The First Rapid--Horseshoe and Kingfisher Canyons--A Rough
Entrance into Red Canyon--Capsize of the _Nell_--The Grave of
a Bold Navigator--Discovery of a White Man's Camp--Good-bye to
Frank--At the Gate of Lodore.
Prof. now took observations for time and latitude in order to fix with
accuracy the geographical location of the camp in Flaming Gorge, and to
check the estimates of the topographers as they sighted the various
stretches of the river. It has been found that estimates of this kind
are quite accurate and that the variation from exactness is generally
the same in[5] the same individual. Hence one man may underestimate and
another may overestimate, but each will always make the same error, and
this error can be readily corrected by frequent observations to
determine latitude and longitude. A series of barometrical observations
was kept going whether we were on the move or not. That is, a mercurial
barometer was read three times a day, regularly, at seven, at one, and
at nine. We had aneroid barometers for work away from the river and
these were constantly compared with and adjusted to the mercurials. The
tubes of mercury sometimes got broken, and then a new one had to be
boiled to replace it. I believe the boiling of tubes has since that time
been abandoned, as there is not enough air in the tube to interfere with
the action of the mercury, but at that time it was deemed necessary for
accuracy, and it gave Prof. endless trouble. The wind was always
blowing, and no tent we could contrive from blankets, and waggon sheets
(we had no regular tents), sufficed to keep the flame of the alcohol
lamp from flickering. Nevertheless, Prof. whose patience and dexterity
were unlimited, always succeeded. The mercurial barometers were of the
kind with a buckskin pocket at the bottom of the cistern with a screw
for adjusting the column of mercury to a fixed point.
Most of the men climbed out in various directions and for various
objects. Prof. reached a high altitude whence he obtained a broad view
of the country, a grand sight with the quiet river below and snow-capped
mountains around, with rolling smoke and leaping flame, for there were
great mountain fires not far off. The Major and Steward went
geologising. Steward was rewarded by discovering a number of fossils,
among them the bones of an immense animal of the world's early day, with
a femur ten inches in diameter, and ribs two inches thick and six inches
wide. These bones were much exposed and could have been dug out, but we
had no means of transporting them.
Flaming Gorge is an easy place to get in and out of, even with a horse,
and doubtless in the old beaver-hunting days it was a favourite resort
of trappers. I am inclined to think that the double turn of the swirling
river where it enters Flaming Gorge is the place known at that time as
the Green River Suck. Our camp under the cottonwoods was delightful. We
took advantage of the halt to write up notes, clean guns, mend clothes,
do our washing, and all the other little things incident to a breathing
spell on a voyage of this kind. It was Sunday too, and when possible we
stopped on that account, though, of course, progress could not be
deferred for that reason alone.
Monday morning we left the pleasant camp in the grove and went on with
the tide. The river was rough from a heavy gale, but otherwise offered
no obstacle. At a sudden bend we cut to the left deeper into the
mountain till on both sides we were enclosed by almost perpendicular
precipices of carboniferous formation, limestone, about 1600 feet high.
The canyon was surprisingly beautiful and romantic. The river seemed to
change its mood here, and began to flow with an impetus it had exhibited
nowhere above. It swept on with a directness and a concentration of
purpose that had about it something ominous. And just here, at the foot
of the right hand wall which was perpendicular for 800 feet, with the
left more sloping, and clothed with cedar shrubs, we beheld our first
real rapid, gleaming like a jewel from its setting in the sunlight which
fell into the gorge, and it had as majestic a setting as could be
desired. For myself I can say that the place appeared the acme of the
romantic and picturesque. The rapid was small and swift, a mere chute,
and perhaps hardly worthy of mention had it not been the point where the
character of the river current changes making it distinguished because
of being the first of hundreds to come below. The river above had held a
continual descent accelerating here and retarding there with an average
current of two and a half miles an hour, but here began the quick drops
for which the canyons are now famous. There was one place where Prof.
noted a small rapid but it was not like this one, and I did not count it
at all.
[Illustration: Horseshoe Canyon.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]
The gorge we ran into so suddenly was short and by dinner-time we had
emerged into a wider, more broken place, though we were still bound in
by tremendous heights. We saw that we had described a complete horseshoe
and this fact determined the canyon's name--number two of the series.
When we landed for dinner, an examination was made of the locality from
that base before we dropped down a little distance to the mouth of a
fine clear creek coming in from the right. This was a fascinating place.
