Into the Wilderness--The Order of Sailing--Tobacco for the
Indians Comes Handy--A Lone Fisherman and Some Trappers--Jack
Catches Strange Fish--The Snow-clad Uintas in View--A Larder
Full of Venison--Entrance into Flaming Gorge.
The 22d of May, 1871, gave us a brilliant sun and a sky of sapphire with
a sparkling atmosphere characteristic of the Rocky Mountain Region. The
great buttes near the station, which Moran has since made famous, shone
with a splendour that was inspiring. To enable us to pick up the last
ends more easily and to make our departure in general more convenient,
we had breakfast that morning at Field's outfitting place, and an
excellent breakfast it was. It was further distinguished by being the
last meal that we should eat at a table for many a month. We were
followed to the cove, where our loaded boats were moored, by a number of
people; about the whole population in fact, and that did not make a
crowd. None of the Chinamen came down, and there were no Indians in town
that day. The only unpleasant circumstance was the persistent repetition
by a deaf-mute of a pantomimic representation of the disaster that he
believed was to overwhelm us. "Dummy," as we called him, showed us that
we would be upset, and, unable to scale the cliffs, would surely all be
drowned. This picture, as vividly presented as possible, seemed to give
him and his brother great satisfaction. We laughed at his prophecy, but
his efforts to talk were distressing. It may be said in excuse for him,
that in some paddling up the river from that point, he had arrived at
perhaps an honest conviction of what would happen to any one going
below; and also, that other wise men of the town predicted that we would
never see "Brown's Hole," at the end of Red Canyon.
At ten o'clock we pushed out into the current. There were "Good-bye and
God-speed" from the shore with a cheer, and we responded with three and
then we passed out of sight. The settlement, the railway, the people,
were gone; the magnificent wilderness was ours. We swept down with a
four-mile current between rather low banks, using the oars mainly for
guidance, and meeting no difficulty worse than a shoal, on which the
boats all grounded for a few moments, and the breaking of his oar by
Jones who steered our boat. About noon having run three miles, a landing
was made on a broad gravelly island, to enable Andy to concoct a dinner.
A heavy gale was tearing fiercely across the bleak spot. The sand flew
in stinging clouds, but we got a fire started and then it burned like a
furnace. Andy made another sample of his biscuits, this time liberally
incorporated with sand, and he fried some bacon. The sand mainly settled
to the bottom of the frying pan, for this bacon was no fancy breakfast
table variety but was clear fat three or four inches thick. But how good
it was! And the grease poured on bread! And yet while at the railway I
had scorned it; in fact I had even declared that I would never touch it,
whereat the others only smiled a grim and confident smile. And now, at
the first noon camp, I was ready to pronounce it one of the greatest
delicacies I had ever tasted! They jeered at me, but their jeers were
kind, friendly jeers, and I recall them with pleasure. In warm-hearted
companionship no set of men that I have ever since been associated with
has been superior to these fellow voyageurs, and the Major's big way of
treating things has been a lesson all my life. We had all become fast
true friends at once. With the exception of the Major, whom I had first
met about two months before, and Frank whom I had known for a year or
two, I had been acquainted with them only since we had met on the train
on the way out.
In the scant shelter of some greasewood bushes we devoured the repast
which the morning's exercise and the crisp air had made so welcome, and
each drank several cups of tea dipped from the camp-kettle wherein Andy
had boiled it. We had no formal table. When all was ready, the magic
words, "Well go fur it, boys," which Andy uttered stepping back from the
fire were ceremony enough. Each man took a tin plate and a cup and
served himself. Clem and Frank were sent back overland to the town for a
box of thermometers forgotten and for an extra steering oar left behind,
and the _Cañonita_ waited for their return.
During the afternoon, as we glided on, the hills began to close in upon
us, and occasionally the river would cut into one making a high
precipitous wall, a forerunner of the character of the river banks
below. The order of going was, our boat, the _Emma Dean_, first, with
Major Powell on the deck of the middle cabin, or compartment, sitting in
his arm-chair, which was securely fastened there, but was easily
removable. S. V. Jones was at the steering oar, Jack Hillers pulled his
pair of oars in the after standing-room, while I was at the bow oars.
