Into the Jaws of the Dragon—A Useless Experiment—Wheeler Reaches
Diamond Creek Going Up-stream—The Hurricane Ledge—Something about
Names—A Trip from Kanab through Unknown Country to the Mouth of the
Dirty Devil.
While our party, in September, was battling with the cataracts,
another, as we afterwards learned, was starting from Camp Mohave on a
perilous, impracticable, and needless expedition up the Colorado. How
far this party originally expected to be able to proceed against the
tremendous obstacles I have never understood, but the after-statement
mentions Diamond Creek as the objective point. That such a wild,
useless, and costly struggle should have been allowed by the War
Department, which authorised it, seems singular, more particularly as
little new was or could be, accomplished by it. The War Department must
have known that Powell, two years before, had descended the river from
Wyoming to the mouth of the Virgen, and that he was now more than
half-way down the river on his second, more detailed exploration,
authorised and paid for by the Government. Lieutenant Ives had also
years before completely explored as high as the Vegas Wash, and there
were therefore only the few miles, about twenty-five, between that Wash
and the mouth of the Virgen, which might technically be considered
unexplored, though only technically, for several parties had passed
over it. Then why was this forlorn hope inaugurated? What credit could
any one expect to obtain by bucking for miles up the deep, dangerous
gorge filled with difficult rapids, which Powell had found hazardous
and well-nigh impossible, coming down with the current? The leader of
this superfluous endeavour was Lieutenant Wheeler, of the Topographical
Engineers, who had been roaming the Western country for several years
with a large escort. For some reason, Wheeler seems to have been
disinclined to give Powell credit for his masterly achievement. On the
map published in his Report, under the date 1879, _ten years after
Powell’s triumph_, he omits his name entirely, and he also fails to
give Ives credit on the river, though he records his land trail. In the
text I fail to find any mention of Powell in the regular order, and
only towards the end of the volume under a different heading. As the
book gives an admirable and detailed review of explorations in the
West, one is completely at a loss to understand the omission of credit
to two of the most distinguished explorers of all. Wheeler accepted
White’s story because one of his men who knew White at Camp Mohave,
“corroborated” it. How could a man who knew nothing about the canyons
give testimony worth consideration, for or against? Wheeler had also
been informed by O. D. Gass, who, with three others, had worked his way
up the Grand Canyon some few miles in 1864, that in his opinion it was
impossible to go farther than he had gone. Yet White had reported this
whole gorge as having only smooth water; his difficulties had all ended
at the mouth of the Little Colorado. Gass’s experience was worth a good
deal as a gauge of White’s story, and it proved the story false. But
Wheeler did not so consider it, and therefore prepared to make the
attempt to go beyond Gass. The latter was about right in considering it
impossible to go above his highest point, but when Wheeler found
himself trapped in the chasm, he was desperate, and, being at the time
favoured by a low stage of water, he finally managed to get through.
The Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon.
Cliffs opposite the mouth of Diamond Creek. The highest point visible
is about 3500 feet above the river.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.
Wheeler’s boats were built in San Francisco and sent by way of the
mouth of the Colorado to Camp Mohave. No details are given of their
construction, but from Dr. Gilbert I learn that they were
flat-bottomed. They were apparently about eighteen feet long. See page
302. There were three, and in addition a barge was taken from the
quartermaster’s department at Camp Mohave. There were two land parties
with supplies, and the river party, the latter composed of the
following persons: First Lieutenant George M. Wheeler, U. S.
Topographical Engineers; G. K. Gilbert, geologist; W. J. Hoffman,
naturalist; P. W. Hamel, topographer; T. H. O’Sullivan, photographer;
E. M. Richardson, assistant topographer and artist; Frank Hecox,
barometrical assistant; Frederick W. Loring, general assistant; six
boatmen, six soldiers (one sergeant and five privates from Co. G, 12th
Infantry, stationed at Mohave) and “Captain” Asquit, and thirteen other
Mohaves—in all thirty-four. It was the fate of three of these, after
escaping from the dangers of the great chasm, to be killed by an attack
of Apaches on the Wickenburg stage. These were Loring, Hamel, and
Salmon. Loring was a brilliant young literary man from Boston, whose
career was thus sadly ended.
