A Canyon through Marble—Multitudinous Rapids—Running the Sockdologer—A
Difficult Portage, Rising Water, and a Trap—The Dean Upside Down—A
Close Shave—Whirlpools and Fountains—The Kanab Canyon and the End of
the Voyage.
By referring to the relief map opposite page 41, the mouth of the Paria
is seen a trifle more than half-way up the right-hand side. The walls
of Glen Canyon here recede from the river and become on the south the
Echo Cliffs, taking the name from the Echo Peaks which form their
beginning, and on the north the Vermilion Cliffs, so called by Powell
because of their bright red colour. The latter, and the canyon of the
Paria, make the edges of the great mesa called the Paria Plateau, and,
running on north to the very head of the Kaibab uplift, strike off
south-westerly to near Pipe Spring, where they turn and run in a
north-west direction to the Virgen River. Between the receding lines of
these cliffs, at the Paria, is practically the head of the Grand
Canyon. The river at once begins an attack on the underlying strata,
and the resulting canyon, while at first not more than two hundred feet
deep, rapidly increases this depth, as the strata run up and the river
runs down. The canyon is narrow, and seen from a height resembles, as
previously mentioned, a dark serpent lying across a plain. As the
formation down to the Little Colorado is mainly a fine-grained grey
marble, Powell concluded to call this division by a separate name, and
gave it the title it now bears, Marble Canyon. There is no separation
between Marble Canyon and the following one, the Grand Canyon, except
the narrow gorge of the Little Colorado, so that topographically the
chasm which begins at the Paria, ends at the Grand Wash, a distance of
283 miles, as the river runs, the longest, deepest, and altogether most
magnificent example of the canyon formation to be found on the globe.
With an average depth of about four thousand feet, it reaches for long
stretches between five thousand and six thousand. At the Paria (Lee’s
Ferry) the altitude above the sea is 3170 feet, while at the end of the
canyon, the Grand Wash, the elevation is only 840 feet. The declivity
is thus very great (see the diagram on page 57, which gives from the
Little Colorado down), the total fall being 2330 feet. Further comment
on the character of the river within this wonderful gorge is
unnecessary. Powell had been through it on his first expedition, and
was now to make the passage again, to examine its geological and
geographical features more in detail. Meanwhile, as recorded in the
last chapter, Lieutenant Wheeler had made an effort, apparently to
forestall this examination, and had precariously succeeded in reaching
Diamond Creek, which is just at the south end of the Shewits Plateau,
lower left-hand corner of the map facing page 41.
Navajos in Characteristic Dress. Navajos in Characteristic Dress.
Photograph by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.
Powell and Thompson arrived at our camp at the mouth of the Paria on
the 13th of August (1872) accompanied by Mrs. Thompson, who had been at
Kanab all the previous winter, and had pluckily made several trips with
Thompson into the mountains, and Professor De Motte. They had come in
by way of the south end of the Kaibab, and it was on this occasion that
the valley on the southern part of the summit was named De Motte Park.
Preparations for our descent through the great chasm were immediately
begun. The boats had been previously overhauled, and as the _Nellie
Powell_ was found unseaworthy from last season’s knocks, or at least
not in condition to be relied on in the Grand Canyon, she was
abandoned, and Lee kept her for a ferry-boat. Perhaps she might have
been repaired, but anyhow we had only men enough to handle two boats.
Steward’s trouble had not sufficiently improved to warrant his risking
further exposure, so he had returned to his home in Illinois. Bishop
was in a similar plight, and went to Salt Lake to regain his health,
and Beaman had started off to carry on some photographic operations of
his own. He came to the river and crossed on his way to the Moki
country, while we were preparing to depart from the Paria. Johnson and
Fennemore, who had been with us part of the winter, were too ill to
think of entering the great canyon, with all the uncertainties of such
a venture, and as before noted they, too, had left. Our party, then,
consisted of seven: Powell, Thompson, Hillers, Jones, W. C. Powell,
Hattan, and Dellenbaugh, all from the first season’s crew. No one else
was available, as the trip was regarded in that region as extremely
desperate. On the 14th, the boats, _Emma Dean_ and _Cañonita_, were in
readiness, and we loaded and took them down a mile and a half to the
point near where the road came in from Kanab, whence our final
departure would be made as soon as Powell, who needed a little extra
time for arranging his papers and general affairs, should say the word.