The second in line was the _Nellie Powell_, Professor A. H. Thompson
steering, J. F. Steward rowing aft, Captain F. M. Bishop forward, and
Frank Richardson sitting rather uncomfortably on the middle deck. The
third and last boat was the _Cañonita_, which E. O. Beaman, the
photographer steered, while Andrew Hattan, rowed aft, and Clement
Powell, assistant photographer, forward. This order was preserved, with
a few exceptions, throughout the first season's work. It was the duty of
Prof. and Jones to make a traverse (or meander) of the river as we
descended. They were to sight ahead at each bend with prismatic
compasses and make estimates of the length of each sight, height of
walls, width of stream, etc., and Cap was to put the results on paper.
The Major on his first boat, kept a general lookout and gave commands
according to circumstances. He remembered the general character of the
river from his former descent, but he had to be on the _qui-vive_ as to
details. Besides every stage of water makes a change in the nature of
the river at every point. In addition to this outlook, the Major kept an
eye on the geology, as he was chief geologist; and Steward, being
assistant geologist did the same. Richardson was assistant to Steward.
Jack was general assistant and afterwards photographer. I was artist,
and later, assistant topographer also. It was my duty to make any sketch
that the geologists might want, and of course, as in the case of
everybody, to help in the navigation or anything else that came along.
Each man had a rifle and some had also revolvers. Most of the rifles
were Winchesters.[3] We had plenty of ammunition, and the rifles were
generally kept where we could get at them quickly.
In this order, and with these duties, we ran on down the Green, and so
far at least as I was concerned, feeling as if we had suddenly stepped
off into another world. Late in the afternoon we were astonished to
discover a solitary old man sitting on the right bank fishing. Who he
was we did not know but we gave him a cheer as we dashed by and were
carried beyond his surprised vision. As the sun began to reach the
horizon a lookout was kept for a good place for camp. I, for one, was
deeply interested, as I had never yet slept in the open. At length we
reached a spot where the hills were some distance back on the right
leaving quite a bottom where there were a number of cottonwood trees. A
deserted log cabin silently invited us to land and, as this was cordial
for the wilderness, we responded in the affirmative. The sky had a look
of storm about it and I was glad of even this excuse for a roof, though
the cabin was too small to shelter our whole party, except standing up,
and the beds were all put down on the ground outside. The night was very
cold and the fire which we made for Andy's operations was most
comforting. We had for supper another instalment of bacon,
saleratus-bread, and tea, which tasted just as good as had that prepared
at noon. Sitting on rocks and stumps we ate this meal, and presently the
raw air reminded some of the smokers that, while they had thrown their
tobacco away there was, in the boats, the quite large supply designed
for our Red friends, should we meet any. Of course we had more than was
absolutely necessary for them, and in a few minutes the pipes which had
been cast away at Green River appeared well filled and burning. Perhaps
we had pipes for the Indians too! I had not thrown my pipe away for it
was a beautifully carved meerschaum--a present. I knew just where it was
and lighted it up, though I was not a great smoker. The Indians did not
get as much of that tobacco as they might have wished.
To make our blankets go farther we bunked together two and two, and
Jones and I were bed-fellows. It was some time before I could go to
sleep. I kept studying the sky; watching the stars through the ragged
breaks in the flying clouds. The night was silent after the gale. The
river flowed on with little noise. The fire flickered and flickered, and
the cottonwoods appeared dark and strange as I finally went to sleep. I
had not been long in that happy state before I saw some men trying to
steal our boats on which our lives depended and I immediately attacked
them, pinning one to the ground. It was only Jones I was holding down,
and his shouts and struggles to reach his pistol woke me, and startled
the camp. He believed a real enemy was on him. There was a laugh at my
expense, and then sleep ruled again till about daylight when I was
roused by rain falling on my face. All were soon up. The rain changed to
snow which fell so heavily that we were driven to the cabin where a
glorious fire was made on the hearth, and by it Andy got the bread and
bacon and coffee ready for breakfast, and also for dinner, for the snow
was so thick we could not venture on the river till it stopped, and that
was not till afternoon.