The Beginning of a Natural Arch. The Beginning of a Natural Arch.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.
The boats appear not to have been regularly named, though two of them,
at least, received titles before long, one, the boat Gilbert was in,
being called the _Trilobite_, and the other, the photographic boat, was
termed the _Picture_. Leaving Mohave on September 16th (1871) they
proceeded with little difficulty by towing and rowing, as far as Ives
had taken the _Explorer_, to the foot of Black Canyon. From here the
work was harder, but by the 18th they had arrived in the heart of this
canyon. The rapids were now more severe, but as Ives had gone up
easily, and also Johnson with his steamboat, and Rodgers with his,
there was nothing to prevent the ascent of this party. On the tenth
day, therefore, they passed Fortification Rock and reached Las Vegas
Wash, the termination of the Ives exploration. From here to the mouth
of the Virgen was the stretch that had, _technically_, never been
explored, though it had been traversed, at least, several times. There
is one small canyon in the distance, called Boulder. Passing the mouth
of the Virgen, Wheeler entered the canyon through the Virgen Mountains,
and this he named Virgin Canyon because, as he says, it was his “first
canyon on entirely new ground.” I am at a loss to understand his
meaning. If he intended to convey the impression that he was the first
to traverse this portion, it is an unwarranted assumption, and must be
emphatically condemned. Powell had descended as far as the Virgen, and
thus Wheeler was simply following his course backwards.
Passing through another small unnamed canyon, to which he applied the
term Iceberg on account of the contour of its northern walls, he
finally, on October 3d, came to the Grand Wash. On the next day the Ute
Crossing near the beginning of the Grand Canyon was reached. Two or
three days before this he could see what seemed to be a high range of
mountains apparently perpendicular, which was, as he surmised, the foot
of the Grand Canyon. Progress was now very slow, for the river was
swifter than it had been below. Perceiving the impossibility of taking
such a craft farther, the barge was left behind at the Crossing, to
form a base of supplies in case the difficulties of ascending
necessitated falling back. Relief parties from the rendezvous at
Truxton Springs were to go, one to the mouth of the canyon and the
other to the mouth of Diamond Creek, about thirty-five miles distant
from the Springs, but the situation was complicated by these parties
having no orders to wait at these points. Putting all of his land force
who were at the canyon mouth on the south side of “this turbid,
unmanageable stream,” and picking three crews of nine persons each,
with rations for fifteen days, he was ready to go ahead with this
unwise enterprise, “imagining,” as he admits, “but few of the many
difficulties that were to be met.” It was on October 7th that they
entered the mouth of the great gorge. At length “a full view,
magnificent beyond description, of the walls of the Grand Canyon” was
had, and they were fairly on the road; as rough a road, going down, as
one can well imagine, but going up in the teeth of the torrential
rapids, hemmed in by close granite walls, it is about as near the
impossible as anything that is not absolutely so could be. Wheeler
certainly deserves credit for one thing in this haphazard affair, and
that is for a splendid courage and abundant nerve, in which he was well
supported by Gilbert’s cool fortitude and indomitable spirit. Once,
when I was discussing this journey with Stanton, who, at a later
period, came down the gorge, he would hardly admit that Wheeler
actually did reach Diamond Creek: he thought the ascent impossible. The
second day in the canyon five rapids were passed within two miles, and,
on the next, nine were overcome before noon, and before sunset,
fifteen, showing that the party were working with all the nerve and
muscle they possessed. On this day they passed the monument Gass and
his companions had erected at their farthest point in 1864. The rapids
were now “more formidable” than any yet seen, and Wheeler was
“satisfied” that no one had ever gone higher. This was true, and it is
probable no one will ever try to go up this portion again. The way to
make the passage is from above, the work being less and the danger no
greater. Wherever a portage can be made going up it can also be made
going down. The river was compressed to seventy-five feet in one place
on this day. On the 10th they made about five miles, and met with a
serious accident: two of the boats were carried back over a rapid, but
were luckily secured again without having suffered damage. The
declivity was now very great, and the stream flowed along between solid
granite, where footing was both difficult and dangerous, and pulling
the boats up over the rocks taxed the combined strength of the crews.