Everything was carefully attended to, as if we were preparing our last
will and testament, and were never to be seen alive again, and I
believe this was the firm conviction of most of those not going with
the boats. Those who were going had abundant respect for the dragon,
and well knew that no holiday excursion was before them. Their spirit
was humble, and no precaution was to be neglected; no spirit of bravado
permitted to endanger the success of the undertaking. Mrs. Thompson and
De Motte ran down with us through two small rapids that exist at the
mouth of the Paria, and which we had to pass to reach the camp
mentioned. Mrs. Thompson would willingly have gone all the way through
if her husband had consented to it.
On the 15th it was “all ashore not going”; we said our farewells to
those leaving for Kanab, and turned our attention to the river. We
would see no one after starting till we arrived at the mouth of the
Kanab, where we had discovered, during the winter, that a pack-train,
with some difficulty, could be brought in with supplies. It was not
till the 17th that we were able to leave, as the boats needed some
further attention. On that day, about nine o’clock, we cast off and
went down some five miles, running one little rapid and another of
considerable size before we halted for dinner. The walls were still not
high, only about five hundred feet, and I climbed out to secure a
farewell glance at the open country. On starting again we had not gone
far before we came to a really bad place, a fall of about eighteen feet
in seventy-five yards, where it was deemed respectful to make a
portage. This accomplished, another of the same nature, with an equally
fierce growl, discovered itself not far below, and a camp was made
where we landed at its head. This was ten miles below our
starting-point, and seemed to be the spot where a band of ten mining
prospectors were wrecked about a month before. They had gone in to the
mouth of the Paria on a prospecting trip, and concluded they would
examine the Grand Canyon. Consequently they built a large raft, and
after helping themselves to a lot of our cooking utensils and other
things from some caches we had made when we went out from the river for
our winter’s work, they sailed, away, expecting to accomplish wonders.
Ten miles, to the first bad rapids, was the extent of their voyage, and
there they were fortunate to escape with their lives, but nothing else,
and by means of ladders made from driftwood, they reached once more the
outer world, having learned the lesson the Colorado is sure to teach
those who regard it lightly. We made a portage at the place and enjoyed
a good laugh when we looked at the vertical rocks and pictured the
prospectors dismally crawling out of the roaring waters with nothing
left but the clothes on their backs. Our opinion was, they were served
just right: first, because they had stolen our property, and, second,
because they had so little sense. The walls had rapidly grown in
altitude, and near the river were vertical so that climbing out at this
place was a particularly difficult undertaking. The river was still
very high, but not at the highest stage of this year, which had been
passed before the _Cañonita_ party had come down to the Paria from
Frémont River. But the canyon was even yet uncomfortably full and we
were hoping the water would diminish rapidly, for high tide in such a
place is a great disadvantage. The stream was thick with red mud, the
condition from which it derived its name, and it swept along with a
splendid vigour that betokened a large reserve flood in the high
mountains. The marble composing the walls of this canyon for most of
its length is of a greyish drab colour often beautifully veined, but it
must not be supposed that the walls are the same colour externally, for
they are usually a deep red, due to the discoloration of their surface
by disintegration of beds above full of iron. Except where high water
had scoured the walls, there was generally no indication of their real
colour. In places the friction of the current had brought them to a
glistening polish; the surface was smooth as glass, and was sometimes
cut into multitudinous irregular flutings as deep as one’s finger. The
grinding power of the current was well shown in some of the boulders,
which had been dovetailed together till the irregular line of juncture
was barely perceptible.
