There was little energy in our camp the day after our arrival at the end of the long struggle with Desolation and Gray canyons, and, also, it being Sunday, we lounged around in a state of relaxation, joyful that we did not have to roll up our blankets and stow them and everything else in the rubber bags and pack the cabins to go on. The boats had been unloaded and hauled on the beach, which was smooth sand, to dry out preparatory to our caulking and repairing them with the pine gum collected in Desolation. During the morning Prof. sent Jack and me down the river a short distance to put up a signal, a small American flag, on the lower end of an island, where it could easily be seen by any one looking for us. All hands kept an ear open for signal shots, which we hoped to hear soon, and have the Major once more in our company. After dinner Prof. and Steward took another walk down the open valley about five miles to reconnoitre, but though they came upon remains of a great many Indian camps, all were old, and the valley appeared as silent and deserted as it was desolate and barren. Along the river there were a few groves of cottonwood, the only vegetation of any consequence to be seen.

(large image, 860KB)

Through this valley passed the famous trail from Santa FÉ to Los Angeles, laid out in 1830 by that splendid pioneer, William Wolfskill. The reason he came so far north was because there was no place to cross the canyons below that was known.[13] This path was occasionally travelled for years, and became celebrated as the "Old Spanish Trail." Here it was that Captain Gunnison of our army in his notable explorations crossed in 1853 on his westward journey, which a few days later proved fatal to him, as he was killed by the Gosi-Utes. Before leaving he established the latitude and longitude of this crossing, which ever after bore his name.[14] Together with the mouth of the Uinta, the mouth of Henry's Fork, and the mouth of Diamond Creek, this made four points astronomically fixed before the Major came between the Union Pacific crossing and the end of the Grand Canyon. Diamond Creek mouth was determined accurately by Ives in 1858. The trappers and fur hunters between 1824 and 1840, men like Jim Bridger and Kit Carson, had roamed more or less over the region we had come through, and occasionally they had tried to see the river in the canyons. The aridity of the country generally held them back. Ashley, as already noted, had made the passage of Red Canyon, and the trapper Meek with several companions had gone through Lodore and Whirlpool one winter on the ice. FrÉmont, Simpson, Berthoud, Selden, and some other scientific explorers had passed here and there reconnoitring, and Macomb in 1859 had made a reconnaissance to the south and south-west of Gunnison Crossing, so that a general idea of the character of the region had been obtained and a kind of approximate topography had been tentatively thrown in, yet it was mainly an unknown wilderness so far as record went, particularly contiguous to the river. But south from the San Rafael to the Paria and west to the High Plateaus forming the southward continuation of the Wasatch Range, an area of at least 10,000 square miles, there was still a completely unknown country. Indeed, even from the Paria on down to the Grand Wash the region on the right was hardly better understood, though there were several Mormon settlements on the headwaters of the Virgin, and recently the settlement of Kanab had been made farther east. On the south of the Grand Canyon Ives had reconnoitred to some extent, reaching the river at the mouth of Diamond Creek, but at no other point above that did he come to the river nor get anywhere near its canyon above the tributary Habasu (Cataract).

In the entire stretch from Gunnison Crossing to the end of the Grand Canyon, a distance of 587-1/2 miles, but two points were known where the river could be crossed, the Crossing of the Fathers (El Vado de los Padres), about latitude 37, and the mouth of the Paria, only thirty-five miles lower down. This latter place had been discovered by Jacob Hamblin, or "Old Jacob," as he was familiarly called, and he was the first white man to cross there, which he did in October, 1869. He was a well-known Mormon scout and pioneer of those days. He forded at El Vado his first time in 1858, possibly the first white man after Escalante, though the ford was known to at least Richard Campbell, the trapper, in 1840 or earlier. In 1862 Jacob circumtoured the Grand and Marble canyons, going from St. George by way of the Grand Wash to the Moki Towns and returning by way of El Vado. Thus the region below us to the left or east had been reconnoitred in a general way by Macomb, while that to the right or west had not had even bird's-eye exploration. Until the Major's unrivalled first descent in 1869 the river was equally unknown. Even above Gunnison Crossing, despite the spasmodic efforts at exploration referred to, the river had remained a geographical enigma, and to the Major belongs the sole credit for solving this great problem throughout its length from the Union Pacific crossing in Wyoming to the mouth of the Virgin River—the last problem of this kind within the United States. Hampered as the first party was by loss of provisions and instruments, they nevertheless made a plat of the immediate course of the stream, portions of which were lost with the men who were killed by the Shewits on leaving the party near the end of the Grand Canyon. So far we had not been bothered in the least by lack of provisions, instruments, time, health, or strength, and we had been able to make an accurate meander of the river, note the topography and geology as we went along, climb out frequently to examine the surrounding country, and in every way carry forward the scientific work as planned. It was now a question whether or not we would get our supplies at the next appointed station, the mouth of the Dirty Devil River, or whether we would be obliged to weigh out what we had, and by limiting ourselves to strict rations put the work through anyhow. By September 5th we would probably have information on this point, that being the limit set for our waiting. Should the Major not arrive by that time, it would mean that we were to go on as best we could with the supplies on hand.

