To The Mountains (an old west tell) - Chapter one...

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It was late September, and I had come to this rough and rugged territory as many men had, looking to mine the ore that fueled the dreams of wealth beyond imagination. Along the way I only occasionally noticed how beautiful the country was as I wound my way through waves of crimson red and golden Aspen. As I climbed higher and higher the trail soon became twisting, often treacherous as crimson red gave way to golden, and golden eventually gave way to forever green of the Ridgepole pine. It took great concentration watching the trail ahead, always rising, rising, upward through the near endless pine. Sometimes I’d catch a glimpse of the trail through the trees high above as it switch-backed, first this way and then that to where I knew eventually it would touch the sapphire blue sky.


At last, somewhere above 10,000 feet, the Ridgepole gave way, yielding to the thin air and rocky ground where only the Gnarly Pine can withstand the pummeling from year-round icy winds. Onward the trail rose higher and higher through 11,000 feet. Ever upward climbed the trail to well over 12,000 feet where only rock existed. It was at that point that God Almighty himself took my breath away as I stood alone and looked upon one of the most beautiful places on earth under all of Gods Heaven… Independence Pass, Rocky Mountains, The Colorado, and the Western Slope of the Great Continental Divide.


It was late, less then an hour before darkness, and I would camp here for the night. In this cold, and desolate place, I would find myself closer to the stars, and God, then I had ever imagined possible. From this place I would look down upon the golden orb of the full moon as it rose in the east, and I could almost touch it as it struggled to climb higher than the mountains. I watched as its rays cleared the crest and laid down its blanket of light from west to east, backtracking to illuminate the land and wash away the shadow of the mountain right up to my feet. It was a sight I had never imagined.


In the cold light of morning I descended the western slope of the Rocky Mountains and into the Roaring Fork Valley through glacier-carved outcrops, and past the draw where less than a quarter mile away was the mining town of Independence. No one is certain who first set up camp and started mining the gold at Independence. Some say it was Billy Belden who, while leading a group of prospectors to the area, tripped over an outcropping and discovered gold literally right under his nose as he lay face down in the dirt. Others claim Dick Irwin’s horse scuffed an outcropping with its hoof and the gleam of gold that shown through was the beginning. Still others say that it was actually a fellow name of Charles Bennett who, sick of prospecting and fed-up with finding little or nothing for his effort, threw his pickax at a nearby rock bluff burying the point in the cliff. From the crack the ax created came pouring nuggets of gold that started the Aspen mining boom and the discovery of one of the greatest mother loads in Colorado history, the Independence, named so because of its discovery on July 4, 1879.


I would not tarry here for my destination was near a hundred miles ahead. Down the mountain trail I continued, slow, steady, but ever onward. Upon arriving in the gold mining town of Aspen I would stop for the night and purchase a few supplies before continuing onward. Another forty miles of trail behind me I arrived in Glenwood Springs where the Roaring Fork met the mighty Colorado River proper. After many days on the long trail a good soak in the natural hot springs was a joyful welcome. The Glenwood Hotel offered accommodations rarely found on the road and well worth the expense. It was said that if one looked carefully, very carefully, one might see Doc Holiday himself roaming the grounds or soaking in the springs. In actuality they say Doc died of something called Tuberculosis, but that isn’t so. Oh, he had it alright, Tuberculosis that is, but it ain’t what killed him. Doc had come to Glenwood Springs some years before because of the medicinal properties of the Hot Springs and the dry mountain air.


After Doc and the Earp Brothers had faced down the Clanton gang out in Arizona at the OK corral, where Frank and Tom McLowery and Billy Clanton were cut down by a hail of bullets in 30 seconds of gunfire, Ike Clanton and John Ringo skeedaddled. John Ringo headed off into the cactus of Old Mexico and for a time it was thought that Ike Clanton went with him. He may have for a while, but Ike eventually hightailed it for Colorado.

Ike had rode into Grand Junction and then headed for Denver. He followed the Colorado, up through Grand Valley, past Parachute, and Rifle, and stopped for a short time in Glenwood Springs. Ike didn’t know he had fled the Earp brothers and Doc Holiday only to discover that he had picked Doc’s adopted “home town” as a nice place to spend some time.


A couple of days after Ike arrived in Glenwood Springs Doc rode into town and Ike discovered his mistake. Ike lit out up the Colorado River Canyon toward Denver and Doc followed. For three days it poured down rain and somewhere up near Loveland Pass Doc caught up to Ike. Doc killed Ike up there somewhere but caught pneumonia and died shortly thereafter. Doc now lays buried in the Glenwood springs cemetery, an honored guest for eternity. I visited Docs grave while I was there and placed some wild flowers on it.


As long as I was there I visited the grave of another fellow and picked a few weeds away and put some of them wild flowers on his grave too seeing as I figured he probably didn’t get many.


To be continued…

 

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