Content preview - You need a premium account to view this content.

Vol XIII. March 1892. No. 5.

Mountain Scenery of Utah.

II.

AROUND the lakes that lie near the head of Big Cottonwood CaÃ-±, there clusters a garland of sweet memories which many of the readers of this article will acknowledge, for it is along their brinks and upon the mountain sides which surround them that many of the young people of this city have wandered in the heyday of their youth in search of health or sport, or to while away the summer hours. Silver Lake, at Brighton, is probably the most familiar of any of them to the greatest number of people, reposing as it does in a spacious vale, easy of access, surrounded by meadows, and in the neighborhood of a good hotel. To this point hundreds of people make a visit every summer, enjoying comparative comfort, and finding health and recreation amid the beautiful scenery and under the exhilarating influence, of the pure atmosphere. It is at an altitude of nearly nine thousand feet. Every glade among the pine woods in this vale could tell its story of rejoicings around the camp fire, of merry junketings, of midnight carousals and noon-day siestas. How often have the rocky steeps that hem in this glade resounded to the melodious chorus of young and happy people gathered together for a brief respite from the cares of life! As I write, a thousand memories return of youthful days in which the hours seemed too short to hold the pleasures that crowded in upon them. Young men and women, now fathers and mothers of families, but then so full of youthful spirit and activity, under the intoxicating influence of the high altitude, began the day with pranks and jokes, and closed the night with song and dance; and flitting in a shadowy way among the pleasant recollections, come faint memories of moon-light wooings, of camp fire wassail, of echoing songs heard from other camp fires far away, of long tramps to distant scenes of rival beauty, or horseback rides around the steep mountain trails, of sketching trips in sunshine and storm, of uncouth sports, and all the other pleasures which make a sojourn in the mountains so full of interest and delight. One night, when the moon shone clear, there rang out across the lake the notes of a cornet, which, in the hands of Mark Croxall, seemed to yield a melody more tender and thrilling than was ever heard in concert hall or in the midst of a city. Another time, the sweetly blending voices of Edith Clawson, John Spencer and Bud Whitney, were equally charming among the resounding pines and undulating hills.

But those who enjoy these summer gatherings were not always so fortunate as to find fair weather and a cheerful camp fire. I can remember now a day of driving and threatening clouds which culminated in a storm of thunder and lightning more magnificent and terrible than any that had every been witnessed by those who were in its midst. Our peaceful camp was broken up in the crashing of thunder and incessant lightning flashes which seemed to be literally in and around us. The scurrying crowd of frightened, shrinking damsels took refuge in the neighboring houses, hiding their heads to avoid the blinding flashes and deafening peals that followed one another with scarcely a moment's intermission, while from the heavens the rain seemed to pour in torrents, almost washing away our tents and swelling the streams until, in a few minutes, they were impassible. These are almost invariable incidents of summering in the Wasatch Mountains, the periods of violent storms being interwoven with several days of brilliant and beautiful weather.