
TO GRAND LAKE BY TEAM 
Overland Cruising in Colorado 
BY J. W. COPELAND 
T WAS our good fortune 
to have been asked to 
join Mrs. Cook and her 
family on a trip to 
Grand Lake, Colo., a 
distance of 150 miles by 
team from Denver, 
going. by way of Ber- 
thound Pass, over the Divide and through 
North Park. Our outfit, consisting of camp- 
wagon, tents, etc., was complete. Mr. Cook 
had taken such trips in the early days, and 
if I remember right the wagon was one he 
had used in years past. He arranged for 
horses, and early on the morning of July 7 
we were ofi—Mrs. Cook, her son Paul and 
daughters Genevieve and Dorothy, my wife 
and I. | 
As we journeyed on toward the moun- 
tains, we passed beautiful ranches with their 
orchards and truck gardens, reaching 
Mount Vernon Cafion about midday, and 
succeeded in getting over Floyds Hill by 
nightfall. We had little choice of selecting 
a place for our camp; the one thing that was 
most essential was there—a_ beautiful 

‘stream of water. After staking out our 
horses and eating our evening meal, we 
went to bed, and all found it quite necessary 
to elevate our feet instead of our heads, in 
order to keep us from sliding down into the 
stream. Floyds Hill does not sound big or 
bad, but in this the name certainly is mis- 
leading. It had been my initial experience 
driving down a mountain and I was tired. 
The cry of the coyotes and the rumbling of 
falling water in the stream below were 
soothing sounds in my ear and I slept, with 
never an attempt to finger a line or slam on 
the brake. 
Paul was up first the next morning, his 
real object being to get a view of our sur- 
roundings. Yet he did think it out of place 
to sleep after daybreak. This morning, as 
was the rule after, we were up and off before 
sunrise. Our object was to reach the foot 
of Berthound Pass by night. As we passed 
farther into the mountains their grandeur 
was more and more revealed. Early in the 
afternoon we could see the snow-covered 
peaks near by; numerous little mountain 
streams and sections of heavily timbered 
country added to the delight of that day’s 
trip. At night we made camp as we had, 
expected, at the foot of the range known as 
the Continental Divide. We were at the 
fork of two streams, in a basin-like park— 
an ideal location. The growth of timber 
was very heavy; snow-covered peaks tow- 
ered all about us. 
At bréakfast next morning, as the sun cast 
his now very welcome rays over the peaks, 
we beheld a grand view; indeed, one never 
to be forgotten nor possible to describe. 
You may see some very excellent pictures of 
mountain scenery, but they cannot depict 
the real beauty of the scene. It was a wild 
country, too; the baby cry of cougars, or 
mountain lions, had been heard during the 
night from the cliffs around, and near camp 
before breakfast we found fresh signs of 
deer. But Paul and I had to content our- 
selves hooking a few fine trout for breakfast. 
We were off early, hoping to reach the 
top of the Pass by midday. It was a hard 
climb and our party walked, both to relieve 
our horses and for the added pleasure the 
experience gave us. Up and up we went, 
winding and winding. Paul and I took 
turns at driving. This part of our journey 
was one of the most delightful—the view 
was always changing, the air cool, yet 
bright and sunny, snow-covered peaks to our 
right, a deep cafon between. Often the 
view was one of rugged grandeur, again 
green valleys and big pine forests stretched 
out before us. Delightfully clear, cool 
springs of water were passed along the trail 
all the way up, and flowers of many varie- 
ties and in great abundance. 
