THE GATEWAY OF ALL THE CANYONS
We awoke the next morning full of anticipation. Something new lay
ahead of us, a promise of variety. In plain sight of our camp lay
the entrance to Flaming Gorge, the gateway to the entire series of
canyons. Hurriedly finishing our camp duties, we loaded the boats,
fastened down the hatches, and shoved off into the current, eager to
be on our way.
It was cloudy overhead and looked as if we were to have more rain.
Even then it must have been raining away to the north, for a dirty,
clay-colored torrent rushed through the dry arroyo of the night
before, a stream large enough to discolour the water of the Green
itself. But we thought little of this. We were used to seeing muddy
water in the Colorado’s gorges; in fact we were surprised to find
clear water at all, even in the Green River. Rowing downstream we
found that the country sloped gently towards the mountains. The river
skirted the edge of these foot-hills as if looking for a possible
escape, then turned and entered the mountain at a sharp angle. The
walls sloped back considerably at first, and there was a little
shore on either side.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
SKELETON FOUND IN THE GRAND CANYON.]
Somewhere near this point runs the dividing line of Wyoming and Utah.
We considered the gateway a subject worthy of a motion picture, if
taken from the deck of the boat; but doubted if it would be a success
owing to the condition of the light and the motion of the boat. Still
it was considered worthy of a trial, and the film was run through.
The colour of the rocks at the entrance was a light red, but not out
of the ordinary in brilliancy. The rock formation was stratified,
but displaced; standing at an angle and flexed over on top with a
ragged break here and there, showing plainly the great pressure to
which the rocks had been subjected. The upheaval was not violent, the
scientists tell us, but slow and even, allowing the river to maintain
its old channel, sawing its way through the sandstone. The broken
canyon walls, when well inside the gorge, were about 600 to 700 feet
high. The mountains beyond and on either side were much higher. The
growth on the mountain sides was principally evergreen; Douglas
fir, the bull-pine and yellow pine. There was a species of juniper,
somewhat different from the Utah juniper, with which we were familiar
at the Grand Canyon. Bushes and undergrowth were dense above the
steep canyon walls, which were bare. Willows, alder-thickets, and a
few cottonwood trees lined the shores.
Meanwhile the current had quickened, almost imperceptibly at first,
but enough to put us on our guard. While there were no rapids, use
was made of what swift water we found by practising on the method
we would use in making a passage through the bad rapids. As to this
method, unused as yet by either of us, we had received careful verbal
instruction from Mr. Stone, who had made the trip two years before
our own venture; and from other friends of Nathan Galloway, the
trapper, the man who first introduced the method on the Green and
Colorado rivers.
Our experience on water of any kind was rather limited. Emery could
row a boat, and row it well, before we left Green River, but had
never gone over any large rapids. While he was not nearly so large
or heavy as I,--weighing no more than 130 pounds, while I weighed
170 pounds,--he made up for his lighter weight by a quickness and
strength that often surprised me. He was always neat and clever
in his method of handling his boat, taking a great deal of pride
in keeping it free from marks, and avoiding rocks when making a
landing. I had done very little rowing before leaving Green River,
so little that I had difficulty in getting both oars in the water at
the same time. Of course it did not take me long to learn that; but
I did not have the knack of making clean landings, and bumped many
rocks that my brother missed. Still I was improving all the time and
was anxious to get into the rough water, feeling sure I would get
through somehow, but doing my best in the meantime to get the knack
of handling the boat properly before the rough water was reached.
An occasional rock would stick up above the surface; the swift
water would rush up on it, or drive past on either side. Instead of
pulling downstream with might and main, and depending on a steersman
with a sweep-oar to keep us clear of obstructions--the method
usually adopted on large rivers, and by the earlier parties on the
Colorado--by our method the single oarsman reversed his boat so that
it was turned with the stern downstream, giving the oarsman a view of
what was ahead; then by pulling upstream the boat was held in check.
We allowed ourselves to be carried in a direct line with the rocks
ahead, approaching them as closely as we dared; then, with a pull on
one oar, the boat was turned slightly at an angle to the current,
and swung to one side or the other; just as a ferry is headed into
the current, the water itself helping to force it across. The ferry
is held by a cable; the boat, by the oarsman; the results are quite
similar.
The boats, too, were somewhat unusual in design, having been
carefully worked out by Galloway after much experience with the
problem, and after building many boats. He finally settled on the
design furnished us by Mr. Stone. The flat bottom, sloping up from
the centre to either end, placed the boats on a pivot one might say,
so that they could be turned very quickly, much more quickly than if
they had had a keel. There was a four-foot skag or keel under the
stern end of the boat, but this was only used when in quiet water;
and as it was never replaced after being once removed we seldom refer
to it. Being flat-bottomed, they drew comparatively little water, a
matter quite important on low water such as we found in the Green
River. While each boat carried a weight of seven hundred pounds in
addition to its own five hundred pounds, they often passed over rocks
less than ten inches below the surface, and did so without touching.
