orchids before we resumed our journey.

For three hours, during which no distant view had delighted our eyes, we
had traveled in the mists; we had almost forgotten that the sun could
shine. At the end of a long, narrow ridge, where it joined the greater
mountain mass, we found a rest-house. Here the trail turned abruptly
onto the larger ridge, mounted sharply through a dugway, and then to our
complete surprise emerged into the fair sunlight. The clear, blue sky
was over us, and directly below us, at our horses' feet, was the flat
top of the sea of clouds. A moment more and we rose to a point of view
from which the grandest view of a lifetime burst upon our vision.
Opposite, the evening sun was nearing the horizon, before and below us
lay the valley; we were upon the very edge of a great mountain slope. To
our right lay the cloud mass, which was all in movement, precipitating
itself down the slope into the profound valley. It was a river of
vapors, more than two miles, perhaps, in width, plunging, perhaps, two
thousand feet into the abyss. Niagara, which I have often seen, is a
pigmy cataract in comparison. The cloud mass tossed and heaved, whirled
and poured in one enormous sheet over the precipice, breaking into spray
as it struck against projecting rock masses. Every movement of whirling
and plunging water was there; the rapid above the fall, the plunge, the
whirlpool, the wild rush of whirlpool rapids, all were there, but all
silent, fearfully and impressively silent. We could have stood there
gazing for hours, but night was coming and a stretch of unknown road
still lay before us. At the other end of the valley, in the dusk of
early evening, we saw a second cataract pouring in. From both ends the
cloud rivers were rushing in to fill the valley, along the edge of which
we crept. And presently we plunged down again into the mists; night
fell; our trail was barely visible, and we had to trust to our horses to
find it; the air was cold and penetrating. Long after dark, we rode into