Marble Canyon. Marble Canyon.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
The next day was begun by accomplishing the portage over the rapid
which had punished the prospectors for their temerity and for their
lack of proper morals, and then we made most excellent progress,
successfully putting behind us eleven lively rapids free from rocks
before we were admonished to pause and make a let-down. Then camp was
established for the night with the record of ten and three-eighths
miles for our day’s work. At one place we passed a rock in the water so
large that it almost blocked the entire stream, which had averaged
about two hundred feet in width, though narrowing at many places to no
more than seventy-five. The current was always extremely swift, while
many whirlpools added their demands, though they gave us no serious
trouble. It is exasperating, however, to be turned around against one’s
will. The canyon at the top for a considerable distance was not over
three-quarters of a mile wide. The depth was now from fifteen hundred
to eighteen hundred feet. There were always rapids following quickly
one after another, but so often they were free from rocks, the
dangerous part of most rapids, that we were able to sail through them
in triumph. On the 20th, out of thirteen sharp descents, we easily ran
twelve, all in a distance of less than seven miles. The average width
of the river was one hundred and twenty-five feet, while the walls rose
to over two thousand feet, and at the top the canyon was about a mile
and a quarter from brink to brink. This brought us to Vasey’s Paradise,
so named after a botanist friend of his, by Powell on the first
descent. It was only a lot of ferns, mosses, and similar plants growing
around two springs that issued from the cliffs on the right about
seventy-five feet above the river, and rippled in silver threads to the
bottom, but as it was the first green spot since leaving the Paria its
appearance was striking and attractive to the eye that had been baffled
in all directions except above, in a search for something besides red.
Now the narrow, terraced canyon, often vertical on both sides for
several hundred feet above the water, grew ever deeper and deeper, two
thousand, twenty-five hundred, three thousand feet and more, as the
impetuous torrent slashed its way down, till it finally seemed to me as
if we were actually sailing into the inner heart of the world. The
sensation on the first expedition, when each dark new bend was a dark
new mystery, must have been something to quite overpower the
imagination, for then it was not known that, by good management, a boat
could pass through this Valley of the Shadow of Death, and survive.
Down, and down, and ever down, roaring and leaping and throwing its
spiteful spray against the hampering rocks the terrible river ran,
carrying our boats along with it like little wisps of straw in the
midst of a Niagara, the terraced walls around us sometimes
fantastically eroded into galleries, balconies, alcoves, and Gothic
caves that lent to them an additional weird and wonderful aspect, while
the reverberating turmoil of the ever-descending flood was like some
extravagant musical accompaniment to the extraordinary panorama
flitting past of rock sculpture and bounding cliffs.
The 22d was a day to be particularly remembered, for the walls, though
more broken at the water’s edge, were now some thirty-five hundred feet
high and seemed to be increasing by leaps and bounds, for at one place,
through a side gorge on the right, we could discern cliffs so far above
our heads that tall pine trees looked no larger than lead pencils. It
was the end of the Kaibab, whose summit was more than five thousand
feet higher than the river at this point. Cataract followed rapid and
rapid followed cataract as we were hurled on down through the midst of
the sublimity, which, parting at our advance, closed again behind like
some wonderful phantasmagoria. At times in the headlong rush the boats
could barely be held in control. Once, a wild mass of breakers appeared
immediately in the path of our boat, from which it was impossible to
escape, even though we made a severe effort to do so. We thought we
were surely to be crushed, and I shall not forget the seconds that
passed as we waited for the collision which never came, for when the
boat dashed into the midst of the spray, there was no shock whatever;
we glided through as if on oil,—the rocks were too far beneath the
surface to harm us. So constant was the rush of the descending waters
that our oars were needed only for guidance.
Marble Canyon near the Lower End. Marble Canyon near the Lower End.
Walls about 3500 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
Late in the day there came a long straight stretch, at the bottom of
which the river appeared to vanish. Had any one said the course was now
underground from that point onward, it would have seemed entirely
appropriate. In the outer world the sun was low, though it had long
been gone to us, and the blue haze of approaching night was drawing a
veil of strange uncertainty among the cliffs, while far above, the
upper portions of the mighty eastern walls, at all times of gorgeous
hue, were now beautifully enriched by the last hot radiance of the
western sky. Such a view as this was worth all the labour we had
accomplished. When the end of this marvellous piece of canyon was
reached a small river was found to enter on the left through a narrow
gorge like the main canyon. It was the Little Colorado, and beside it
on a sand-bank we stopped for the night, having ended one of the finest
runs of our experience, about eighteen miles with but a single
let-down; yet in this distance there were eighteen rapids, one of which
was about two and one half miles long. It was a glorious record, and I
do not recall another day which was more exhilarating. We had arrived
at the end of Marble Canyon and the beginning of the Grand Canyon,
there being nothing to mark the division but the narrow gorge of the
Little Colorado. In Marble Canyon we had found sixty-nine rapids in the
sixty-five and one half miles, with a total descent of 480 feet. Of
these we ran sixty, let down by lines five times, and made four
portages. Here at the mouth of the Little Colorado was the place where
White’s imagination pictured overwhelming terrors and his worst
experience in a whirlpool opposite. But in reality the Colorado at this
particular point is very tame, and when we were there the Little
Colorado was a lamb.