The great slopes were clothed with verdure and trees, and the creek ran
through luxuriant vegetation. A halt of a day was made for observation
purposes. The air was full of kingfishers darting about and we
immediately called the creek by their name.
I was sent with Steward on a geological expedition out over the right or
western cliffs. We consumed two hours in getting out, having to climb up
about 1000 feet over a difficult way. After a good deal of going up and
down across rough ridges, we finally worked our way around to the head
of Flaming Gorge. Here we reckoned up and found that eight steep ridges
intervened between us and camp by the way we had come, and we concluded
that we could get back easier through Flaming Gorge and thence by
climbing over the tongue or base of the horseshoe which was lower than
the end. Steward grew decidedly weary and I felt my legs getting heavy
too. Rain had fallen at intervals all day and we were wet as well as
tired and famished. We struck an old trail and followed it as long as it
went our way. Then it became too dark to see which way it went and we
climbed on as best we could. It was about half-past eight when we
reached our camp to find a splendid fire burning and a good supper
waiting for us.
The new canyon which closed in the next day had walls about 1500 feet in
height, that being the general height of the spur of the Uintas through
which we were travelling. The changes from one canyon to another were
only changes in the character of the bounding mountain walls, for there
was no break into open country. The name of Kingfisher we gave to the
new gorge for the same reason we had called the creek at our camp by
that name, and so numerous were these birds at one rounded promontory
that there was no escape from calling it Beehive Point, the resemblance
to a gigantic hive being perfect. Kingfisher Canyon like its two
predecessors was short, all three making a distance by the river of only
about ten miles. Flaming Gorge is the gateway, Horseshoe the vestibule,
and Kingfisher the ante-chamber to the whole grand series. At the foot
of Kingfisher the rocks fell back a little and steep slopes took their
place. Where the rocks closed in again, we halted on the threshold of
the next gorge, in a fine grove of cottonwoods. A significant roar came
to us out of the gate to Red Canyon, rolling up on the air with a
steady, unvarying monotony that had a sinister meaning. It was plain
that we were nearing something that was no paltry gem like the rapid we
had so much admired in Horseshoe Canyon.
The remainder of that day and all the next, which was June 1st, we
stayed at this camp completing records, investigating the surroundings,
and preparing for rough work ahead. On Friday morning the cabins were
packed carefully, the life preservers were inflated, and we pulled out
into the current. The cliffs shot up around us and rough water began at
once. The descent was almost continuous for a considerable distance, but
we divided it into three rapids in our notes, before we reached a sharp
turn to the right, and then one just as sharp to the left, with vertical
walls on both sides and a roaring torrent, broken by rocks, whirling
between. Our boat shot down with fierce rapidity and would have gone
through without a mishap had not the current dashed us so close to the
right-hand wall that Jack's starboard row-lock was ripped off by a
projection of the cliff as we were hurled along its rugged base. At the
same moment we saw the _Nell_ upsetting against some rocks on the left.
Then we swept out of view and I was obliged to pull with all my
strength, Jack's one oar being useless. We succeeded in gaining a little
cove on the left, and jumped out as soon as shallow enough, the Major
immediately climbing the cliffs to a high point where he could look down
on the unfortunate second boat. Prof., it seems, had misunderstood the
Major's signal and had done just what he did not think he ought to do.
He thought it meant to land on the left and he had tried to reach a
small strip of beach, but finding this was not possible he turned the
boat again into the current to retrieve his former position, but this
was not successful and the _Nell_ was thrown on some rocks projecting
from the left wall, in the midst of wild waters, striking hard enough to
crush some upper planks of the port side. She immediately rolled over,
and Frank slid under. Prof. clutched him and pulled him back while the
men all sprang for the rocks and saved themselves and the boat from
being washed away in this demoralised condition. With marvellous
celerity Cap. took a turn with a rope around a small tree which he
managed to reach, while Steward jumped to a position where he could
prevent the boat from pounding. In a minute she was righted and they got
her to the little beach where they had tried to land. Here they pulled
her out and, partially unloading, repaired her temporarily as well as
they could. This done they towed up to a point of vantage and made a
fresh start and cleared the rapid with no further incident. Meanwhile
the _Cañonita_ had come in to where we were lying, and both boats were
held ready to rescue the men of the other. After about three-quarters of
an hour the unfortunate came down, her crew being rather elated over the
experience and the distinction of having the first capsize.