Everything had to be unloaded at one bad place and the first boat was
nearly swamped. All could not be taken up before dark, so a “dreary
camp is made among the débris of the slopes, where, cuddled up
Indian-fashion, the weary hours of the night are passed.” The labour
was tremendous, and two of the party became ill: one, a Mohave, who was
badly bruised by being thrown upon the rocks. Wheeler now began to
despair of reaching Diamond Creek, and well he might, but he concluded
that he could get there if the men and the boats would but hold
together. The next day, another series of rapids was surmounted, and
then came a particularly bad-looking one. The first boat was filled
instantly with water, swamped, and thrown back against the rocks
“almost a perfect wreck, and its contents were washed down below the
overhanging rocks.” A package of Wheeler’s valuable papers was lost,
also a lot of expensive instruments, the astronomical and
meteorological observations, and the entire cargo of rations. This was
a discouraging disaster, and came near compelling the retreat of the
whole party. Darkness came on, and they were obliged to drop back about
half a mile to make a camp. Wheeler was weary and dispirited, though he
maintained an outward show of cheerfulness toward the men, and the next
morning the Dragon was faced again. They tried to find some remnant of
the lost cargo, but it had completely vanished. Everything had been
swept away forever. All the party were despondent, one boat was badly
damaged, and the diminution of the rations made the outlook gloomy. The
damaged boat was therefore sent with a crew back to the place at the
mouth of the canyon where the barge had been left. With the exception
of Wheeler and Gilbert none of the party believed the cataracts now
ahead could be surmounted.
The Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon.
Near mouth of Diamond Creek.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.
“Mr. Gilbert and myself,” writes Wheeler, “propose to reassure the men
by taking the first boat across the rapids. Portage of the stores is
made to the wash at the head of the rapids, which consumes the greater
share of the day, and half an hour before twilight a rope is stretched
and the emergency prepared for. The entire force is stationed along the
line, and the cast-off is made. In five minutes the worst part of the
rapid is over, and just as the sun sinks gloomily behind the canyon
horizon, the worst rapid is triumphantly passed amid the cheers and
exultations of every member of the party.”
The following day, October 13th, they reached the narrowest part of the
river, a channel less than fifty feet wide, but the canyon on top is,
of course, very broad. With many portages and other arduous toil the
party slowly climbed up the river, sometimes making less than three
miles, sometimes a little more. The rapids grew worse and worse, and
the smooth stretches in between shorter and shorter. On the 15th
Gilbert’s boat broke away, and he and Hecox were swept so far down the
stream that the rest could not reach them. They were obliged to remain
where they were through the night with nothing to eat. The main camp
was at a place where there was barely room for the men to sleep amongst
the rocks. They were all gloomy enough, and starvation was beginning to
show its dreaded shadow amidst the spray. On the 16th they were
compelled to carry the tow-line fully a hundred feet above the water to
get it ahead. At another portage the rope broke and the boat was
instantly thrown out into the rapid by the fierce current. Fortunately
she was not capsized, and they managed again to secure her and make a
second attempt, which succeeded. Climbing to the top of the granite
they discovered it was comparatively level, and they believed they
could travel over it, if necessary, as far as Diamond Creek. The
rations for some time had to be dealt out on allowance, and at night,
for safety, Wheeler put the entire stock under his head as a pillow. On
the 17th they met with particularly bad rapids, one with a fall of ten
and a half feet where the river was only thirty-five feet wide. The
force of such pent-up waters may be imagined. The party had here one
advantage over the river farther north, at this season; it was much
warmer in this part of the Grand Canyon.
The Crew of the “Trilobite.” The Crew of the “Trilobite.”
At the mouth of Diamond Creek.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.