Now the Grand Canyon, as named by Powell on his former trip, was before
us, and soon we were descending through the incomparable chasm. Three
or four miles below the Little Colorado the walls break away, and the
canyon has more the appearance of a valley hemmed in by beetling cliffs
and crags which rise up in all directions over 5000 feet, distant from
the line of the river five or six miles. On the right were two minor
valleys within the canyon called Nancoweap and Kwagunt, named by Powell
after the Pai Utes, who have trails coming down into them.[1]
[1] Kwagunt was the name of a Pai Ute who said he owned this
valley—that his father, who used to live there, had given it to him.
F.S. Dellenbaugh, 1872. F.S. Dellenbaugh, 1872.
The exploring costume consisted of a shirt as above, a pair of cotton
overalls, heavy hobnailed shoes, and a felt hat.
Tintype by J.K. HILLERS.
Granite Falls, Grand Canyon. Granite Falls, Grand Canyon.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
Running the Sockdologer, Grand Canyon. Running the Sockdologer, Grand
Canyon.
Fall 80 feet in ⅓ mile.
Studio painting by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.
As we went on, the canyon narrowed again, becoming wilder and grander
than ever, and on the 28th, late in the day, we came to the first bad
fall in this division, where a portage was necessary, and we made a
camp. A short distance below this camp the granite ran up. To any one
who has been in this chasm with a boat, the term “the granite runs up”
has a deep significance. It means that the First Granite Gorge is
beginning, and this First Granite Gorge, in the Kaibab division of the
canyon, less than fifty miles in length as the stream runs, contains
the wildest, swiftest, steepest piece of river on this continent except
a portion in Cataract Canyon. The declivity is tremendous. Between the
Little Colorado and the Kanab the total fall is 890 feet, and the bulk
of this drop occurs in the granite. In one stretch of ten miles the
descent is 210 feet. All through this granite the character of the
river is different from anything above. The falls are short and
violent, while the stretches in between are smooth and not always
swift. But the moment a break occurs the turbulence and commotion are
instantly very great. The summer is the wet season here, and to add to
our troubles we were treated to frequent rains. The next day toward
noon, as we were sailing along between the black walls, on a rather
sluggish current, a deep-toned roar was borne up to our ears. Nothing
could be seen of the cause of it, but a complete disappearance of the
river from our sight warned us to make a landing as soon as possible.
Some broken rocks protruding a few feet above the water at the base of
the right-hand wall afforded the desired opportunity, and running in we
stepped out and mounted them. The cause of the roaring was immediately
apparent. For a third of a mile the river was a solid mass of huge
waves and foam and plunges, and on each side the granite came down so
precipitously that a footing was impossible. It took no second glance
to tell us that, at least with this stage of water, there was but one
course, and that was to run the place. There is nothing like having the
inner man fortified for exertion, therefore with a few bits of
driftwood a fire was built, by means of which Andy prepared dinner.
When this had been disposed of operations were begun. The _Cañonita_
was to remain here till our boat was well through. In case we smashed
up they would have a better chance, as they might profit by our course,
and if we went through safely, we would be prepared to pick them up
should disaster overtake them. At last we were ready. The crew of the
_Cañonita_ placed themselves where they could carefully watch our
fortunes, and we pulled up the river very close to the right-hand wall
in slack current, for about a quarter of a mile, when we turned the bow
out and struck for the middle, heading there straight for the descent.