Monday was devoted to overhauling the boats, while Prof. took observations. During a rest he also read aloud to us from Tennyson,

He was an excellent reader and we enjoyed his various selections. They gave variety and new drift to our thought which was refreshing and beneficial. When the boats were completed they were returned to the river, but for the time being the rations and other things forming their cargoes were permitted to remain on shore covered by the paulins. The boats swung gracefully at their lines and Jack was tempted to get out his fishing tackle in the early evening and seat himself on one of the cabins to wait patiently for a bite. Softly the river rippled by with an innocent murmur as if it had never been guilty of anything but the calmest and best-behaved motion such as now reflected the great pinnacle across the way standing 1200 feet clear cut against the glowing sky. The air was balmy, no wind blew, and a universal quiet prevailed when suddenly Jack uttered several exclamations not entirely in harmony with the moment. He thought his precious hook was caught on a snag. Pulling gently in order not to break his line the snag lifted with it and presently he was astounded to see, not the branch of a tree or a water-logged stick, but the head of an enormous fish appear above the surface. Had there been some splashing he would have been prepared for the extraordinary sight but the monster came with barely a wriggle as if he did not know what it was to be caught. He was successfully landed in the middle cabin of the boat, which was empty except for some water, and lay there unhurt as if it were the natural place for him. Casting again another of the same kind came forth and then a third. The longest appeared to be the length of the cabin, as he floated in the water, and that was four feet. He was at least thirty or thirty-six inches with a circumference of fifteen inches. The others were considerably shorter but nevertheless very large fish. The big one was killed for food and Steward noted that the heart after removal kept up pulsations of twenty beats to the minute for half an hour. These fish are now called Colorado River salmon. The flesh was white and they seemed to us good eating.

photo, salmon catch

On Tuesday, August 29th, the third day of our waiting, as we were about to return to various occupations after dinner three rapid shots broke suddenly on the quiet air from down the valley. It was our signal. "The Major" cried all in a breath, and a reply signal was instantly fired. Clem and I were sent immediately to the end of the island, carrying our rifles, of course, for while we had little doubt as to who it was, there might be a surprise. We hurried down while the others watched the bank beyond. As soon as we cleared the bushes and could see the western shore we distinguished the Major and a stranger by his side, with horses. We shouted to them directions for reaching our camp and they rode up till they came opposite to it whence they were ferried over while Jones took the horses down to their camp about four miles below. The Major reported an absolute failure in the attempt to find a way to the mouth of the Dirty Devil River and he had not himself been able to do anything about it. The first trial was eastward from Glencove, a Mormon settlement on the Sevier. It failed because the Indian guides refused to proceed beyond fifty miles and it was not practicable to go on without them. A second party was then sent in a little later under Old Jacob north-eastward from Kanab. They reached a river flowing to the Colorado at about the right place and for many miles followed it with extreme difficulty and hazard even at the low stage of water prevailing, down through a deep, narrow canyon. Sometimes they were compelled to swim their horses where the rapid stream filled the chasm from wall to wall, and continual crossing and re-crossing were necessary from one footing to another. This perilous effort was also abandoned. The Major had gone to Salt Lake and from there, being informed of these results, down to a village called Manti whence he made his way across country to our present position, with several pack animals bringing three hundred pounds of flour, a quantity of jerked beef, and twenty pounds of sugar. This was not exactly adequate to the circumstances but he probably thought it was all he could get through with to the meeting place appointed in the time alloted. While he and Fred Hamblin, the man accompanying him, were eating their dinner, we packed the boats, and when all was ready took them on board, the Major in his old place in the armchair on our boat, and Hamblin on the middle deck of another. In the run down to the camp Hamblin was very uncomfortable for he was not accustomed to boats, especially to boats that ran so fast. There were two little rapids, some swift chutes, and in several places the river shoaled and we grated slightly on the gravel.