The country through which we now passed was more broken. Cliffs, buttes,
mesas, were everywhere. Sometimes we were between high rocky banks, then
we saw a valley several miles wide, always without a sign of occupation
by white men, even though as yet we were not far from the railway in a
direct course. Very late in the afternoon we saw something moving in the
distance on the right. Our glasses made it out to be two or three men
on horseback. A signal was made which they saw, and consequently stopped
to await developments, and a bag of fossils, the Major had collected,
was sent out to them with a request to take it to Green River Station,
in which direction they were headed. They proved to be a party of
prospectors who agreed to deliver the fossils, and we went on our way.
The mornings and evenings were very cold and frosty, but during the day
the temperature was perfectly comfortable, and this was gratifying, for
the river in places spread into several channels, so that no one of them
was everywhere deep enough for the boats which drew, so heavily laden,
sixteen or eighteen inches. The keels grated frequently on the bottom
and we had to jump overboard to lighten the boats and pull them off into
deep water. We found as we went on that we must be ready every moment,
in all kinds of water, to get over into the river, and it was necessary
to do so with our clothes on, including our shoes, for the reason that
the rocky bottom would bruise and cut our feet without the shoes, rocks
would do the same to our legs, and for the further reason that there was
no time to remove garments. In the rapids further on we always shipped
water and consequently we were wet from this cause most of the time
anyhow. We had two suits of clothes, one for wear on the river in the
day time, and the other for evening in camp, the latter being kept in a
rubber bag, so that we always managed to be dry and warm at night. On
making camp the day suit was spread out on rocks or on a branch of a
tree if one were near, or on a bush to dry, and it was generally, though
not always, comfortably so, in the morning when it was again put on for
the river work. Sometimes, being still damp, the sensation for a few
moments was not agreeable.
We snapped several of the lighter oars in the cross currents, as the
boats were heavy and did not mind quickly, and to backwater suddenly on
one of the slender oars broke it like a reed. Some of the longer,
heavier oars were then cut down to eight feet and were found to be
entirely serviceable. The steering oars were cut down from eighteen to
sixteen feet. Extra oars were carried slung on each side of the boats
just under the gunwales, for the Major on the former journey had been
much hampered by being obliged to halt to search for timber suitable for
oars and then to make them. There was one thing about the boats which we
soon discovered was a mistake. This was the lack of iron on the keels.
The iron had been left off for the purpose of reducing the weight when
it should be necessary to carry the boats around bad places, but the
rocks and gravel cut the keels down alarmingly, till there was danger of
wearing out the bottoms in the long voyage to come.[4]
Jack was a great fisherman, and it was not long before he tried his luck
in the waters of the Green. No one knew what kind of fish might be
taken--at least no one in our party--and he began his fishing with some
curiosity. It was rewarded by a species of fish none of us had ever
before seen, a fish about ten to sixteen inches long, slim, with fine
scales and large fins. Their heads came down with a sudden curve to the
mouth, and their bodies tapered off to a very small circumference just
before the tail spread out. They were good to eat, and formed a welcome
addition to our larder. We were all eager for something fresh, and when
we saw a couple of deer run across the bluffs just before we reached our
fourth camp, our hopes of venison were roused to a high degree. Camp
number four was opposite the mouth of Black's Fork at an altitude above
sea level of 5940 feet, a descent of 135 feet from the railway bridge.
After this the channel was steadier and the water deeper, Black's Fork
being one of the largest tributaries of the upper river. We now came in
view of the snowy line of the Uinta Range stretching east and west
across our route and adding a beautiful alpine note to the wide barren
array of cliffs and buttes. It was twenty or thirty miles off, but so
clear was the air that we seemed to be almost upon it.