“Each day,” writes Wheeler of this portion, “seems like an age, and the
danger of complete disaster stares one so plainly in the face that a
state of uneasiness naturally prevails.” On the 18th, at one of the
descents, a boat was again torn loose, and Gilbert and Salmon were
thrown into the raging waters. They fortunately succeeded in getting
out, and the party pushed ahead, making three and one-half miles. The
boats were now in a dilapidated condition, leaking badly. On October
19th two messengers were started, by way of the summit of the granite,
to Diamond Creek to catch the relief party there, and return with some
food. Meanwhile Wheeler planned, if no relief came, to abandon the
river on the 22nd, but on the evening of that same day, having made six
miles up the river, the party had the joy of finally reaching Diamond
Creek with the two boats. Wheeler had succeeded in a well-nigh hopeless
task. “The land party had left at ten in the morning,” so Gilbert
writes me, “and their camp was reached by our messengers on foot at 1
p.m. These facts were announced to us by a note one of our messengers
sent down the river on a float.” A number of the boat party were then
sent out to the rendezvous camp, while the remainder turned about and
began the perilous descent, having now to do just what would have been
necessary if the start had been made from Diamond Creek. Mohave was
reached in safety _on the evening of the fifth day_, whereas it had
required about four weeks of extremely hard work to make the same
distance against the current. This is all the comment necessary on the
two methods. The whole party that reached Diamond Creek was as follows:
Lieutenant Wheeler, G. K. Gilbert, P. W. Hamel, T. H. O’Sullivan, E. M.
Richardson, Frank Hecox, Wm. George Salmon, R. W. James, Thos.
Hoagland, George Phifer, Wm. Roberts, Privates Drew, Flynn, and Keegan,
and six Mohaves, making twenty in all.
“The exploration of the Colorado River,” says Wheeler, “may now be
considered complete.” The question may fairly be asked, Why was the
exploration now any more complete than it was before Wheeler made this
unnecessary trip? Powell, two years before, had been through the part
ascended, and Wheeler, so far as I can determine, added little of value
to what was known before. If he thought Powell had not completed the
work of exploration, as his words imply, the exploration was still not
complete, for there remained the distance to the Little Colorado, and
to the Paria, and so on up to the source of the river, which Wheeler
had not been over. If he accepted Powell’s exploration _above_ Diamond
Creek, why did he not accept it below? His nerve and luck in
accomplishing the ascent to Diamond Creek deserve great praise, but the
trip itself cannot be considered anything but a needless waste of
energy.
The Dining-table in Camp. The Dining-table in Camp.
Dutch oven, left foreground.
Photograph by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.
Meanwhile, as noted in the last chapter, our own party had passed the
Crossing of the Fathers, had arrived at the mouth, of the Paria, and,
according to our plans, had cached our boats there for the winter while
we proceeded to inaugurate our land work of triangulation. A number of
us were left for a while in camp in a valley lying between the Kaibab
Plateau, then called Buckskin Mountain, and what is now called Paria
Plateau, at a spring in a gulch of the Vermilion Cliffs. Two large
rocks at this place had fallen together in such a way that one could
crawl under for shelter. This was on the old trail leading from the
Mormon settlements to the Moki country, travelled about once a year by
Jacob Hamblin and a party on a trading expedition to the other side of
the river. Somebody on one of these trips had taken refuge beneath this
rock, and on departing had written, in a facetious mood, along the top
with a piece of charcoal, “Rock House Hotel.” Naturally, in referring
to the spring it was called, by the very few who knew it, Rock House
Spring, and then the spring where the House Rock was, or House Rock
Spring. From this came House Rock Valley, and the name was soon a
fixture, and went on our maps. And thus easily are names established in
a new country. All around were evidences of former occupation by the
Puebloans, and I became greatly interested in examining the locality.
At length, we were ordered across the Kaibab to the vicinity of Kanab,
and I shall never fail to see distinctly the wonderful view from the
summit we had of the bewildering cliff-land leading away northward to
the Pink Cliffs. The lines of cliffs rose up like some giant stairway,
while to the south-eastward the apparently level plain was separated by
the dark line of Marble Canyon. On top of the plateau, which was
covered with a fine growth of tall pines, we came about camping time to
a shallow, open valley, where we decided to stay for the night. As it
was on the top of the mountain Bishop recorded it in his notes as
Summit Valley, and so it ever afterward remained. There was no spring,
but a thin layer of snow eked out the water we had brought in kegs on
the packs, and we and the animals were comfortable enough. The trail
had not been travelled often, and was in places very dim, but we
succeeded in following it without delay. The Kaibab, still frequently
called the Buckskin Mountain, must have received this first name from
its resemblance to a buckskin stretched out on the ground. The
similarity is quite apparent in the relief map opposite page 41. As it
was the home of the Kaibab band of Pai Utes, Powell decided to rename
it after them. We arrived within eight miles of Kanab, where we made a
headquarters camp at a fine spring, and trips from here and from a camp
made later nearer Kanab were extended into the surrounding country. The
Mormons had a year or two before come out from the St. George direction
and established this new settlement of Kanab, composed then of a
stockaded square of log houses and some few neat adobe houses outside;
about fifty in all. The settlement was growing strong enough to scatter
itself somewhat about the site marked off for the future town. One of
the first things the Mormons always did in establishing a new
settlement was to plant fruit and shade trees, and vines, and the like,
so that in a very few years there was a condition of comfort only
attained by a non-Mormon settlement after the lapse of a quarter of a
century.
