THE GRAND CANYON
I woke up next morning feeling very groggy, for no reason accountable
to myself. It was Sunday. My first endeavour would be to fulfil one of
the desires of my boyhood. It lay at my very door.
The Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff is known throughout the whole of
the civilized world. Years ago, hundreds and thousands of people read
with unabated interest of the theories and discoveries of Professor
Lowell concerning the planet Mars. In his book, _Mars and its Canals_,
he recorded the researches of a lifetime on this most interesting of
planets. He announced his conviction that civilized life of a very high
order was present and flourishing on Mars, and supported his theory
with exhaustive data and series of beautiful photographs of the planet
at different times and under different aspects--the result of the work
carried out at the Lowell Observatory which he himself had founded,
built, and maintained at his own expense.
In my boyhood's days that book read like a wonderful fairy story,
illustrated with photographs that were far more wonderful and far more
strange than the merely pretty pictures of fancy. Some day, I promised
myself, I would see the Lowell Observatory, and look through the giant
telescope that revealed to the human eye, millions of miles away, so
much of the mysterious and the unknown.
[Illustration: SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS FROM FLAGSTAFF.]
[Illustration: THE LOWELL OBSERVATORY, FLAGSTAFF.]
[Illustration: THE TRAIL TO THE GRAND CANYON.]
And here I stood, at the door of the hotel, but a few hundred yards
from that same Observatory. Looking up the main street I could plainly
see the white dome, perched on the summit of a hill overlooking the
town, surrounded, but unobscured, by the tall pine trees that clustered
thickly on its slopes.
An hour later I was standing inside the great dome. The dream had come
true.
The astronomers of "Mars Hill" treated me, like all visitors, with the
utmost hospitality. My wishes to see this and that and the other thing
had only to be expressed, and they were granted. I was shown the result
of years upon years of tireless, ceaseless research. In the library,
a magnificently designed and equipped building, I found myself in a
veritable Monte Cristo's cave. Arranged around the walls, and lit from
behind by a wonderful system of electric lights, were treasures of far
more value than would appear to the casual, disinterested sightseer.
There were transparent photographs of planets, star clusters, nebulæ,
and comets by the hundred, some but a fraction of an inch in diameter,
and others several feet across. There were volumes of records and
reports of every Observatory, besides astronomical and other scientific
works of all classes, sizes, and tongues.
Hours afterwards I slowly descended the path that wound down the
hill-side through the pine trees, wrapped in thought and proudly
conscious of having at last achieved something that for so long had
been but a vague vision of the imagination.
Unfortunately my indisposition of the morning did not disappear. It
increased. I surmised that somewhere or other I had drunk some poisoned
water--an easy thing to do--and must suffer the consequences.
The consequences I suffered were those of ptomaine poisoning. The
next day was spent in the throes of it. I crept out of bed for an
hour or two, with just enough courage to visit the garage to whose
charge I had confined Lizzie for an overhaul. Finding her once again
in pieces, but with no parts broken, I returned, with a sigh of relief
and a body full of pains, to bed. I had discovered that many patrons
of a certain restaurant--the one which I had so heartily greeted upon
my arrival--had also suffered from ptomaine poisoning. I reflected
that this was an ailment that often proved fatal. But I determined
that it would not be so in my case, at any rate not until Lizzie and
I had gazed down on the deep blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. That
accomplished, anything could happen!
The next day found things much brighter. The sickness was fast
disappearing, and I was consoled towards midday by the sight of
Lizzie erected, tested, and passed O.K. I was, however, sceptical of
the youth to whom, in my indisposition, I had entrusted her delicate
body. He had sworn that he had overhauled Hendersons until he could
do them blindfold. With characteristic American modesty he claimed to
be the only man between Kansas City and Los Angeles who knew anything
at all about the breed. That made me a trifle suspicious at the
outset. Furthermore, he had agreed to turn in on Sunday and commence
operations, but when Sunday came he was hardly conspicuous by his
presence--the garage door was locked.
However, I paid over the required quota of dollars with Spartan
stoicism and took Lizzie once more unto my bosom. Being naturally of
a lazy disposition and a firm believer in the futility of walking
whenever there is the remotest opportunity of some form of mechanical
transit being available, I had deferred an extensive survey of the town
until I could execute it in comfort.
Originally a stores depot on the early trail through the West,
Flagstaff soon became a ranching centre and a kind of "Mecca" for
cow-boys, globe-trotters, wasters, drifters, Indians, Mexicans, and,
of late years, speculators and East-weary business men. Although
boasting only a few thousand inhabitants, the town is growing fast,
and naturally where towns grow fast--a thing known only in the west of
America and the Colonies--the "real estate" agents flourish in their
legions. The people of Flagstaff are "boosters," and so do all they can
to encourage and quicken the growth of their neat little town. Many
come there, buy a plot of land in one of the outlying blocks, build
a bungalow and settle down for good, charmed with the climate, the
atmosphere, the surroundings, the great pine forests, and the view to
the north of the mighty Peaks that are almost always capped with snow
and seem to look down and protect the little town that lies scattered
at their feet.