While the boats were quite large, the arched decks made them look
even larger. A considerable amount of material could be stored under
these decks. The only part of the boat that was entirely open or
unprotected from the waves was the cockpit, or mid-section occupied
by the oarsman. This was only large enough for one man. A second man
had to sit on the deck behind the oarsman, with his feet hanging
into the cockpit. Jimmy occupied this place of honour as we drifted
through the placid water; first on one boat, then on the other,
entertaining us meanwhile with his songs.
We encountered two splashy little rapids this day, but with no rocks,
or any dangerous feature whatever. Any method, or none at all, was
safe enough in these rapids.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
INSIDE OF THE FIRST CANYONS.]
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
TILTED ROCKS AT KINGFISHER CANYON.]
The colouring of the rocks changed as we proceeded, and at the lower
end of the short canyon we saw the flaming patch of colour that
had suggested its name to Major Powell, forty-two years before.
Intensified on that occasion by the reflected light of a gorgeous
sunset, it must have been a most brilliant spectacle.
Two beavers slid into the water when we were close beside them, then
rose to the surface to stare curiously when we had passed. We left
them undisturbed. Some geese decoyed us into an attempt to ambush
them, but they kept always just out of reach of our guns. Wise
fellows, those geese!
A geological fault accompanied by the breaking down of the walls
marks the division between Flaming Gorge and Horseshoe Canyon, which
immediately follows. We nooned here, opposite a deserted cabin. A
trail dropped by easy stages over the slope on the east side; and
fresh tracks showed that sheep had recently been driven down to the
water’s edge.
Passing through Horseshoe,--another very short canyon,--we found
deep, placid pools, and sheer, light red walls rising about four
hundred feet on either side, then sloping back steeply to the
tree-covered mountains. In the middle of this canyon Emery was
startled out of a day-dream by a rock falling into the water close
beside him, with never a sound of warning. Years spent in the
canyons had accustomed Emery and me to such occurrences; but Jimmy,
unused to great gorges and towering cliffs, was much impressed by
this incident. After all, it is only the unusual that is terrible.
Jimmy was ready enough to take his chances at dodging bricks hurled
by a San Francisco earthquake, but never got quite used to rocks
descending from a source altogether out of sight. Small wonder, after
all! Later we were to experience more of this thing, and on a scale
to startle a stoic!
We halted at the end of Horseshoe, early in the afternoon of
September 14, 1911, one week out from Green River City. Camp No. 6
was pitched on a gravelly shore beside Sheep Creek, a clear sparkling
stream, coming in from the slopes of the Uintah range. Just above
us, on the west, rose three jagged cliffs, about five hundred feet
high, reminding one by their shape of the Three Brothers of Yosemite
Valley. Here, again, we were treated to another wonderful example of
geologic displacement, the rocks of Horseshoe Canyon lying in level
strata; while those of Kingfisher, which followed, were standing on
end. Sheep Creek, flowing from the west, finds an easy course through
the fault, at the division of the canyons. The balance of this day
was spent in carefully packing our material and rearranging it in our
boats, for we expected hard work to follow.
Tempted by the rippling song of the brook, and by tales of fish to
be found therein, we spent two hours fishing from its banks on the
morning of the 15th. But the foliage of overhanging trees and shrubs
was dense, making it difficult to cast our lines, or even to climb
along its shores, and our small catch of two trout, which were fried
with a strip of bacon to add flavour, only whetted our appetites for
more.
It was a little late in the season for many birds. Here in Kingfisher
Canyon were a few of the fish-catching birds from which the canyon
took its name. There were many of the tireless cliff-swallows
scattered all through these canyons, wheeling and darting, ever
on the wing. These, with the noisy crested jays, an occasional
“camp-robber,” the little nuthatches, the cheerful canyon wren
with his rollicking song, the happy water-ousel, “kill-deer,” and
road-runners and the water birds,--ducks, geese, and mud-hens, with
an occasional crane,--made up the bird life seen in the open country
and in these upper canyons. Earlier in the season it must be a bird’s
paradise, for berries and seeds would then be plentiful.
We resumed our journey at 10 A.M., a very short run bringing us
to the end of Kingfisher Canyon. The three canyons passed through
approximate hardly more than ten miles in length, different names
being given for geological reasons, as they really form only one
canyon. The walls at the end were broken down, and brilliantly
tinted talus of many hues covered the slopes, the different colours
intermingling near the bottom. The canyon-walled river turned
southeast here, and continued in this general direction for many
miles, but with many twists and turns.