I pulled the bow oars, and my back was toward the terrific roar which,
like the voice of some awful monster, grew louder as we approached. It
was difficult to refrain from turning round to see what it looked like
now, but as everything depended on the promptness with which Hillers
and I handled our oars in obedience to Powell’s orders, I waited for
the plunge, every instant ready to execute a command. We kept in the
middle of the stream, and as we neared the brink our speed began to
accelerate. Then of a sudden there was a dropping away of all support,
a reeling sensation, and we flew down the declivity with the speed of a
locomotive. The gorge was chaos. The boat rolled and plunged. The wild
waters rolled over us, filling the open spaces to the gunwale. With the
camp kettles that were left out of the cabins for that purpose, Hillers
and I bailed as hard as we could, letting the boat go with the current,
but it seemed to do little good, for every moment the waves broke over
the craft from end to end, and our efforts might as well have been made
with a teaspoon, though in many other rapids the kettles had proved
effective. Here and there, as we shot down, I could look back under a
canopy of foam and see the head of a great black rock. Fortunately we
safely cleared everything, and in probably less than a minute we were
at the bottom, lying to in an eddy, bailing fast and watching for the
other boat. No sign of any living thing could be discovered as we
peered up the rapid, which from below had the appearance of an almost
vertical fall. Presently at the top of the foam a white speck moved,
clearly seen against the dark background. It was the _Cañonita_ on the
edge of the fall. I can see her yet, pausing for an instant,
apparently, and then disappearing completely amidst the plunging
waters. A minute later she reappeared at the bottom and ran alongside
of us in good order. Owing to the large amount of water there seemed to
be not much danger of striking a rock, and our boats did not capsize
easily. After the plunge was begun we did not try to guide the boats—it
would have been useless. The fall here was about forty feet in a third
of a mile. Some of the men called it the Sockdologer. The picture of it
from above, on page 219, does not give a correct impression, as the
plate was too slow, but it was the best that could be done at the time.
The canyon continued very narrow at the bottom, the river averaging
about one hundred and fifty feet. Late in the afternoon we arrived at a
much worse place than the Sockdologer, though the fall was not so
great. Landing on the left on some broken rocks, we saw no chance of
getting around the rapid there, so we crossed to the right and landed
on another little pile of rocks in a small alcove. The walls rose
vertically, or nearly so, from the water’s edge. We saw the only thing
to do was to lower one boat, with two men on board, by her line for
some distance (a hundred feet of best Manila rope were attached to each
boat by a strong iron ring; in the stern was also an iron ring), and
from the stern let the other cautiously down to the very head of the
fall, where there was a second pile of rocks which received the boat
between them and held her fast. The upper boat was then pulled back to
where we had remained, the line from the second being tied to her
stern. Entering her we clung to projections of the wall with our hands,
to prevent the current from swinging the boat out, while the men who
were in the lower boat carefully hauled on the stern line till at last
we also reached the rocks. With a great deal of labour we then worked
both boats from these rocks to some others nearer the right wall, from
which they were manoeuvred across to a pile about two hundred feet away
against the foot of the cliff, This ended our struggle for the day, as
night was upon us. The black rocks towering so far above made the gorge
darken early, and rain began to fall. A little damp driftwood was
collected with which a fire was started in order that Andy might
prepare supper. When this was almost ready peal after peal of thunder
suddenly crashed among the cliffs, which seemed to collapse and fall
down upon us, and a flood from the sky descended. The fire died without
a sputter, everything not in rubber was soaked, and all we could do was
to stand in the darkness, cold and hungry, and wait for the deluge to
cease. At last we were able to start the fire once more, and had a
half-cooked supper before hunting the soft sides of the rocks for beds.