Setting out on the current again we passed two beautiful creeks entering
from the right, and they were immediately named respectively, Compass
and Kettle creeks, to commemorate the loss of these articles in the
capsize. At the mouth of Kettle Creek, about a mile and a half below the
capsize rapid, we stopped for dinner. Then running several small drops,
we arrived at a long descent that compelled careful action. We always
landed, where possible, to make an examination and learn the trend of
the main current. Our not being able to do this above was the cause of
the _Nell's_ trouble. We now saw that we had here landed on the wrong
side and would have to make a somewhat hazardous crossing to the
opposite, or right bank. Our boat tried it first. In spite of vigorous
pulling we were carried faster down towards the rapid than to the
objective landing. When we reached water about waist deep we all sprang
overboard, and I got to shore with the line as quickly as I could. We
were able to turn and catch the _Nell_ as she came in, but the
_Cañonita_ following ran too far down. We all dashed into the stream
almost at the head of the rapid, and there caught her in time. The load
was taken out of our boat and she was let down by lines over the worst
part. Loading again we lowered to another bad place where we went into
camp on the same spot where the Major had camped two years before. We
unloaded the other boats and got them down before dark, but we ate
supper by firelight. The river averaged about 250 feet wide, with a
current of not less than six miles an hour and waves in the rapids over
five feet in vertical height. These waves broke up stream as waves do in
a swift current, and as the boats cut into them at a high velocity we
shipped quantities of water and were constantly drenched, especially the
bow-oarsmen. The cliffs on each side, wonderfully picturesque, soon ran
up to 1200 or 1500 feet, and steadily increased their altitude. Owing to
the dip of the strata across the east and west trend of the canyon the
walls on the north were steeper than those on the south, but they seldom
rose vertically from the river. Masses of talus, and often alluvial
stretches with rocks and trees, were strung along their base, usually
offering numerous excellent landings and camping places. We were able to
stop about as we wished and had no trouble as to camps, though they were
frequently not just what we would have preferred. There was always
smooth sand to sleep on, and often plenty of willows to cut and lay in
rows for a mattress. It must not be imagined that these great canyons
are dark and gloomy in the daytime. They are no more so than an ordinary
city street flanked with very high buildings. Some lateral canyons are
narrow and so deep that the sun enters them but briefly, but even these
are only shady, not dark.
[Illustration: Red Canyon.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]
We remained on the Major's old camp ground a day so that Jones and Cap.
could climb to the top of the cliff to get the topography. The next
morning though it was Sunday was not to be one of rest. We began by
lowering the boats about forty rods farther and there pulled out into
the stream and were dashed along by a fierce current with rapid
following rapid closely. The descent was nearly continuous with greater
declivities thrown in here and there. As usual we took in a good deal of
water and were saturated. We were growing accustomed to this, and the
boats being built to float even when the open parts were full, we did
not mind sitting with our legs in cold water till opportunity came to
bail out with the camp kettle left in each open space for the purpose.
One rapid where Theodore Hook, of Cheyenne, was drowned in 1869, while
attempting to follow the first party, gave us no trouble. We sailed
through it easily. Hook had declared that if Powell could descend the
river he could too, and he headed a party to follow.[6] The motive I
believe was prospecting. I do not know how far they expected to go but
this was as far as they got. Their abandoned boats, flat-bottomed and
inadequate, still lay half buried in sand on the left-hand bank, and not
far off on a sandy knoll was the grave of the unfortunate leader marked
by a pine board set up, with his name painted on it. Old sacks, ropes,
oars, etc., emphasised the completeness of the disaster.
Not far below this we made what we called a "line portage," that is, the
boats were worked along the edge of the rapid, one at a time, in and out
among the boulders with three or four men clinging to them to fend them
off the rocks and several more holding on to the hundred-foot hawser, so
that there was no possibility of one getting loose and smashing up, or
leaving us altogether. It was then noon and a camp was made for the
remainder of the day on the left bank in a very comfortable spot. We had
accomplished three and a half miles, with four distinct rapids run and
one "let-down." I went up from the camp along a sandy stretch and was
surprised to discover what I took to be the fresh print of the bare
foot of a man. Mentioning this when I returned, my companions laughed
and warned me to be cautious and give this strange man a wide berth
unless I had my rifle and plenty of ammunition. It was the track of a
grizzly bear. I saw many tracks on this expedition and on others
afterwards but I have never seen a bear yet, except in captivity. The
grizzly seemed to shun me; but I believe they will not often attack a
man unprovoked, and will lie perfectly still while one may pass within a
few feet of their hiding-place.