Winter Headquarters at Kanab, 1872–3. Renshawe, Riley, Dellenbaugh,
Thompson, Mrs. Thompson.
Winter Headquarters at Kanab, 1872–3 U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp. Central Tent.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.
In the valley below Kanab a base line was measured nine miles long, and
from this starting-point our work of triangulating the country was
carried on. Trips with pack-trains to establish geodetic stations and
examine the lay of the land were made in all directions. Of course the
reader understands that up to this time no map had been made of this
vast region north of the Colorado, and that many parts of it were
entirely unknown. The Mormons had traversed certain districts, but they
only knew their own trails and roads and had as yet not had time to
carry on any unnecessary examinations away from the lines they
travelled. Some of our experiences were interesting, but I have not the
space here for recording many of them. It was my first winter out of
doors, and sleeping in snow-storms and all kinds of weather was a
novelty, though the climate is fine and dry. It was only in the higher
regions that we encountered much snow, yet the temperature in the
valleys was quite cold enough. In leading the open-air life from summer
to winter and to summer again, the system becomes adjusted, and one
does not suffer as much as at first glance would seem probable; in
fact, one suffers very little if any, provided there are plenty of good
food and warm clothing.
The Uinkaret Mountains at Sunset, from the North-east. The Uinkaret
Mountains at Sunset, from the North-east.
Mt. Trumbull in middle, Mt. Logan in the far distance.
Oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.
On one occasion, when we were coming away from a snowy experience in
the Uinkaret Mountains, we were enveloped in a severe flurry one
morning soon after starting. When we had gone about a mile and a half,
the whole world seemed to terminate. The air was dense with the
fast-falling, snowflakes, and all beyond a certain line was white fog,
up, down, and sideways. A halt was imperative, as we knew not which way
to turn except back, and that was not our direction. Descending from
our horses we stepped out in the direction of the illimitable
whiteness, only to find that there was nothing there to travel on. The
only thing to do was to camp, which we did forthwith. By our holding up
a blanket at the four corners, and chopping some dry wood out of the
side of a dead tree, Andy was able to a start a fire, and we waited for
atmospheric developments. Presently there were rifts in the white, and
as we looked we could discern, far, far below our position, another
land. As the storm broke away more and more, it was seen that we had
arrived at the edge of a cliff with a sheer drop of one thousand feet.
At last we were able to go on and hunted for a way to descend, which we
did not find. Consequently we continued northwards and finally, on the
second day, met with a waggon-track which we followed, reaching at last
the edge where the cliff could be descended by way of a waggon-road the
Mormons had cut out of the face for a mile and a quarter. This was the
Hurricane Ledge, which extends across the country northwards from the
Uinkaret Mountains to the Virgen River. Its course is well seen on the
map opposite page 41, and also on the one on page 37. As the traveller
comes to Hurricane Hill, the northern limit, from which the whole cliff
takes its name, he has before him one of the most extraordinary views
in all that region, if not in the world. Even the Grand Canyon itself
is hardly more wonderful. To the right and below us lay the fair green
fields of Toquerville, on the opposite side of the Virgen, and all
around was such a labyrinth of mountains, canyons, cliffs, hills,
valleys, rocks, and ravines, as fairly to make one’s head swim. I think
that perhaps, of all the views I have seen in the West, this was one of
the weirdest and wildest. From Berry Spring in this valley a party of
us returned to the Uinkaret district by following the country to the
west of the Hurricane Ledge. On this occasion we again climbed Mt.