Next morning I had concluded all preparations for the fulfilment
of another life-long desire. My next ambition was to see the Grand
Canyon of the Colorado, of which I had read much in school-books in my
childhood.
In and out through the pine trees we swung once again, darting down
sudden dips in the road and skipping up little hills all fresh with
grass and thick wild flowers. In ten or fifteen miles of exquisite
woodland scenery we had come once more to the fringe of the forest.
Ahead lay plain, prairie, and desert, with never a town or a village or
a house to be seen until the Canyon was reached seventy odd miles to
the north. On the left rose the great San Francisco Peaks, clothed in
green and white. On the right lay Sunset Mountain, a volcanic cinder
cone of ruddy-brown hue, that glistened in the morning sunlight.
Slowly they were left behind as we hopped, skipped, and jumped over the
rough trail that swerved and twisted untiringly through the strangest
country imaginable. Here it would be broad and sandy; there it would
narrow down almost to nothing; further on, it would make a sudden bend
and dip across a "wash" or some waterless river that had never known a
bridge; then it would enter a beautiful valley all aglow with golden
flowers that crowded thickly up its sides--there were yellow flowers
everywhere, in each direction as far as the eye could see, and at
the same time so close that they were swept aside by the machine as
it passed. Then that picture passed away and there remained just two
deep undulating ruts that struggled persistently across a wilderness
of sand, rock, and boulder. We passed on either side the remains of
ancient volcanoes, now but solitary hills rising abruptly from the
desert around. Then appeared giant heaps of stone clustered strangely
together, the ruins of ancient towns for many a thousand years
deserted. Then for miles and miles was nothing but barren, arid waste
that tired one's patience and cut one's tyres and shook one's limbs,
while thousands upon thousands of prairie-dogs were ever running,
hurrying, scurrying away from the intruder upon their solitude. Their
holes were everywhere, even in the ruts of the trail that stretched
always like a forgotten, lifeless thing through this land of scorching
loneliness.
Four hours and a half we had now been travelling, and not a soul, not
even a sign of a living being had we seen, save the merry little vermin
that scurried off at the sound and the sight of us. For the first time
in the whole of the trip I felt a great sense of loneliness creeping
over me. The solitude, the peace of the great barren distances at last
made itself known--it was a solitude and a peace that I had never felt
before. It took time for me to appreciate its worth. I amused myself by
bursting suddenly into song. All the old familiar refrains came to my
aid, were they hymn tunes or ridiculous rag-time airs.
Feeling absurd--even positively ridiculous--in my efforts to remain
cheerful at all costs, but comforted by the thought that there was no
one to witness my insanity, I continued thus until my voice rebelled
and I relapsed once again into stony--very stony--silence!
Once again the trail entered a great forest; huge pine trees and cedar
trees closed densely around and the trail branched and split here and
there to avoid them. The vegetation grew thicker. It seemed wonderful
how it could possibly thrive in such a country. Not a drop of water
had I seen for eighty miles, when suddenly a most beautiful vista
appeared directly ahead of me. There was a wonderful lake bordered with
giant pine trees, its waters still and flat like a great jewel. At its
edge a few horses were drinking. It was such a magnificent sight that
I was forced to stop to admire it to the full. I breathed a prayer
that my little pocket camera would do it justice, and convey, if only
a fraction, some of that entrancing charm that hung over its glassy
waters.
On once again we rode, through avenues of pine and cedar; the further
we went, the thicker the forest grew and the greater the stately
trees became. It was possible only to see a few yards ahead in some
places.... "But say, we must be getting near the Canyon soon! How can
all this be?" I asked myself.
Swerving now to the right, now to the left, to avoid some obstacle, now
leaving the trail altogether to ride on the soft green grass at the
side, when a boulder or a fallen branch blocked the way, it was like
exploring one of those magic forests where fairies....
The thought was never finished.
It seemed as if the whole earth had suddenly stopped dead. There, in
front, the great tree trunks stood silhouetted against space itself. It
was as though something dreadful had happened. Beyond was tremendous,
awful nothingness that made the observer catch his breath and sent a
shiver throughout his frame. But see, there, on the distant horizon,
like a dimly-coloured shadow, lies the opposite side of the gigantic
rift, ten, twenty--aye, in places thirty miles away. It is a sight to
enjoy in silence, with reverence and with fear. Once seen, it is never
to be forgotten, that first glimpse of the greatest of all natural
wonders--the Grand Canyon of the Colorado.