Three or four deer were seen but with no opportunity to get a shot. All
through these upper canyons there was then a great abundance of game of
every description, and had our object been to kill for sport, we
undoubtedly could have made a pile of carcasses. One or two deer would
have been welcome but we had no time to pursue them. Steward came in
towards night from his geologising with a splendid bouquet of wild
flowers which was greatly admired. Prof. and the Major climbed west of
camp to a height of 1200 feet where they obtained a wide outlook and
secured valuable notes on the topography. The view was superb as it is
anywhere from a high point in this region. When they came back, the
Major entertained us by reading aloud _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_,
thus delightfully closing a beautiful Sunday which every man had
enjoyed.
In the morning soon after leaving this camp a dull roar ahead told of
our approach to Ashley Falls, for which we were on the lookout. The left
bank was immediately hugged as closely as possible and we dropped
cautiously down to the head of the descent. An immense rock stuck up in
the middle of the river and the water divided on this and shot down on
each side in a sharp fall of about eight feet. Each was a clear chute
and not dangerous to look at, but the effect of so sudden a plunge on
one of our loaded boats was too much of a problem for trial. A portage
was decided on. The left bank where we were was a mass of enormous
broken rocks where it seemed next to impossible to haul a boat. A foot
trail was first built which led up some fifty feet above the river, and
over, under and around huge boulders to a place down below where it was
proposed to carry the boats on skids. The cargoes were first taken over
on our backs and when this was done we were about tired out. Our united
strength was required to work the _Dean_ down to the selected haven
without injury. This was such extremely hard work that the Major and
Prof. concluded to shoot the _Cañonita_ through, light, with no men in
her, but controlled by one of our hundred-foot hawsers attached to each
end. She was started down and went through well enough, but filling with
water and knocking on hidden rocks. Prudence condemned this method and
we resorted to sliding and carrying the _Nell_ over the rocks as we had
done with the _Dean_, certain that sleep and food would wipe out our
weariness, but not injury to the boats which must be avoided by all
means in our power. By the time we had placed the _Nell_ beside the
other boats at the bottom it was sunset and too late to do anything but
make a camp. Just above the head of the fall was a rather level place in
a clump of pines at the very edge of the river forming as picturesque a
camp-ground as I have ever seen. A brilliant moon hung over the canyon,
lighting up the foam of the water in strong contrast to the red fire
crackling its accompaniment to the roar of the rapid. A lunar rainbow
danced fairy-like in the mists rising from the turmoil of the river. The
night air was calm and mild. Prof. read aloud from _Hiawatha_ and it
seemed to fit the time and place admirably. We had few books with us;
poems of Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson, and Scott, are all I remember,
except a Bible my mother had given me. I suppose Cap. had a Bible also,
as he was very religious.
The huge boulders which dammed the river had fallen from the cliffs on
the left within a comparatively recent time, transforming an ordinary
rapid into the fall; actually damming the water till it is smooth for
half a mile above. The largest block of stone is the one in the middle.
It is about twenty five feet square. The only white men on record to
reach this place except the Major's other party, was General Ashley, the
distinguished fur trader with a number of trappers. In his search for
fresh beaver grounds he led his party in rude buffalo-skin boats through
this canyon in 1825. They had a hard time and nearly starved to death as
they depended for food on finding beaver and other game, in which they
were disappointed. On one of my trips over the rocks with cargo I made a
slight detour on the return to see the boulder where the Major had
discovered Ashley's name with a date. The letters were in black, just
under a slight projection and were surprisingly distinct considering the
forty-six years of exposure. The "2" was illegible and looked like a
"3." None of our party seemed to know that it could have been only a "2"
for by the year 1835 Ashley had sold out and had given up the fur
business in the mountains. Considering his ability, his prominence, his
high character, and his identification with the early history of the
West, there ought to be greater recognition of him than there has been.
[Illustration: Red Canyon.