As we were drifting along with a swift current in the afternoon, the day
after passing Black's Fork, one of the party saw a deer on an island. A
rifle shot from our boat missed, and the animal dashing into the river
swam across and disappeared in the wide valley. But another was seen. A
landing was made immediately, and while some of the men held the boats
ready to pick up a prize, the others beat the island. I was assigned to
man our boat, and as we waited up against the bank under the bushes, we
could hear the rifles crack. Then all was still. Suddenly I heard a
crashing of bushes and a hundred yards above us a superb black-tail
sprang into the water and swam for the east bank. My sensation was
divided between a desire to see the deer escape, and a desire to
supplant the bacon with venison for a time. My cartridges were under the
hatches as it chanced, so I was unable to take action myself. With deep
interest I watched the animal swim and with regret that our fresh meat
was so fortunate, for it was two-thirds of the way across, before a
rifle cracked. The deer's efforts ceased instantly and she began to
drift down with the current. We ran our boat out and hauled the carcass
on board. At the same time as we were being carried down by the swift
current we got a view of the other side of the island where Cap. up to
his arms in the stream was trying to pull another deer ashore by the
horns. It looked as if both deer and Cap. would sail away and forever,
till another boat went to his rescue. Presently the third boat came down
bearing still another deer. The successful shots were from Prof., Andy,
and Steward. Our prospects for a feast were bright, and we had it. The
deer were speedily dressed, Frank displaying exceptional skill in this
line. Had we been able to stay in this region we would never have been
in want of fresh meat, but when we entered the canyons the conditions
were so different and the task of pursuing game so baffling and
exhausting that we never had such success again. The whole of the next
day we remained in a favourable spot at the foot of a strangely tilted
ledge, where we jerked the venison by the aid of sun and fire to
preserve it. Near this point as observations showed later we passed from
Wyoming into Utah.
About dusk we were surprised to discover a small craft with a single
individual aboard coming down the river. Then we saw it was a raft. We
watched its approach with deep interest wondering who the stranger could
be, but he turned out to be Steward who had gone geologising and had
taken this easier means of coming back. He tried it again farther down
and met with an experience which taught him to trust to the land
thereafter.
[Illustration: Flaming Gorge.
The Beginning of the Colorado River Canyons, N. E. Utah.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]
The next day our boat was held back for some special work while the
others proceeded toward a high spur of the Uintas, directly in front of
us. We followed with a fierce and blinding gale sweeping the river and
filling our eyes with sharp sand. Nevertheless we could see high up
before us some bright red rocks marking the first canyon of the
wonderful series that separates this river from the common world. From
these bright rocks glowing in the sunlight like a flame above the
grey-green of the ridge, the Major had bestowed on this place the name
of Flaming Gorge. As we passed down towards the mountain it seemed that
the river surely must end there, but suddenly just below the mouth of
Henry's Fork it doubled to the left and we found ourselves between two
low cliffs, then in a moment we dashed to the right into the beautiful
canyon, with the cliffs whose summit we had seen, rising about 1300 feet
on the right, and a steep slope on the left at the base of which was a
small bottom covered with tall cottonwood trees, whose green shone
resplendent against the red rocks. The other boats were swinging at
their lines and the smoke of Andy's fire whirling on the wind was a
cheerful sight to the ever-hungry inner-man. Constant exercise in the
open air produces a constant appetite. As long as we could protect our
cargoes, and make our connections with our supplies as planned, we would
surely not have to go hungry, but we had to consider that there was room
for some variation or degree of success. There was at least one
comforting feature about the river work and that was we never suffered
for drinking water. It was only on side trips, away from the river that
we met this difficulty, so common in the Rocky Mountain Region and all
the South-west.
When the barometrical observations were worked out we found we had now
descended 262 feet from our starting-point. That was four and a quarter
feet for each mile of the sixty-two we had put behind. We always
counted the miles put behind, for we knew they could not be retraced,
but it was ever the miles and the rapids ahead that we kept most in our
minds. We were now at the beginning of the real battle with the "Sunken
River." Henceforth, high and forbidding cliffs with few breaks, would
imprison the stream on both sides.
A loss of our provisions would mean a journey on foot, after climbing
out of the canyon, to Green River (Wyoming) to Salt Lake City or to the
Uinta Indian Agency. There was a trail from Brown's Hole (now Brown's
Park) back to the railway, but the difficulty would be to reach it if we
should be wrecked in Red Canyon. We did not give these matters great
concern at the time, but I emphasise them now to indicate some of the
difficulties of the situation and the importance of preventing the wreck
of even one boat.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 3: Two were of the original Henry pattern.]
[Footnote 4: For further description of these boats the reader is
referred to _The Romance of the Colorado River_, page 236, by F. S.
Dellenbaugh.]