The next day it required hard work till one o’clock to get the boats
down two hundred yards farther. At one place to keep the bow in, I was
in one of the boats, being lowered along the wall, while the other men
were a hundred feet above my head, holding the end of two hundred feet
of rope, as they clambered along a ledge. The situation all around was
rather precarious, but we had no accident. This brought us to a small
alcove where there was a limited talus. The boats were so much bruised
that we were obliged to halt on these rocks for repairs, instead of
starting out again into the current as we intended. This work took so
long that darkness approached before all was done. At the same time we
discovered that the river was rising rapidly, at the rate of three or
four feet an hour, submerging the rocks. Fortunately, about twenty feet
up the cliff was a narrow shelf, and to this the rations were passed to
guard them from the rising waters. Then there was danger of the boats
pounding to pieces, as the space they were on was rapidly decreasing,
and waves from the rapid swept into the cove, so it was decided to
raise them up on the side of the wall as far as necessary. By means of
the ropes we succeeded in swinging them at a height of about six feet
and there made them fast for the night. There was not room on the ledge
for a camp, but by going out around a projection a talus was available,
though there was a dearth of wood and level spots. I managed to find
enough half-dead mesquite bushes for a fire, and Andy did his best on
the supper. One hundred feet above the river I found driftwood. To add
to the discomfort of the occasion the rain began again, and the river
continued its rise. Through the night a watch was kept on the boats, so
that they could be lifted farther if necessary. The morning of August
31st was wet and gloomy in the black gorge. Some of the rocks were
still above water, against the wall. When the boats were lowered they
pounded about at a frightful rate on the surges that swept into the
alcove. Then it was found that a hole in the _Dean_ had been forgotten
or overlooked, and she was leaking badly in the middle compartment. But
there was no chance to stop longer here for repairs, as the river
seemed to be still rising. A bag of flour was jammed against the hole,
the boat was loaded, the hatches were battened down, we grasped our
oars, and while the _Cañonita_ crew held our stern to give us a fair
start we pulled straight out as hard as we could to clear a huge rock
just below, upon which the current was fiercely dashing. Our boat was
so wet and full of water that the gunwales were barely above the
surface as we rolled heavily along through large waves. I felt very
uncertain as to whether or not she would remain afloat till we could
make a landing, but luckily she did, and we halted at the first
opportunity. This was at a talus on the right where the entire cargo
was spread out on the rocks to dry in the sun which now cheered us by
its warm rays, and the leak in the boat was stopped. The _Cañonita_
soon came down safely. She was of a slightly better build than the
_Dean_, and, with one less man in her, was able to ride more buoyantly.
It was after four o’clock before we were ready to go on, and we started
once more with a fairly tight boat, dry inside. Then we had a wild
ride. The descent was steady. For eight miles there was a continuous
rapid, accentuated by eight heavy falls. The boats sped along at high
speed, but the way being clear we did not often stop, passing two
places where the former expedition made portages. We had a glimpse of a
creek coming in on the right which looked interesting, but it was left
behind in a moment as the boats shot along between the dark granite
walls. At a quarter past five we ran up to a sand-bank where a lone
willow tree was growing. Here we made a camp. The canyon spread a
little and the wide sand-bank appeared to our eyes like a prairie. Just
below our camp there came in a muddy stream, which on the other trip
was clear and was then named Bright Angel to offset the application of
Dirty Devil to the river at the foot of Narrow Canyon.
Looking up a Side Canyon of the Grand Canyon in the Kaibab Division.
Looking up a Side Canyon of the Grand Canyon in the Kaibab Division.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
It was now the beginning of September, but the water and the air were
not so cold as they had been the year before in Cataract Canyon, and we
did not suffer from being so constantly saturated. Running on the next
day following the Bright Angel camp, we found the usual number of large
rapids, in one of which a wave struck the steering oar and knocked
Jones out of the boat all but his knees, by which he clung to the
gunwale, nearly capsizing us. We found it impossible to help him, but
somehow he got in again. The river was everywhere very swift and
turbulent. One stretch of three and a half miles we ran in fifteen
minutes. There were numerous whirlpools, but nothing to stop our
triumphant progress. On the 2d of September there were two portages,
and twenty rapids run, in the fifteen miles made during the day. Many
of these rapids were very heavy descents. That night we camped above a
bad-looking place, but it was decided to run it in the morning.
Three-quarters of a mile below camp there was a general disappearance
of the waters. We could see nothing of the great rapid from the level
of the boats, though we caught an occasional glimpse of the leaping,
tossing edges, or tops, of the huge billows rolling out beyond into the
farther depths of the chasm. About eight o’clock in the morning all was
ready for the start. The inflated life-preservers, as was customary in
our boat, were laid behind the seats where we could easily reach them.