Stretching away westward from Gunnison Butte we saw an exquisitely modelled line of cliffs, some portions being a clear azure blue. At first it was proposed to name them Henry Cliffs, but they were finally called from their colour, Azure. Presently we arrived at the camp where we found another man, Lyman Hamblin, a son of Jacob and nephew of Fred. They were both Mormons from Kanab near the Arizona line in southern Utah. They had a large amount of mail for us and every one fell to reading letters and papers. August 30th and 31st were spent here getting our work in shape, making sketches and observations, as well as writing letters and helping the Hamblins prepare for their trip back through the wild country. They had met with no Indians on the way in and they hoped to be equally fortunate going back having no desire to see any. In this, as they told me afterwards, they were not successful. They mounted their horses, Friday, September 1st, about four in the afternoon when the west was taking on a rich evening glow and turning in that direction vanished, with a wave of the hand and a good-bye, into the mystery of colour, bearing our letters, the geographic data, the geologic notes, and all the other material which we had collected since leaving the mouth of the Uinta, and which it was thought advisable to send out both for safety and to relieve our crowded cabins. They said that the next evening before they realised it they found themselves so near a large encampment of Indians that there was no getting away, and they did the only thing they could sensibly do, rode boldly on straight into the midst of the strangers with the hope that the band belonged where they were on the west side of the river, in which case they were surely peaceful. Both men spoke Ute well and they had had long experience. The Indians proved to be entirely friendly, and the Hamblins camped with them for the night; not because they wanted to but because they thought it inexpedient to do otherwise. When they left us we felt that they were old friends for they were fine men and most agreeable. Besides, with the exception of Basor who had driven the team down from Salt Lake to the Uinta with our rations, they were the only white men which those of us who had not visited the Uinta Agency had seen since the Harrells in Brown's Park, nearly three months before. An hour after their departure we pushed off and ran down about half a mile, passing one little rapid, to the old crossing where we stopped on the left for the night. Beaman and I were commissioned to go back to our Camp Gunnison to get a saw which had been forgotten there; we could not afford to lose so valuable an implement. A well-beaten Indian trail leading up the river gave us easy going and we made good time. The effects of light and colour all around us playing over the mountains and valley gave the surroundings a weird interest. The day was ending. Long shadows stole across the strange topography while the lights on the variegated buttes became kaleidoscopic. As for us, we appeared ridiculously inadequate. We ought to have been at least twenty feet high to fit the hour and the scene. Gradually the lights faded, the shadows faded, then both began to merge till a soft grey-blue dropped over all blending into the sky everywhere except west where the burnish of sunset remained. Before dark the old camp was reached; we found the saw by the last dying rays and then picked our backward path by starlight following the trail as we had come. Silence and the night were one as in the countless years that had carved the dim buttes from the rocks of the world primeval when man was not. Beautiful is the wilderness at all times, at all times lovely, but under the spell of the twilight it seems to enfold one in a tender embrace, pushing back the sordid, the commonplace, and obliterating those magnified nothings that form the weary burden of civilised man. With keen appreciation we tramped steadily on till at last we perceived through the night gloom the cheerful flicker of our camp-fire, a sight always welcome, for the camp-fire to the explorer is home.

At eight the next morning our business was resumed with the Major happy in his accustomed place. We made a nice run of eighteen miles on a smooth, shallow river, with broken, picturesque low cliffs and isolated buttes everywhere. The valley was wide and filled with these rocky hills. For a quarter of a mile on each side of the river there were cottonwood groves offering fine spots for camping, before and after crossing. There seemed to be several places where crossing was accomplished. At one of these we discovered where some Indians had been in camp a few hours before. The placidity of the river permitted the lashing together of the boats once more for a time and while we drifted this way down with the easy current the Major and Prof. took turns at reading aloud from Whittier. Mogg Megone was one selection that was quite in harmony with the surroundings while other poems offered a delightful contrast. There were songs, too, and I specially identify with this particular locality that old college favourite, Dear Evelina, Sweet Evelina which everybody sang, and which the Major often sang alone as he peered ahead into the vista unfolding.

