“The overpowering sense of the sublime, of awful desolation, of transcendent marvelousness and unexpectedness, that swept over us as we reigned our horses sharply out of green forests, and stood upon a high jutting rock that overlooked this rolling, upheaving sea of granite mountains, holding, far down in its rough lap, the vale of meadow and grove and river—such a tide of feeling comes at rare intervals in any life. It was the confrontal of God face to face, as in great danger, or sudden death. All that was mortal shrank back; all that was immortal swept to the front and bowed down in awe.”

—Samuel B. Bowles.

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