Ashley Falls from Below.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]
Below Ashley Falls the declivity of the river was very great with a
correspondingly swift current, in one rapid reaching a velocity of at
least fifteen miles an hour, and with waves that tossed our heavy boats
like feathers. These were the most violent rapids we had yet met, not
excepting the ones we had portaged. The cliffs, about 2500 feet high, of
red sandstone, were often almost perpendicular on both sides, or at
least they impressed us so at the time. There was much vegetation, pine,
spruce, willow-leaved cottonwood, aspens, alder, etc., which added to
the beauty and picturesqueness of the wild scenery. Beaman stopped each
day where possible and desirable to take photographs, and at these times
the others investigated the surroundings and climbed up side canyons
when they existed. Late in the afternoon we came out suddenly into a
small valley or park formerly called Little Brown's Hole, a noted
rendezvous for trappers, and which we rechristened Red Canyon Park. This
was a beautiful place bounded by round mountains, into which our great
cliffs had temporarily resolved themselves, particularly on the right,
the left side remaining pretty steep. Our camp was pitched under two
large pine trees and every one was prepared, in the intervals of other
duties, to take advantage of this respite to patch up clothing, shoes,
etc., as well as to do what laundering was necessary. The river ran so
quietly that we felt oppressed after the constant roaring since we had
entered Red Canyon. I remember climbing up at evening with one of my
companions, to a high altitude where the silence was deathlike and
overpowering. Prof. and some of the others climbed to greater heights
for topographical purposes, easily reaching an altitude of about 4000
feet above the river in an air-line distance of about five miles. Here
they obtained a magnificent panorama in all directions, limited on the
west by the snowy chain of the Wasatch, and on the north by the Wind
River Range like white clouds on the horizon 200 miles away, and they
could trace the deep gorges of the river as they cleave the mountains
from distance to distance.
Here we saw signs of abundant game, elk, deer, bear, etc., but we had no
time to go hunting as a business and the game refused to come to us.
Each man had his work to accomplish so that we could get on. It was
impracticable to go wandering over the mountains for game, much as we
would have enjoyed a change from our bacon and beans. One day, only, was
spent here for all purposes, geologising, topographic climbing, and
working out the notes from up the river, making repairs and all the
other needful things that crowded upon us. Here it was that I did my
first tailoring and performed a feat of which I have ever since been
proud; namely, transferring some coattails, from where they were of no
use, to the knees and seat of my trousers where they were invaluable.
On June 8th, we left this "Camp Number 13" regretfully and plunged in
between the cliffs again for about eight miles, running five rapids,
when we emerged into a large valley known as Brown's Hole, where our
cliffs fell back for two or three miles on each side and became mountain
ranges. Pulling along for a couple of miles on a quiet river we were
surprised to discover on the left a white man's camp. Quickly landing we
learned that it was some cattlemen's temporary headquarters (Harrell
Brothers), and some of the men had been to Green River Station since our
departure from that place, the distance by trail not being half that by
river. They were expecting us and had brought some mail which was a glad
sight for our eyes. These men had wintered about 2000 head of Texas
cattle in this valley, noted for the salubrity of its winter climate
since the days of the fur-hunters, and were on their way to the Pacific
coast. We made a camp near by, with a cottonwood of a peculiar "Y"
shape, more stump than tree, to give what shade-comfort it could, and
enjoyed the relaxation which came with the feeling that we had put
twenty-five miles of hard canyon behind, and were again in touch, though
so briefly and at long range, with the outer world. As some of these men
were to go out to the railway the following Sunday and offered to carry
mail for us, we began to write letters to let our friends know how we
were faring on our peculiar voyage. This "Brown's Hole" was the place
selected by a man who pretended to have been with the former party, for
the scene of that party's destruction which he reported to the
newspapers. He thought as it was called a "hole" it must be one of the
worst places on this raging river, not knowing that in the old trapper
days when a man found a snug valley and dwelt there for a time it became
known as his "hole" in the nomenclature of the mountains. The Major did
not think this a satisfactory name and he changed it to "Brown's Park"
which it now bears. I met an "old timer" on a western train several
years afterward, who was greatly irritated because of this liberty which
the Major took with the cherished designation of the early days. Fort
Davy Crockett of the fur-trading period was located somewhere in this
valley.