The trail made a sudden swerve to the left and followed close to its
brink. There were some wooden railings; beyond, a varying strip of
broken, rocky moorland; and then, space. Leaving Lizzie, I clambered
down a narrow pathway carved in the rocks that led to a jutting
prominence known as "Grand View Point." Seated on a huge lump of
limestone that reared like a lofty pinnacle thousands of feet above
the chasm below, I surveyed in mute bewilderment the overpowering,
awe-inspiring sight.
The Grand Canyon has never been described. It is too immense, too
sublime, too unearthly for mere words to convey one iota of its might
and majesty. One struggles with the futility of mere expression
by words where such a spectacle is concerned and finds that all
the known phrases and well-used artifices of speech are useless to
convey to another the sense of infinite grandeur that only sight can
appreciate--and that so feebly!
The Canyon is a titanic rift in the earth, over 200 miles in length.
The Colorado River, hardly ever seen from its brinks, lies 6,000 feet
below the surface of the plain through which it has cut. Æons of
time have been taken in the making of it, and it is yet but young,
its progress still continuing. That sinister river, to reach which
takes a seven-mile walk down the trail that leads to its waters, has
cut down through strata of rock that took untold millions of years
to be deposited, has cut lower and lower until it has come to the
very beginning, the foundation of the earth, and then it has carved
its way even through the granite, the very crust of the earth, to a
depth of almost 1,000 feet. Eternal erosion by water, winds, and frost
has helped it to play its part, and now nigh on 2,000 cubic miles
of limestone, sandstone, and granite have disappeared entirely--all
carried as sediment into the Pacific Ocean by the river that for ever
swirls and rages in its bosom.
The actual settlement that goes by the name of the Grand Canyon is
twenty miles further on. The trail follows closely the rim of the
Canyon, cutting through the fringe of the "Coconino National Forest,"
with its stately pine trees that crowd up to the very edge of the
plateau.
When the end of the trail is reached, it is as though the traveller
had arrived at the edge of the world. On the right is a luxurious,
low-built hotel all but toppling over the edge; on the left is a
railway station; and that is all. The road almost doubles back on
itself, swerving due south towards the Continental Trail eighty miles
away. I do not mean to imply that at the end of this world there will
be either a luxurious hotel or a railway station at the service of
the weary traveller, but the appearance of finality of all things is
complete when one is faced with that terrible chasm ahead.
For three days and three nights I sojourned at the Canyon, content
to gaze upon its ever-changing colours, and to marvel at the wealth
of beauty and variation of spectacle that lay in its mighty bosom,
always changing, always fresh, always more wonderful than before.
One day after breakfast I began strolling down the narrow "Bright
Angel Trail" that leads from the summit to the river. Between two
and three feet wide in most places, it is wonderfully built and kept
in excellent repair for the mule-back parties of tourists that daily
descend its seven tortuous miles in the morning and ascend them again
in the evening. In places it is like a spiral pathway down an almost
perpendicular wall. One looks over and sees it doubling and folding and
twisting on itself like a thin white line until it is lost behind some
prominence thousands of feet below.
I did not mean to walk down. Walking is not my forte; I only set out
to take a few photographs. I have the best of reasons for believing
that people never walk down the Canyon. Instead they bulge upon
diminutive mules in strings of twenty or thirty or more and make the
descent slowly, nervously, solemnly, and more or less in comfort. True,
there are places where the trail is so precipitous that they have to
dismount for safety's sake, but to walk the whole way would be absurd.
Perhaps that was the reason I found myself tramping down the long,
steep trail. The more photographs I took, the further down I went to
take another. One view followed another with endless change. At every
turn there was some new sensation, some fresh vista that just cried out
for remembrance. In this way I gradually found myself descending into
the depths of the Canyon. Truly it is the most wonderful walk I have
ever had.
It was as though the traveller were entering a new world of a new
climate, new scenery, and new sensations. Up on the plateau at the top
the altitude was 8,000 feet above sea level, and the heat there had
been intense. But as I descended thousand after thousand of feet into
the bowels of the earth, the air became more dense and the heat more
intense until at the bottom, over 6,000 feet below, the climate was
almost tropical. Further, the great "temples"--the fragments of the
plateau where the erosion had left isolated mountains remaining within
the gorge--took on a far different aspect when viewed from below.
From above one saw them as one would see hills and valleys from an
aeroplane--with hardly any relief. But from below they loomed up sharp
against the sky, each one a mighty mountain in itself. What seemed
from the brink to be a mere blotch of green mould on the bare rocks
below proved on closer acquaintance to be a luxurious coppice, dense
with trees and shrubs and tall, thick grass. Minute specks of black
scattered broadcast on the slope turned out to be trees that eked out
a scanty but sufficient livelihood on the crevices and the crags. A
brown, inconspicuous carpet from above developed into a huge tropical
plateau several miles across. So clear is the atmosphere and so great
are the distances that magnitudes are ridiculed and illusions raised to
the point of absurdity.