Before night the valley narrowed, the banks looked more like low canyon walls, and the current stiffened. A clump of small cottonwoods suggested a camp as the sun ran down and there we halted. Nor did we go on the next day as the Major desired to go out to a ridge lying to the west, which he had seen from his horse on his way to us across country. Jones went with him and they came back with a fine collection of Cretaceous fossils. Steward and Cap. also went collecting and were successful. Our surroundings were now even more peculiar than heretofore. In many places the region was absolutely barren of all vegetation; thousands of acres at a time had upon them hardly a living plant of any description, being simply bare and barren rock, as devoid of soil as the deck of a ship. Prof. took observations for latitude and longitude and the rest of us were busy at our usual affairs. We had very little time to spare when the various necessary duties had been regularly attended to.

photo, butte

As we went on the next morning the desolation of the surroundings increased, if that were possible, and it was easy to read in this one cause of the tardiness of its exploration. The acreage of bare rock grew wider and broader. The buttes now often turned to walls about 150 feet high, all much broken, but indicating the approach to another closing in of the rocks upon us. Many of these buttes were beautiful in their castellated form as well as because of a picturesque banded character, and opposite our dinner-camp, which was on a ledge of rock, was one surprisingly symmetrical, resembling an artificial structure. I thought it looked like an art gallery, and the Major said it ought to be named after the artist, so he called it "Dellenbaugh's Butte" then and there. Another singular feature of this day was a number of alkaline springs discovered bubbling up from the bottom of a sort of bayou or branch of the river. There were at least seventy-five of them, one throwing a column six or eight inches above the surface of the water here about two feet deep. We thought the place worth a name, and called it Undine Springs. Three or four miles below the butte named after me we arrived at the mouth of a river, twenty-five feet wide and eight or ten inches deep, coming in from the right. This was the San Rafael. Our camp was made near some cottonwoods between its left bank and the Green. As soon as we landed we perceived that the ground was strewn with flaked chips of chalcedony, jasper, and similar stones. It was plain that here was a favourite workshop of the native arrowhead maker, an artisan now vanished forever. Numerous well-finished beautiful arrow-heads of stone were found, all being placed in the general collection for the Smithsonian Institution. Our Camp 54 was elevated considerably above the river, and the surroundings being open, we had views in all directions. Towards the east we could see the Sierra La Sal, two clusters of rounded peaks, forty or fifty miles away, forming a majestic picture. The place was easy of access, and had been a favourite resort for natives, several acres of camp remains being found. In the morning Prof. began a series of observations to fix the position of the mouth of the San Rafael, while the Major and Jones, with rations, blankets, etc., on their backs for a two days' trip, started early up the tributary stream to see what kind of a country it flowed through. Steward feeling somewhat under the weather did not attempt to do anything, while the photographer and the others busied themselves in their respective lines. The following day the Major and Jones returned as planned, having traced the San Rafael for twenty-five miles. Before they arrived Cap. and Clem went across the Green to travel eastward to some high red buttes, one of which they intended to climb for topographical purposes. These buttes loomed up in a striking way, and appeared to be no more than six miles off even to Cap.'s experienced eye. The Major described the drainage basin of the San Rafael as wofully barren and desolate, like the rest of our surroundings. They had seen mountains lying beyond the Dirty Devil River, which were the range we then called the Unknown Mountains, there being no record of any one ever having seen them before the Major on his first trip.

Steward, recovering his poise, walked back alone on the east bank of the Green four miles to Dellenbaugh's Butte to examine it and the intervening geology. He found the butte to be about four hundred feet high and composed of stratified gypsum, thinly bedded and of fine quality.