The Major put his on, a most fortunate thing for him as it turned out,
but we who were at the oars did not for the reason before
mentioned,—that they interfered with the free handling of the boat. The
men of the _Cañonita_ took positions where they could observe and
profit by our movements. Then out into the current we pushed and were
immediately swept downward with ever-increasing speed toward the centre
of the disturbance, the black walls springing up on each side of the
impetuous waters like mighty buttresses for the lovely blue vault of
the September sky, so serenely quiet. Accelerated by the rush of a
small intervening rapid, our velocity appeared to multiply till we were
flying along like a railway train. The whole width of the river dropped
away before us, falling some twenty-five or thirty feet, at least, in a
short space. We now saw that the rapid was of a particularly difficult
nature, and the order was given to attempt a landing on some rocks at
its head, on the left. At the same instant this was seen to be
impossible. Our only safety lay in taking the plunge in the main
channel. We backwatered on our oars to check our speed a trifle, and
the next moment with a wild leap we went over, charging into the
roaring, seething, beating waves below. Wave after wave broke over us
in quick succession, keeping our standing-rooms full. The boat plunged
like a bucking broncho, at the same time rolling with fierce violence.
As rapidly as possible we bailed with our kettles, but the effort was
useless. At length, as we neared the end, an immense billow broke upon
our port bow with a resounding crack. The little craft succumbed. With
a quick careen she turned upside down, and we were in the foaming
current. I threw up my hand and fortunately grasped a spare oar that
was fastened along the outside of the boat. This enabled me to pull
myself above the surface and breathe. My felt hat had stuck to my head
and now almost suffocated me. Pushing it back I looked around. Not a
sign of life was to be seen. The river disappeared below in the dark
granite. My companions were gone. I was apparently alone in the great
chasm. But in a moment or two Powell and Hillers, who had both been
pulled down by the whirlpool that was keeping all together, shot up
like rockets beside me, and then I noticed Jones clinging to the ring
in the stern. As we told Powell, after this experience was over, he had
tried to make a geological investigation of the bed of the river, and
this was not advisable. Hillers and I climbed on the bottom of the
upturned boat, and by catching hold of the opposite gunwale, and
throwing ourselves back, we brought her right-side up. Then we two
climbed in, an operation requiring nice calculation, for she rolled so
much with the load of water that her tendency was to turn over again on
slight provocation. We bailed with our hats rapidly. There was need for
expeditious work, for we could not tell what might be around the
corner. Presently enough water was out to steady the boat, and we then
helped Powell and Jones to get in. Our oars had fortunately remained in
the rowlocks, and grasping them, without waiting to haul in the hundred
feet of line trailing in the current, we made for the left wall, where
I managed to leap out on a shelf and catch the rope over a projection,
before the _Cañonita_, unharmed, dashed up to the spot; her only mishap
was the loss of a rowlock and two oars.
A Capsize in the Grand Canyon. A Capsize in the Grand Canyon.
Drawing by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.
Starting once more on the swift current, we found rapids sometimes so
situated that it was difficult to make a landing for examination. At
one of these places, towards evening, a good deal of time was spent
working down to the head of an ugly looking spot which could not be
fairly seen. An enormous rock lay in the very middle at the head of the
descent. There was no landing-place till very near the plunge, and in
dropping down when we came to the point where it was planned that I
should jump out upon a projecting flat rock, a sudden lurch of the boat
due to what Stanton afterwards called fountains, and we termed boils,
caused me, instead of landing on the rock, to disappear in the rushing
waters. The current catching the boat, she began to move rapidly stern
foremost toward the fall. Powell and Jones jumped out on rocks as they
shot past, hoping to catch the line, but they could not reach it, and
Jones had all he could do to get ashore. Meanwhile I had come to the
surface, and going to the boat by means of the line which I still held,
I fairly tumbled on board. Hillers handed me one of my oars which had
come loose, and we were ready to take the fall, now close at hand,
albeit we were stern first. As we sped down, the tide carried us far up
on the huge rock, whose shelving surface sank upstream below the
surging torrent, and at the same moment turned our bow towards the
left-hand bank. Perceiving this advantage we pulled with all our
strength and shot across the very head of the rapid, running in behind
a large rock on the brink, where the boat lodged till I was able to
leap ashore, or rather to another rock where there was a footing, and
make fast the line. It was a close shave. The _Cañonita_, forewarned,
was able to let down to this place, from whence we made a portage to
the bottom the next morning. When once started again, we found
ourselves in a very narrow gorge, where for four or five miles it was
impossible to stop on account of the swift current which swept the
boats along like chaff before a gale, swinging them from one side to
the other, and often turning them round and round in the large
whirlpools despite every effort we made to prevent this performance. In
fact, we had no control of the craft in this distance, and it was
fortunate that there was nothing worse to be here encountered. The
whirlpools were the most perfect specimens I ever saw. Usually they
were about twenty feet in diameter, drawing evenly down toward the
vortex, the centre being probably about eighteen inches to two feet
below the rim. The vortex at the top was about six to ten inches in
diameter, diminishing in five or six feet to a mere point at the
bottom. Our boats were twenty-two feet long, and as they were turned
around in these whirls they about reached across them, while we could
look over the side and see the vortex sucking down every small object.