[Illustration: In Red Canyon Park.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]
The next morning after reaching Harrell's camp we were told that, as
Frank did not seem able to stand the voyage he was to leave us here, to
go over the mountains back to the railway, whence he would go home. We
were all sorry to hear this and doubly sorry when on Sunday the 11th he
mounted a mule and regretfully rode away with Mr. Harrell. The latter
was to telegraph to Salt Lake to Mrs. Powell, to send our mail back to
Green River Station so that it could be brought out to us on Mr.
Harrell's return. Meanwhile we dropped down the river, now tranquil as a
pond, with low banks covered with cottonwood groves. There were two
small canyons the first of which we called "Little" about one-half mile
long, and the second "Swallow," about two miles long. The cliffs were
red sandstone about three hundred feet high, often vertical on both
sides. Thousands of swallows swarmed there, and we did not resist giving
it an obvious name. Below this the water spread out more and was full of
islands. The current was sluggish, two miles an hour perhaps, and we
indulged in the novelty of rowing the boats, though we did not try to
make speed, for we had to wait for Mr. Harrell's return anyhow. The
boats had been lightened by trading to Harrell some of our flour, of
which we had an over abundance when it came to portages, for fresh beef,
of which we were very much in need. At a convenient place we landed
where there was a fine cottonwood grove and remained while Prof. made a
climb and to jerk the beef. It was cut into thin strips and hung on a
willow framework in the sun with a slow fire beneath. As the thermometer
now stood at ninety-nine in the shade the beef was fairly well cured by
the 13th and we went on, seeing one of the cattlemen and a Mexican boy
on the left bank. In this neighbourhood we passed from Utah into
Colorado. The river was six hundred feet broad and about six feet deep.
We had no trouble from shoals, and finally lashed the three boats side
by side and let them drift along in the slow current. The Major sitting
in his arm-chair on the middle boat read aloud selections from _The Lady
of the Lake_ which seemed to fit the scene well. Steward and Andy amused
themselves by swimming along with the boats and occasionally diving
under them.
From our noon camp in a grove of cottonwoods opposite the mouth of
Vermilion River, we could plainly see the great portal a mile or two
away, the Gate of Lodore, where all this tranquillity would end, for the
river cuts straight into the heart of the mountains forming one of the
finest canyons of the series where the water comes down as Southey
described it at Lodore, and the Major gave it that name. Before night we
were at the very entrance and made our camp there in a grove of
box-elders. Every man was looking forward to this canyon with some dread
and before losing ourselves within its depths we expected to enjoy the
letters from home which Mr. Harrell was to bring back from the railway
for us. Myriads of mosquitoes gave us something else to think of, for
they were exceedingly ferocious and persistent, driving us to a high
bluff where a smudge was built to fight them off. We were nearly
devoured. I fared best, a friend having given me a net for my head, and
this, with buckskin gloves on my hands enabled me to exist with some
comfort. The mountains rose abruptly just beyond our camp, and the river
cleaved the solid mass at one stroke, forming the extraordinary and
magnificent portal we named the "Gate of Lodore," one of the most
striking entrances of a river into mountains to be found in all the
world. It is visible for miles. Prof. climbed the left side of the Gate
and also took observations for time.
I was sent back to the valley to make some sketches and also to
accompany Steward on a geological tramp. We had an uncomfortable
experience because of the excessive heat and aridity. I learned several
things about mountaineering that I never forgot, one of which was to
always thoroughly note and mark a place where anything is left to be
picked up on a return, for, leaving our haversack under a cedar it
eluded all search till the next day, and meanwhile we were compelled to
go to the river two or three miles away for water. We had a rubber
poncho and a blanket. Using the rubber for a mattress and the blanket
for a covering we passed the night, starting early for the mountains,
where at last we found our food bag. After eating a biscuit we went back
to the river and made tea and toasted some beef on the end of a ramrod,
when we struck for the main camp, arriving at dinner-time.
The Gate of Lodore seemed naturally the beginning of a new stage in our
voyage to which we turned with some anxiety, for it was in the gorge now
before us that on the first trip a boat had been irretrievably smashed.
We were now 130 miles by river from the Union Pacific Railway crossing,
and in this distance we had descended 700 feet in altitude, more than
400 feet of it in Red Canyon. Lodore was said to have an even greater
declivity.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: Three points on Green River below the Union Pacific
crossing had been determined by previous explorers, the mouth of Henry's
Fork, the mouth of the Uinta, and Gunnison Crossing.]
[Footnote 6: I do not know the number of men composing this party.]