As evening approached we looked for the return of Cap. and Clem, especially when the supper hour arrived, but twilight came, then darkness, and still their footfall was not heard. The Major was greatly disturbed over their failure to come, fearing they had gotten out of water, missed their way, and might now be suffering or demoralised in the arid wastes to eastward. He ordered a large fire to be built on a high spot near camp, where it would be visible for miles in the direction the missing men had gone. We divided into watches of two hours each to keep the fire going, in order that the men should have a guide if they were trying to reach the river in the night. I was called for my turn at two in the morning, and read Whittier while feeding the flames. The sky was mottled with clouds driving impetuously across the zenith, the bright moon gleaming through the interstices as they rapidly passed along. My attention was divided between the Quaker poet, the blazing fire, the mysterious environment into which I peered from time to time, and the flying scud playing hide-and-seek with the moon. At three I called Andy, who had breakfast ready before five, and all hands were up prepared to start on a search. By the time we had eaten there was light enough for operations to begin, and the Major, accompanied by Jack, carrying between them two days' rations and as much water as possible, were put across the Green to strike out directly eastward. A couple of hours later Prof. took a boat, with Steward and me to man it and another supply of food and water, and ran down the river a mile, where we headed back into the dry region to intersect at a distance the route the Major was following. We had not gone far before signal shots came to our ears, and through a glass turned in that direction we rejoiced to see that the Major and Jack had met the lost ones and all was well.

Prof. directed me to go back on foot to our camp with instructions for the other boats to come down, while he, in response to further signals, dropped his boat to a point nearer to the position of the rescue party and easier for them to reach. Cap. had underestimated the distance to the butte, which was twice as far as he thought. They walked eight hours to get there only to discover that scaling it was out of the question. A mile and a half beyond they found one they could climb, but by the time they had completed their observations on top of this evening overtook them and they were at least fifteen miles from camp. Having consumed their lunch at noon and drank all their water they were in something of a predicament, but luckily found some water-pockets in the barren rock, recently filled by the rains, so they did not suffer for thirst, and going hungry is not dangerous. Over the wide surfaces of bare rock they travelled toward camp till night forced them to wait for daylight, when they kept on till they met the Major and Jack with water and food.

No sooner had I arrived at the camp than the sky which was leaden and low began to drop its burden upon us. Packing up could not be done till the rain slackened, and we sheltered ourselves as well as we could. As we waited a deep roaring sound from not far off presently fell on our ears and we were puzzled to explain it till an examination showed a recently dry gulch filled with a muddy torrent which leaped the low cliff into the river, a sullen cascade. The San Rafael, too, was a booming flood. We packed the boats as soon as we could and ran down about two miles and a half to where the first boat was. Cliffs bordered the river again, 50 to 100 feet high, then 200 or 300, and we saw we were in the beginning of the next canyon called from its winding course, Labyrinth. Over these straight walls hundreds of beautiful cascades born of the rain were plunging into the river. They were of all sizes, all heights, and almost all colours, chocolate, amber, and red predominating. The rocky walls, mainly of a low purplish-red tint, were cut into by the river till the outside curves of the bends were perpendicular and sometimes slightly more than perpendicular, so that some of the cascades fell clear without a break. The acres of bare rock composing the surface of the land on both sides collected the rain as does the roof of a house, and the rills and rivulets rapidly uniting soon formed veritable floods of considerable proportions seeking the bosom of the river. This seemed the most fantastic region we had yet encountered. Buttes, pinnacles, turrets, spires, castles, gulches, alcoves, canyons and canyons, all hewn, "as the years of eternity roll" out of the verdureless labyrinth of solid rock, made us feel more than ever a sense of intruding into a forbidden realm, and having permanently parted from the world we formerly knew.

About noon we caught up to the other boat and all had dinner together, happy that nothing serious had befallen Cap. and Clem. During the whole afternoon rain steadily fell upon the top of this rock-roofed world till the river rose several inches while its colour turned to a dull yellow, then to a red, showing how heavy the rainfall had been in the back country. We had our rubber ponchos on but we were more or less damp and we began to notice that summer had passed for the air was chilly. The river was perfectly smooth making navigation easy and we were able to pull steadily along with no interruption from rapids. The walls ever increased their height while over the edges the numberless astonishing rain cascades continued to play, varying their volume according to the downpour from the sky. Before long the cliffs were from 800 to 1000 feet high, often perpendicular, giving the waterfalls grand plunges. These graceful tributaries were now occasionally perfectly clear and they sometimes fell so far without a break that they vanished in feathery white spray. A projecting ledge at times might gather this spray again to form a second cascade before the river level was reached. The scene was quite magical and considering the general aridity for a large part of the year, it appeared almost like a phantasm.