It was well after midday when I reached the bottom and watched the
roaring, rushing Colorado, like a great yellow flood, lashing its angry
way between the steep walls of the granite gorge. Above, it had been
invisible, unknown, and whisperless.
The walk back developed into a tiring, eternal struggle up an
interminable staircase that had no stairs. Sometimes I half decided
to rest until next day. At intervals I grasped my knees in my hands
and helped to lift the heavy, tired feet one above the other. I
abused myself heartily for not having furnished myself with reserve
refreshments before starting, and then remembered that I had only set
out to take a few pictures; I had quenched my thirst at a little creek
six hours before, but felt that a meal of some kind would be acceptable.
I arrived at the top about 5.30. The mule-party had overtaken me a
quarter of an hour before. They had only stopped half an hour at the
bottom for lunch.
"Waal, I've done some walkin' in my time, boss, but I guess you've
gotten the best pair o' legs that ever MY optics did see," was the
remark of one heavily-spectacled American who beamed from his mule upon
me as he passed.
"Aye, that's so," echoed others in the long file with undisguised
approbation.
So the reader will observe that I am already becoming Americanized,
even in true modesty!
[Illustration: THE BOTTOM OF THE GRAND CANYON.
_By permission of Dr. F. Rolt-Wheeler._]
My stay at the Canyon was longer than I had anticipated. Considerable
rain had fallen on the second day, and a report came through that
the road in places had been washed clean away. Just what that meant I
did not know, but I did not fear it in the slightest. My experience of
the roads in Arizona was that they were much better away than present.
But I had no taste for mud, so I waited for the sun to do its work
before starting back again.
I left the Grand Canyon with regret. Everything was so wonderful
and I just seemed to have begun to make friends with it. At first
it all seemed so great, so awful, so grotesque as to give one the
impression of anything but friendliness. I had begun to overcome that
feeling, as everyone does in time. The truth is that it takes a long
acquaintanceship with the giant wonders of the world to form anything
approaching a true idea of them.
Mud there was in plenty on the way back. In the forest going was bad
and slow, for the sun had not had its due quota of time to play upon
the damp earth. But in the open there was a marked improvement. The
only evidence of the heavy rains was an occasional pool of water
between the tracks of the road that had not yet been completely dried
up, and this remained as a pool of muddy water within a ring of soft,
dark-brown mud.
I was glad that progress was not so bad as I had expected. I was tired
of making slow progress, low averages, and big delays, so whenever I
had the chance I gave Lizzie her reins and with many bursts of speed
where the condition of the road permitted, and occasional hold-ups
where it did not, we made pretty good progress for a couple of hours.
Until....
We were about half-way between the Canyon and Flagstaff. The country
was bare and rocky--almost on the fringe of the "Painted Desert." I was
riding on the narrow but level track between the two large ruts that
formed the road. I was furthermore enjoying a little burst of speed, my
eyes glued on the little strip below me, for if I but once missed it
and allowed Lizzie to slip into either of those deep, treacherous ruts
that bordered it, there would be a nasty smash.
I must have been too careful, for I had not noticed a fairly large and
deep mud-pool dead in the centre of the track and only a few yards
ahead of me. There were just about three or four inches between either
side of it and those terrible ruts. If I banged into it, it would mean
a nasty jar to the machine and possible damage. I judged I could steer
round all right without fouling the rut.
The front wheel went through splendidly. The back one, approaching at
an angle as I swerved, did not. It just skimmed the greasy edge of the
pool and commenced momentarily to side-slip down into the hollow. That
was the beginning of the end. I was going fast, and the equilibrium
of the machine had been suddenly upset. The nightmare known as a
"speed-wobble" ensued.
I did my utmost to check it, but it got worse and worse. From one side
to the other the machine swayed, like a great pendulum, swinging faster
and faster and each time through a greater distance. For some time I
managed to keep the swerves within the limits of the track without
fouling the ruts and the rocks at the side, but it was no use; I saw a
fearful crash coming.
The wobble developed at an alarming speed; no doubt the heavy baggage
on the carrier helped. At the end of each oscillation the machine was
at a still greater, a still more ridiculous angle to the ground. The
front wheel caught something. It had to come sooner or later. With
a wild lurch we crashed down on the loose rocks and boulders that
bordered the trail. Our momentum was soon absorbed owing to the rough
nature of the rocks and boulders aforesaid.
"Here endeth the trip to the coast. Farewell, Lizzie; it might have
happened sooner, you know, old girl." That's what I was saying to
myself as I struggled from underneath her remains!