances, from Colorado. Here, in the midst of some of the grandest scenery on the continent, the blue sky above and the fresh, pure, exhilarating mountain air sending the blood bounding through one's veins, to clamber into a Concord coach and be whirled along a splendidly-constructed road, costing in some instances $40,000 a mile in its construction, to behold the grandest of Nature's handiwork, and to be in such close communion with the everlasting hills, is surely a novel and delightful experience.

The scenery on this journey between Silverton and Ouray is of the greatest magnificence. This is especially true of that portion of the route traversed by stage. The Silverton and Ouray toll road has long been noted for its attractions in the way of scenery, the triangular mass of Mount Abraham's towers to the left, while the road winds around the curves of the hills with the sinuosity of a mountain brook. The scene from the bridge over Bear Creek is one which once beheld can never be forgotten. Directly under the bridge plunges a cataract to a depth of 253 feet, forming a most noteworthy and impressive scene. The toll road passes through one of the greatest mining regions in the world, and the fame of Red Mountain is well deserved both from the number and richness of its mines. Before Ouray is reached, the road passes through Uncompahgre Cañon. Here the roadbed has been blasted from the solid rock wall of the gorge, and a scene similar in nature and rivaling in grandeur that of Animas Cañon is beheld.

Ouray is one of the most beautifully situated towns to be found anywhere. Its scenery is idyllic. The village is cradled in a lovely valley surrounded by rugged mountains. The situation of the town is thus vividly described by Ernest Ingersoll in the "Crest of the Continent": "The valley in which the town is built is at an elevation of about 7,500 feet above the sea, and is pear-shaped, its greatest width being not more than half a mile, while its length is about twice that, down to the mouth of the cañon. Southward--that is, toward the heart of the main range--stand the two great peaks, Hardin and Hayden. Between is the deep gorge down which the Uncompahgre finds its way; but this is hidden from view by a ridge which walls in the town and cuts off all farther view from it in that direction, save where the triangular top of Mount Abram peers over. Westward are grouped a series of broken ledges, surmounted by greater and more rugged heights. Down between these and the western foot of Mt. Hayden struggles Cañon Creek to join the Uncompahgre, while Oak Creek leaps down a line of cataracts from a notch in the terraced heights through which the quadrangular head of White House Mountain becomes grandly discernible--the easternmost buttress of the wintry Sierra San Miguel.

"At the lower side of the basin, where the path of the river is beset with close cañon walls, the cliffs rise vertically from the level of the village, and bear their forest growth many hundreds of feet above. These mighty walls, two thousand feet high in some places, are of metamorphic rock, and their even stratification simulates courses of well-ordered masonry. Stained by iron, and probably also by manganese, they are a deep red maroon. This color does not lie uniformly, however, but is stronger in some layers than in others, so that the whole face of the cliff is banded horizontally in pale rust color, or dull crimson, or deep and opaque maroon. The western cliff is bare, but on the more frequent ledges of the eastern wall scattered spruces grow, and add to its attractiveness. Yet, as though Nature meant to teach that a bit of motion--a suggestion of glee was needed to relieve the somberness of utter immobility and grandeur, however shapely--she has led to the sunlight, by a crevice in the upper part of the eastern wall that we cannot see, a brisk torrent draining the snowfields of some distant plateau. This little stream, thus beguiled by the fair channel that led it through the spruce woods above, has no time to think of its fate, but is flung out over the sheer precipice eighty feet into the valley below. We see the white ghost of its descending, and always to our ears is murmured the voice of the Naiads who are taking the breathless plunge. Yet by what means the stream reaches that point from above cannot be seen, and the picture is that of a strong jet of water bursting from an orifice through the crimson wall, and falling into rainbow-arched mist and a tangle of grateful foliage that hides its further flowing."

Resuming the railroad journey at Ouray, the traveler will find much to interest him in the run past Ridgway, where the Rio Grande Southern connects with the Denver & Rio Grande, to Montrose, where the main line is again reached, and, with faces turned once more to the eastward, the homeward segment of the "circle" is entered upon, and the greatest wonders of all this wonderful journey lie before. From Cerro Summit a fine view can be had of the Uncompahgre Valley, its river, and the distant peaks of the San Juan and Uncompahgre ranges of mountains. Cimarron Cañon is entered shortly after leaving Cerro Summit, the road following this cañon down Cimarron Creek to where it empties into the Gunnison river. Here begins the tourist's experience in the world-renowned Black Cañon of the Gunnison. The name is a misnomer. There is nothing black about the cañon except the shadows of the towering granite walls. The cliffs themselves show bright and happy colors. Gay contrasts of pink and blue, bright complements of red and maroon, all shades blended and differentiated, dashed on here and there as with the broad, free-handed sweep of some master scenic painter. The scene is varied, kaleidoscopic, constantly changing. Here the train rolls along between frowning and exalted walls: there a stream of water, Chippeta Falls, white as wool, pitches from the brow of a precipice two thousand feet above; yonder a side cañon yawns with capacious mouth as if to engulf us. Now we are in a spacious amphitheater, in the center of which stands a tremendous monument of solid stone, a spire graceful as if hewn by the hand of a Gothic builder, and terminating in a sky-piercing pinnacle. This is the famed "Currecanti Needle." Thus for twenty miles the ever-changing variety of the Black Cañon holds the awe-stricken attention of the traveler. At last the train rolls out into the valley of the Gunnison, and pastoral scenes take the place of the tumultuous grandeur just beheld.

But soon a new marvel demands attention. The ascent of Marshall Pass is just begun. We have just gone through the mountains, now we are to go over them. The Pacific slope is now to be achieved. Two powerful engines puff vigorously and take us spinning up the ringing grooves of this marvelous road, climbing grades of 211 feet to the mile with as much apparent ease as though we were traversing the level plain. What a varied panorama of mountain views meets the gaze, and when the summit is reached. 10,852 feet above the distant sea, the train pauses and the eye sweeps the prospect as far as vision reaches. To the right, fading away into the blue distance, can be seen the serrated range of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, snow-covered pyramids of transcendent beauty. To the left towers fire-scarred Mount Ouray, a volcano whose fires died out ages ago, while opposite stands its companion peak, Mount Shaveno. Beneath is the pathway of our ascent, four lines in view, each one an ascending circle of our tortuous upward journey.

Half a dozen revolutions of the wheels and we are on the Atlantic slope. The waters all run to the eastward now. One engine holds the train in check. There are no smoke and cinders. Pneumatic breaks skillfully applied by the engineer control the power of gravitation, which is the sole force needed to carry the long train down its winding way. The sinuosity of the descent is something indescribable. A glance at the illustration of the alignment of the road over Marshall Pass will convey a better idea than anything that could be said. The descent is ended at Poncha Springs, and the train enters the valley of the Arkansas.

At Poncha are some of the most remarkable hot springs to be found anywhere in the West. There are over one hundred of these springs; the water varies in temperature from 90 to 185 degrees Fahrenheit. The analysis of the Poncha Springs corresponds almost exactly with that of the waters of the Hot Springs in Arkansas.

From the Arkansas Valley can be obtained a fine view of the Collegiate range of mountains, including the peaks of Harvard, Yale and Princeton, all of which reach an altitude greater than fourteen thousand feet.