The river twisted this way and that with the tongues of the bends filled with alluvial deposit bearing dense clumps of scrub-oak, and grass. Each new bend presented a fresh picture with the changing waterfalls leaping over by the dozen till we might have thought ourselves in some Norwegian fiord, and we gave far more attention to admiring the scenery than to navigating the boats. Late in the day we landed at the left on the point of a bend and chopped a path through the thick oak brush to a grassy glade, where we soon had the paulins stretched across oars supported by other oars forming comfortable shelters in front of which huge fires of dead oak and driftwood were kept going to dry things out. Andy set his pots to boiling and supper was soon prepared.

All night the rain fell but our shelters kept us dry and every one had a good rest. When the morning of September 8th dawned clear and bracing we met it with good spirits, though the spirits of our party seldom varied no matter what the circumstances, and every man took as much personal interest in the success of the expedition as if he were entirely responsible for it.

In order that Beaman might take some pictures and the topographers get notes, no move was made. Prof. climbed out obtaining a wide view in all directions and securing valuable data. I also went up on the cliffs and made a pencil sketch, and in the afternoon we explored a peculiar three-mouthed side canyon across the river. Three canyons came together at their mouths and we called the place Trin Alcove. Prof. and the Major walked up it some distance and then sent for Beaman to come to photograph. At nightfall rain began once more, and the shelters were again erected over the oars. Another morning came fair and we went on leaving Beaman to finish up views and the Nell crew for other work. As we proceeded we would occasionally halt to wait but it was noon before they overtook us. Rain had begun before this and continued at intervals during the dinner stop. As soon as we started we ran into a heavy downpour and while pulling along in the midst of this our boat ran on a sand-bar and got so far and fast aground that it required all ten men to get her off, the other crews walking in the water to where we were, as the shoal was very wide. While thus engaged a beautiful colour effect developed softly before us through an opalescent, vaporous shroud. The sun came forth with brilliant power upon the retreating mists creating a clear, luminous, prismatic bow ahead of us arching in perfect symmetry from foot to foot of the glistening walls, while high above it resting each end on the first terraces a second one equally distinct bridged the chasm; and, exactly where these gorgeous rainbows touched the rocks, roaring rain cascades leaped down to add their charm to the enchanting picture.

We were now at the beginning of a very long loop of the river, which we named Bow-knot Bend. Just at the start of this great turn we camped with a record for the whole day of 15-1/8 miles. Steward found some fragments of pottery. The next morning we remained here till ten for views, and then we left Beaman on the summit of the low dividing ridge, where one could look into the river on either side and see a point which we rowed more than five miles to reach.[15] On the right bank we stopped for dinner, and when it was about ready several of us crossed, and, helping Beaman down with his heavy boxes, ferried him to our side. The opposite bank was no more than one thousand feet in a straight line from our starting-place of the morning. Instead of now going on, a halt was made, because Steward, prowling around after his custom, had found some fossils that were important and he wanted more. The Major, with Jack, crossed the river for further geological investigations, while Prof. and Jones started to climb out, though the prospect was not encouraging. They ascended over rock, strangely eroded by water into caverns and holes, then along a ledge till Jones, being a taller man than Prof., got up and pulled Prof. after him with his revolver belt. They obtained a remarkable view. Buttes, ridges, mountains stood all round, with the river so completely lost in the abruptness of its chasm that a mile from the brink the whole region was apparently solid, and the existence of the gorge with a river at bottom would not even be suspected. They could trace the line of Grand River by tower-like buttes and long ridges, and just at the gap formed by the junction with the Green a blue mountain arose. The Sierra La Sal, too, could be seen lying on the horizon like blue clouds. "Weird and wild, barren and ghost-like, it seemed like an unknown world," said Prof. The country was a vast plateau similar to the one through which the Canyon of Desolation is carved, that is tilting northward and increasing in altitude towards the south, so that as the river runs on its canyon becomes deeper from this cause as well as its cutting. These great terraces sloping to the north were not before understood. They terminate on the south in vertical cliffs through which the river emerges abruptly. From such features as these the Major named this the Plateau Province. The cliffs terminating each plateau form intricate escarpments, meandering for many miles, and they might be likened to a series of irregular and complicated steps. Occasional high buttes and mountain masses break the surface, but in general the whole area forming the major part of the basin of the Colorado may be described as a plateau country—a land of mesas, cliffs, and canyons.