The opposite of these was the fountains, or boils, where the surface
was exactly the reverse of the whirls: a circular mass of water about
twenty feet in diameter would suddenly lift itself a foot or two above
the general surface with a boiling, swirling movement. As I remember
them they were usually the forerunners of the whirlpools.
The Grand Canyon. Looking down from Mouth of Kanab Canyon in Winter.
The Grand Canyon. Looking down from Mouth of Kanab Canyon in Winter.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.
The Outlet of the Creek in Surprise Valley, near the Mouth of Kanab
Canyon, Grand Canyon. The Outlet of the Creek in Surprise Valley, near
the Mouth of Kanab Canyon, Grand Canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.
The river was still on the rise, scoring at the last camp another three
feet. With such a dashing current the time we made where we were not
compelled to move cautiously was admirable. On this day fourteen miles
were traversed, we ran twenty-three rapids, and, what pleased us most,
we saw the granite disappear, and the comfortable-looking red strata
were again beside us. The river widened somewhat, and was now about two
hundred and fifty feet. A cascade was passed on the 7th, which we
recognized as one Beaman, who had climbed up to it during the winter,
from the mouth of the Kanab, had photographed. From here to the Kanab
was ten miles, and we sailed along with lightened hearts, knowing that
our sadly depleted and half-ruined stock of rations would soon be
replenished, and that mail from the world would be delivered by the
pack-train we expected to find there. Late in the afternoon we arrived
at the narrow cleft, and our men, who had waited long, were overjoyed
to greet us once more, for, as we were several days overdue, they had
been filled with forebodings, and had made up their minds they would
never see us again.
Mouth of Kanab Canyon. Mouth of Kanab Canyon.
Abandoned boats of the U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp., 1872.
The Colorado flows just beyond the points on the left and right.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
From the Little Colorado we had travelled over ninety difficult miles,
run one hundred and thirty-one rapids, made seven portages, and let
down six times. The water had now fallen again some three feet, but it
was still so high that it had backed up into the side canyon, where we
ran the boats on account of an excellent camping-place. Sunday was
spent resting here, and Thompson took observations for time. On Monday
morning we expected to pack up again and proceed down the gorge, but
Powell, instead of directing this course, announced that he had decided
to end the river work at this point on account of the extreme high
water, which would render impassable the rapid where the Rowlands and
Dunn had left. In addition, word was brought that the Shewits were in a
state of war and had resolved to ambush us as we came down, a plot that
had been revealed by a friendly member of the tribe to Jacob Hamblin.
The ambush plan did not disturb us much, however, but the stage of
water for the beginning of the Second Granite Gorge was another matter,
and there was no telling when it would fall. It had been demonstrated
by our winter’s explorations that it would not be absolutely necessary
for us to continue below this point so far as perfecting the
topographic work was concerned, and as we were there for geographic
purposes and not for adventure, the decision was against unnecessary
risk. This decision then was, and ever since has been, a matter of
great disappointment to me, for I was ready to finish up the Grand
Canyon. It was with mingled feelings of regret and relief that I helped
unload the boats, those faithful friends, which had carried us safely
over so many miles of turbulent river, and from the constant hourly
association had almost taken on a personality, till they seemed like
members of the party. Sadly I turned my back on their familiar lines
and followed the pack-train up the narrow gorge in the direction of
Kanab.