Trumbull and some of the others of the group; and Dodds and I descended
at the foot of the Toroweap to the river at the rapid called Lava
Falls. It was a difficult climb.
Major Powell and a Pai Ute. Southern Utah, 1872. Major Powell and a Pai
Ute. Southern Utah, 1872.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
The Expedition Photographer in the Field. The Expedition Photographer
in the Field.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
In triangulating I often had occasion to take the bearings of two large
buttes lying to the north-west, and in order that my recorder could put
down the readings so that I might identify them later I was obliged to
give him titles for these. They had no names in our language, and I did
not know the native ones, so, remembering that at the foot of one I had
found some ant-hills covered with beautiful diamond-like quartz
crystals, I called it Diamond Butte, and the other, having a dark,
weird, forbidding look, I named on the spur of the moment Solitaire
Butte. These names being used by the other members of the corps, they
became fixtures and are now on all the maps. I had no idea at that time
of their becoming permanent. This was also the case with a large butte
on the east side of Marble Canyon, which I had occasion to sight to
from the Kaibab. It stood up so like a great altar, and, having in my
mind the house-building Amerinds who had formerly occupied the country,
and whom the Pai Utes called Shinumo, I called it Shinumo Altar, the
name it now bears. Probably there are people who wonder where the altar
is from which it was named. It was the appearance that suggested the
title, not any archaeological find. Once when we were in the Uinkaret
country, Powell came in from a climb to the summit of what he named Mt.
Logan, and said he had just seen a fine mountain off to the south-west
which he would name after me. Of course I was much pleased at having my
name thus perpetuated. The mountain turned out to be the culminating
point of the Shewits Plateau. None of us visited it at that time, but
Thompson went there later, and I crossed its slopes twice several years
afterward. On the summit is a circular ruin about twenty feet in
diameter with walls remaining two feet high.
Lake on the Aquarius Plateau. Lake on the Aquarius Plateau.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
It will be remembered that we had left one of our boats near the mouth
of the Dirty Devil River. A party was to go overland to that point and
bring this boat down to the Paria, and on the 25th of May (1872)
Thompson started at the head of the party to try to explore a way in to
the mouth of the Dirty Devil, at the same time investigating the
country lying in between and examining the Unknown or Dirty Devil
Mountains which had been seen from the river, just west of the course
of the Dirty Devil River, now named Frémont River. We went west to a
ranch called Johnson after the owner, thence north-westerly, passing
the little Mormon settlement of Clarkson, and then struck out into the
wilderness. Keeping a north-westerly course we crossed the upper waters
of the Paria and made our way to the head of a stream flowing through
what was called Potato Valley, and which the party of the previous year
had followed down, endeavouring to find a trail by which to bring
rations to us, under the impression that it was the head of the Dirty
Devil. We also turned our course down it with the same idea. We had
taken with us a Pai Ute guide whom we called Tom, but as we advanced
into this region so far from his range, Tom got nervous and wanted to
go back, and we saw him no more till our return. Six years before a
Mormon reconnoitring party had penetrated as far as this, and in one
place en route we passed the spot where one of their number who had
been killed by the Utes had been buried. The grave had been dug out by
the wolves, and a few whitened bones lay scattered around. It was a
place where there was no water and we could not stop to reinter them.
Several days after this we reached a point where progress seemed to be
impossible in that direction, and Thompson and Dodds climbed up on high
ground to reconnoitre. When they came back they said we were not on the
headwaters of the Dirty Devil at all, and would be obliged to change
our course completely. The Dirty Devil entered the Colorado on the
other side of the Unknown Range and the stream we were on joined it on
this side, the west, therefore it was plain that we had made a mistake.
Accordingly, our steps were retraced to a point where we managed to
ascend to the slopes of what is now called the Aquarius Plateau. Three
men were sent back to Kanab after more rations, while Thompson with the
other six pushed on around the slopes, trying to find a way to cross
the labyrinth of canyons to the Unknown Mountains. On the 9th of June
we were at an altitude of ten thousand feet above sea-level, with all
the wilderness of canyons, cliffs, and buttes between us and the
Colorado spreading below like a map, or rather like some kaleidoscopic
phantasm. The slopes we were crossing were full of leaping torrents and
clear lakes. They were so covered with these that the plateau
afterwards was given the name Aquarius. Beaman, who had been
photographer on our river trip, had left us, and we now had a new man
from Salt Lake, named Fennemore. He was a frail man and the trip was
almost too much for him. Down below we saw the smokes of native fires
in several places, but we could not tell by what tribe they were made.