photo, river

The next day, September 11th, we were on the river at 7.30, and ran about seven miles on smooth water before we stopped for a mid-day rest and dinner on the right bank, as well as to enable Beaman to take some views he desired. Another three miles and we halted again for geologising and for photographs, while Prof., taking Andy in his boat, went ahead to establish a camp somewhere below for the night, in order that we would not be so late getting supper. The days were now growing short, and supper by firelight was a common thing. Rain soon began again and put a stop to the work, driving us forward between the scores of cascades which soon began to leap anew from every height to the river. At one place a waterfall shot out from behind an arch set against the wall, making a singular but beautiful effect, and revealing to us one method by which some of the arches are formed. The place Prof. had selected for camp was reached almost the same time that he got there. It was on the left among the greasewood bushes, and there we put up our paulins for shelter on oars as before. We had made about fifteen miles. The walls receded from the river, forming what the Major named the Orange Cliffs, and were much broken, while the back country could be seen in places from our boats. Scores, hundreds, multitudes of buttes of bare rock of all shapes and sizes were in sight, and one was called the Butte of the Cross, because it suggested a cross lying down from one position, though from another it was seen to be in reality two distinct masses. Here ended Labyrinth Canyon according to the Major's decision. We credited it with a length of 62-1/2 miles. Although winding through an extremely arid country, it had for us been a place of rain and waterfalls, and even though rapids were absent we had been nevertheless kept rather wet.

There was not much change in structure between Labyrinth Canyon and the following one of the series, Stillwater. The interval was one of lowered, much broken walls, well back from the river, leaving wide bottom lands on the sides. We went ahead in the morning on quiet water for seven or eight miles, and stopped on a high bank for dinner and for examinations. Prof., Cap., Steward, and the Major climbed out. Steward got separated from the others by trying to reach a rather distant butte, and when he tried to rejoin us he had considerable difficulty in doing so. For half an hour he searched for a place to get down, and we looked for one also from the bottom, and finally he was compelled to go down half a mile farther, where he made the descent only to find himself in a dense jungle of rose-bushes, willows, and other plants. We had to cut a way in to relieve him. The luxuriant growth of these plants seemed to indicate that the barrenness of the plateau was due not so much to aridity as to the peculiar rock formation, which, disintegrating easily under the frosts and rains, prevented the accumulation of soil. The soil was washed away by every rain and carried by thousands of cataracts into the river. Only when the country reaches the "base level of erosion," as the Major called it, would vegetation succeed in holding its place; that is when the declivity of the surrounding region became reduced till the rain torrents should lack the velocity necessary to transport any great load of detritus, and the disintegrated material would accumulate, give a footing to plants, and thus further protect itself and the rocks.

photo, canyon

The Major and Prof. now decided to use up all the photographic material between this point and the Dirty Devil, and leave one boat at the latter place till the next season, when a party would come in for it and take it down to the Paria. We would be obliged to examine the Dirty Devil region then in any event. Three miles below our dinner camp we arrived at a remarkably picturesque bend, and on the outer circumference we made our sixtieth camp, but so late that supper was eaten by firelight. The bend was named by Beaman "Bonito," and in the morning he made a number of views. The bottom lands along the river had evidently been utilised by the aboriginal inhabitants for farming, as fragments of pottery occasionally found indicated their presence here in former days. It was afternoon when we pushed off and left Bonito Bend behind. After a few miles the Major and Prof. tried to climb out, but they failed. A buff sandstone, resting on red shale, was vertical for about 140 feet everywhere and could not be surmounted. Above this stood another vertical wall of five hundred feet, an orange coloured sandstone, in which no break was apparent. These walls closed in on the river, leaving barely a margin in many places. There were few landings, the current, rather swift and smooth, swirling along the foot of the rocks, which rose vertically for 250 feet and were about four hundred feet apart. As the evening came on we could find no place to stop that offered room enough for a camp, and we drifted on and on till almost dark, when we discovered a patch of soil on the right that would give us sufficient space. The 13th of September happened to be my birthday, and Andy had promised to stew a mess of dried apples in celebration. This does not sound like a tremendous treat, but circumstances give the test. Our supply of rations being limited and now running low, Andy for some time had been curbing our appetites. Stewed dried apples were granted about once a week, and boiled beans were an equal luxury. It was consequently a disappointment not to get the promised extra allowance of apples on this occasion. Not only was the hour late, but there was little wood to be had, though diligent raking around produced enough driftwood to cook our supper of bacon, coffee, and bread. Our camp was beneath an overhanging cliff about six hundred feet high, and the walls near us were so heavily coated with salt that it could be broken off in chunks anywhere. The quarters were not roomy, but we got a good sleep. In the morning before he was fairly awake Steward discovered fossils in the rocks over his head, and we remained till one o'clock in order that an investigation could be made. He collected about a peck of fine specimens. When we started again the canyon was so interesting, particularly to the geologists, that we stopped several times in a run of five miles between vertical walls not over six hundred feet apart. Camp was finally made on the right in a sort of alcove, with a level fertile bottom of several acres, where the ancients had grown corn. Evidences of their former life here were numerous. Steward, climbing on the cliffs, suddenly gave a loud shout, announcing a discovery. He had found two small huts built into the rocks. Several of us went up to look at them. They were of great age and so small that they could have been only storage places. Withered and hardened corncobs were found within them.

