September 5, 1953 - 8:00 by Bob's Watch

It is now 6:00 p.m. by Rocky Mt. Time, 7:00 by Standard Time, and 8:00 by Bob's watch which we have kept to daylight savings time. We are now ensconced in what is as nearly a perfect spot as I could imagine. We are sitting high on a granite rock watching the sun set behind the Rocky Mountains. Before us, looking unreal & unbelievable, is Pike's Peak. The whole range of it is softly hazy - tho western slopes lit by the dying rays. The gentler slopes of pine forest are more distinct that cover the land between my peak and Pike's. Large shadows lay across their greeness, cast by the mountains which the sun's rays strike first.

As I look around me I can see no sign of human existence, which is what makes this spot perfect for me. A sharp discord is run by the sound of children's shouts below at some picnic ground. But otherwise all I hear is the majesty of my surroundings, the sweet twitter of an occasional bird & the sound of my pen. It is very hard for me to realize where I am and as usual I find it impossible to accept what I see. I love it. I am stunned by it, but I do not know what to do with it. These poor scratchings are my weak attempt to grasp what I am a witness to. The soft rattle of a bird sounds, is repeated by a second, and by still another. Behind me in the tall pines a raucous call interrupts. The sun sinks lower, the air grows cooler & the shadows longer & less & less of the impressive peak before me is illumined. All around are evergreens of all varieties, somewhat long needles, feathery boughs, others whose branches are tipped with short, soft, blue needles & who are adorned with tiny cones. I think I see a few cedars & there are all through these the smaller, lighter green leaves and slender white trunks of the aspens.

To my left I heard a tiny sharp chatter which I thought was bird-created. Looking, my eye was caught by the movement of a furry tail and I saw what I love to see, a small darling chipmunk drop from the tree. The sun just now sank rather suddenly below the mountains & when I look now there is only the golden aura it left behind. It is now quite cold & I am wondering if we will be warm enough tonight in our sleeping bags with our own blankets. Tomorrow I shall tell about it as well as about the first day of our trip, yesterday, September 4, 1953. I shall continue until Bob returns. He has gone to find the cow whose pleasant moo he heard from somewhere behind us. I hear his steps now, crunching the gravel of the road. My hand is becoming numb from the cold so I shall close again.