Our climb up Gray's Peak was a somewhat memorable event in our experience, and I am disposed to dwell upon it. The valley which we had followed terminates in a deep gorge, filled with drift snow the year round, no doubt, and wedging itself between Gray's and Torrey's shoulders and peaks. Here the melting snows form the head waters of Clear Creek, whose sinuous course we had followed by rail, foot, and burro from the city of Denver.
The trail, leaving the ravine, meandered up a shoulder of the mountain, wheeled to the left and crept along a ridge, with some fine, blood-curdling abysses on the eastern side; then went zigzagging back and forth on the precipitous wall of Gray's titanic mount, until at last, with a long pull and a strong pull, it scaled the backbone of the ridge. All this, however, is much more easily told than done. Later in the season, when the trail is clear of snow-drifts, sure-footed horses and burros are ridden to the summit; but we were too early to follow the trail even on foot. Indeed, many persons familiar with the mountains had declared that we could not reach the top so early in the season, on account of the large snow-banks that still covered the trail. Even the old miner, who in the valley below pointed out the peak to us, expressed grave doubts about the success and wisdom of our undertaking. "See!" he said, "the trail's covered with snow in many places on the mountain side. I'm afraid you can't reach the top, sir." I did not see as clearly as he did, but said nothing aloud. In my mind I shouted, "Excelsior!" and then added, mentally, of course, "Faint heart never won fair lady or fairer mountain's crest--hurrah for the peak!" I simply felt that if there were birds and butterflies on that sky-aspiring tower, I _must_ see them. The die was cast; we had come to Colorado expressly to climb Gray's Peak, and climb it we would, or have some good reason to give for not doing so.
And now we were making the attempt. We had scarcely reached the mountain's shoulder before we were obliged to wade snow. For quite a distance we were able to creep along the edge of the trail, or skirt the snow-beds by making short detours, and then returning to the trail; but by and by we came to a wide, gleaming snow-field that stretched right athwart our path and brought us to a standstill with the exclamation, "What shall we do now?" Having already sunk a number of times into the snow over our boot-tops, we felt that it would not be safe to venture across so large an area of soft and treacherous crystals melting in the afternoon sun and only slightly covering we knew not what deep gorges. In some places we had been able to walk on the top of the snow, but elsewhere it was quite soft, and we could hear the gurgling of water underneath, and sometimes it sounded a little more sepulchral than we liked. Looking far up the acclivity, we saw still larger snow-fields obliterating the trail. "We can never cross those snow-fields," one of us declared, a good deal of doubt in his tones. A moment's reflection followed, and then the other exclaimed stoutly, "Let us climb straight up, then!" To which his companion replied, "All right, little Corporal! Beyond the Alps lies Italy!"