On returning to camp we learned that the Major had found some larger house ruins on a terrace some distance up the river. Around the camp-fire that evening he told us something about the Shinumos, as he called them, who long ago had inhabited this region, and in imagination we now beheld them again climbing the cliffs or toiling at their agriculture in the small bottom land.

At daylight Steward, Clem, and I went up to the ruins, which stood on a terrace projecting in such a way that a clear view could be had up and down the river. There were two houses built of stone slabs, each about 13 × 15 feet, and about six feet of wall were still standing. Thirty feet or more below ran the river, and there were remains of an old stairway leading down through a crevice to the river, but too much disintegrated for us to descend. These were the first ruins of the kind I had ever seen, and I was as much interested in them as I afterwards was in the Colosseum.

Prof., being desirous of arriving as speedily as possible at the junction of the Grand with the Green, which was now not far off, for the purpose of getting an observation for time, left us at seven o'clock and proceeded in advance, while the remainder of the party turned their attention to the locality where we were. We could see traces of an old trail up the cliffs, and the Major, Jack, Andy, and Jones started to follow this out. With the aid of ropes taken along and stones piled up, as well as a cottonwood pole that had been placed as a ladder by the ancients, they succeeded in reaching the summit. Clem and I went back to the large house ruins for a re-examination, and looked over the quantities of broken arrowheads of jasper and the potsherds strewing the place in search of specimens of value. On the return trip of the climbers Andy discovered an earthen jar, fifteen inches high and about twelve inches in diameter, of the "pinched-coil" type, under a sheltering rock, covered by a piece of flat stone, where it had rested for many a decade if not for a century. It contained a small coil of split-willow, such as is used in basketry, tied with cord of aboriginal make. Some one had placed it there for a few moments.

After dinner we continued down the canyon, taking the pot with us. The walls were nearly vertical on both sides, or at any rate appeared so to us from the boats, and they often came straight into the water, with here and there a few willows. They were not more than 450 feet apart. No rapids troubled us, and the current was less than three miles an hour, but we seemed to be going swiftly even without rowing. After about seven miles the trend of the chasm became easterly, and we saw the mouth of the Grand, the Junction, that hidden mystery which, unless we count D. Julien, only nine white men, the Major's first party, had ever seen before us. The Grand entered through a canyon similar to that of the Green, all the immediate walls being at least 800 feet and the summit of the plateau about 1500 feet above the river. On the right was a small bench, perhaps one-third of a mile long and several rods wide, fringed by a sand-bank, on which we found the crew of the Nell established in Camp 62. Between the two rivers was another footing of about two acres, bearing several hackberry trees, and it was on this bank up the Grand River side that the first party camped. Across on the east shore we could see still another strip with some bushes, but there was no more horizontal land to be found here. The two rivers blended gracefully on nearly equal terms, and the doubled volume started down with reckless impetuosity. This was the end of Stillwater Canyon, with a length of 42-3/4 miles. At last we had finished the canyons of the Green, with every boat in good condition and not a man injured in any way, and now we stood before the grim jaws of the Colorado. Our descent from Gunnison Crossing was 215 feet, with not a rapid that was worth recording, and from the Union Pacific crossing in feet, 2215, and in miles, 539. The altitude of the Junction is 3860 feet above sea-level.

line drawing, pot

[13] In fact there was only one practicable place, El Vado de los Padres, and that was difficult. The alternative would have been to cross Arizona south of the Colorado. By this Gunnison Crossing route there were better wood, water, and grass to compensate for distance.