Mount Washburn

The view from the summit is beyond all adequate description. Looking northward from the base of the mountain the great plateau stretches away to the front and left with its innumerable groves and sparkling waters, a variegated landscape of surpassing beauty, bounded on its extreme verge by the cañons of the Yellowstone. The pure atmosphere of this lofty region causes every outline of tree, rock or lakelet to be visible with wonderful distinctness, and objects twenty miles away appear as if very near at hand. Still further to the left the snowy ranges on the headwaters of Gardiner's river stretch away to the westward, joining those on the head of the Gallatin, and forming, with the Elephant's Back, a continuous chain, bending constantly to the south, the rim of the Yellowstone Basin. On the verge of the horizon appear, like mole hills in the distance, and far below, the white summits above the Gallatin Valley. These never thaw during the summer months, though several thousand feet lower than where we now stand upon the bare granite and no snow visible near, save n the depths of shaded ravines. Beyond the plateau to the right front is the deep valley of the East Fork bearing away eastward, and still beyond, ragged volcanic peaks, heaped in inextricable confusion, as far as the limit of vision extends. On the east, close beneath our feet, yawns the immense gulf of the Grand Cañon, cutting away the bases of two mountains in forcing a passage through the range. Its yellow walls divide the landscape nearly in a straight line to the junction of Warm Spring Creek below. The ragged edges of the chasm are from two hundred to five hundred yards apart, its depth so profound that the river bed is no where visible. No sound reaches the ear from the bottom of the abyss; the sun's rays are reflected on the further wall and then lost in the darkness below. The mind struggles and then falls back upon itself despairing in the effort to grasp by a single thought the idea of its immensity. Beyond, a gentle declivity, sloping from the summit of the broken range, extends to the limit of vision, a wilderness of unbroken pine forest.

— Gustavus C. Doane, August 29, 1870^[4]

The next day's sun found us well on our way to Mount Washburn, where we met the line of perpetual snow—it was very dirty, the snow, not the line, and we played snowball while we picked bluebells to press in our notebooks. Mount Washburn being ten thousand feet about the sea level is a station in the primary and secondary triangulation. On its rock-riven peak was a tin mustard box containing the autographs of some fifty persons, who among the many tourist since 1871, were the only ones who had sufficient time and patience to climb to the very top. If we were not with distinguished persons, our autographs were [nevertheless] placed above those of Belknap, Marcy, Schurz, Sherman, John Boyd.. and others.

— Mrs L. D. Wickes, 1879^[5]

From the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone to Mount Washburn is a drive of ten miles. Evidently the Government has employed the best engineers in laying out that road, and intelligent supervision has been given to its construction and maintenance. It is an exhilarating experience to drive to an altitude of over ten thousand feet above sea-level. It is not quite so interesting to walk it, although you must walk as well as ride in order to get the greatest possible benefit, for the air is crisp and light, and the walk uphill keeps blood circulating. From the tip top of Mount Washburn you can see the world in much of its glory. It is an entrancing view. You are in love with living. You want to do more of it. You plan to do big things when you get down into the work again.

— Elbert Hubbard, 1914^[6]