At last we came to a point where the plateau broke back to the north,
and we paused to search for a way to continue. I was sent out in one
direction with one man, and Thompson went in another. I had not gone
half a mile before I found an old trail which had very recently been
travelled by natives, and when I had followed it far enough to get its
trend, and as far as I dared, for I feared running on the camp at any
point, I returned to report. Thompson decided to take this trail. It
led us across strange country, and in one place for a long distance
over barren sandstone into a peculiar valley. Here we camped about
three miles from a great smoke, and the next morning ran right on top
of a Ute encampment. At first we expected trouble, but there were only
seven of the warriors, and they were, as we learned later, out of
powder, so when they sighted us they disappeared. At last they
returned, and we had a talk with them, trying to induce one to go with
us as guide. They described the trails, but refused to go along.
Butte in Grand Gulch. Butte in Grand Gulch.
A tributary of the San Juan.
Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.
Repairing Boat Near Mouth of Frémont River on the Colorado River, 1872.
Repairing Boat Near Mouth of Frémont River on the Colorado River, 1872.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
Major Powell in the Field, 1872. Major Powell in the Field, 1872.
We camped one night near them, and then went on, arriving finally,
after a great deal of trouble at the Unknown Mountains, since called
the Henry Mountains, having taken a wrong trail. At one place we were
obliged to take the whole packtrain up a cliff fifteen hundred feet
high, making a trail as we went. On the top were some water-pockets. We
watered the stock at one of these the next morning, when we were
obliged fairly to lift the horses out of the gulch by putting our
shoulders to their haunches. At last, however, we got to the mountains,
and though it was now the 17th of June water froze one half inch thick
in the kettles in our camp about fifteen hundred feet up the slopes.
Thompson climbed one of the mountains, and I started up another, but my
companion gave out. We crossed through a pass, and on the 22d, after
pursuing a winding and difficult road through canyons, succeeded in
getting the whole train down to the Colorado a short distance below the
mouth of the Dirty Devil. The Colorado was high, and swept along
majestically. We found it had been up as far as the _Cañonita_, and had
almost washed away one of the oars. We soon ran her down to our camp,
and there put her in order for the journey, which from here to the
Paria could be nothing more than a pleasure trip. Thompson, Dodds, and
Andy left the rest of us and returned on the trail towards Kanab. Those
left for the boat’s crew besides myself were Hillers, Fennemore, the
photographer, and W. D. Johnson. The latter was from Kanab, and was a
Mormon, as was also the photographer, and both were fine fellows. The
river was at flood and we had an easy time of it so far as travelling
was concerned. Our investigations and photographing sometimes consumed
half a day, but in the other half we made good progress, eight or nine
miles without trying. The rations were limited in variety, but were
abundant of their kind, being almost entirely bread and black coffee.
When we tried, we made great runs, one day easily accomplishing about
forty miles. The San Juan was now a powerful stream, as we saw on
passing. At the Music Temple we camped, and I cut Hillers’s and my name
on the rocks. Fennemore made a picture of the place, given on page 215.
On the 13th of July, we reached the Paria, where we expected to find
several of our party, but they were not there. We discovered that
someone had come in here since our last visit, and built a house. It
proved to be John D. Lee, of Mountain Meadow Massacre notoriety, who
had established a home here for one of his two remaining wives. He
called the place Lonely Dell, and it was not a misnomer. It is now
known as Lee’s Ferry. Mrs. Lee proved to be an agreeable woman, and she
and her husband treated us very kindly, inviting us, as we had nothing
but bread and coffee, to share their table, an offer we gladly
accepted. Here Johnson and Fennemore left us, going out with Lee to
Kanab, and two days later we were relieved to see some of our men
arrive with a large amount of supplies and mail. We then waited for the
coming of Powell and Thompson with the others, when we were to cast off
and run the gauntlet of the Grand Canyon.