We had previously been informed that Red Canyon, the next to follow,
while not considered bad when compared to others, gave one the
experience most necessary to combat the rapids farther down. It was
not without danger, however, as a review of previous expeditions
showed: some had lost their lives, still others, their boats; and one
of Major Powell’s parties had upset a boat in a Red Canyon rapid.
The stage of water was so different on these previous attempts that
their experiences were of little value to us one way or the other. A
reference to pictures taken by two of these parties showed us there
was considerable more water when they went through--six, and even
eight feet higher in places. Possibly this would be the best stage
on which to make the voyage in heavy boats. The unfortunate ones had
taken the spring rise, or flood water, with disastrous results to
themselves or their boats.
We soon found that our passage was to be hard on account of having
too little water. In the quiet water above we had been seldom
bothered with shoals; but now that we were in swifter water, there
was scarcely any depth to it at all, except in the quiet pools
between the rapids.
For a description of our passage through this upper end of Red Canyon
we refer to our journal: sketchy notes jotted down, usually in the
evening just before retiring, by the light of a camp-fire, or the
flickering flame of a candle. Under the date of Friday, September the
15th, we find the following:
“End of Kingfisher: long, quiet pools and shoals where we grounded a
few times; several small, splashy rapids; then a larger one near an
old boat landing. Looked the rapid over from the shore. Jim remained
at the lower end with a life-preserver on a rope, while we ran the
rapid. Struck one or two rocks, lightly; but made the run in safety.”
“At the third rapid we saw some geese--but they got away. At noon
we ate a cold lunch and because of the low water removed the skags,
carrying them in the cockpit. The scenery in upper Red Canyon is
impressive: pines and fir come down on the sloping sides to the
river’s edge; the rocks are reddish brown in colour, often broken
in squares, and looking like great building blocks piled one upon
another. The canyon is about fifteen hundred feet deep; the river is
clear again, and averages about two hundred feet in width. We have
seen a few deer tracks, but have not seen any deer. We also saw some
jumping trout in a splashy little rapid. Doubtless they came from a
little creek, close by, for we never heard of trout being found in
the Green River.”
“We made a motion picture, while dropping our boats down with lines,
over the first rapid we considered bad. Emery remained in the boats,
keeping clear of the rocks with a pole. Powell’s second party records
an upset here.” We passed Kettle Creek about 5 P.M. In the fifth
rapid below Kettle Creek I got on the wrong side of the river and
was carried into a very rocky rapid--the worst so far encountered. I
touched a rock or two at the start, but made the run in safety; while
Emery ran the opposite side without trouble. We camped beside a small
stream on the south, where there were signs of an old camp.”
“_Saturday, September 16_. Clear and cold in the early morning.
Started about 9 A.M. Lined our boats past a difficult rapid. Too many
rocks, not enough water. Two or three miles below this I had some
difficulty in a rapid, as the pin of a rowlock lifted out of the
socket when in the middle of rough water. Emery snapped a picture
just as it happened. A little later E. C.[2] ran a rocky rapid, but
had so much trouble that we concluded to line my boat. Noon. Just a
cold lunch, but with hot coffee from the vacuum bottles. Then at it
again.”
“The scenery is wonderful; the canyon is deeper than above; the river
is swift and has a decided drop. We proceed cautiously, and make slow
progress. We camp for the day on the north side close to a little,
dry gully, on a level sage and bunch-grass covered bottom back from
the river’s edge. An abruptly descending canyon banked with small
cottonwood trees coming in from the opposite side contains a small
stream. Put up our tent for the second time since leaving Green
River, Wyoming. We are all weary, and glad to-morrow is Sunday--a day
of rest.”
“_Sunday, September 17._ E. C. and I follow a fresh deer track up a
game trail and get--a rabbit. Climb out about 1300 feet above the
river to the top of the narrow canyon. Here is a sloping plateau,
dotted with bunch-grass and grease-wood, a fourth of a mile wide.
Then rounded mountains rise beyond the plateau, some of the peaks
reaching a height of 4000 feet above the river. The opposite side is
much the same, but with a wider plateau. We had no idea before what a
wonderful country this is. It is a picture to tempt an artist. High
on the mountain tops is the dark blue-green of pines and firs, reds
and yellows are mixed in the quaking aspen,--for the frost comes
early enough to catch the sap in the leaves; little openings, or
parks with no trees, are tinted a beautiful soft gray; ‘brownstone
fronts’ are found in the canyon walls; and a very light green in
the willow-leafed cottonwoods at the river’s edge, and in all side
canyons where there is a running stream. The river glistens in the
sunlight, as it winds around the base of the wall on which we stand,
and then disappears around a bend in the canyon. Turn where we will,
we see no sign of an opening, nothing but the rounded tops of wooded
mountains, red and green, far as the eye can reach, until they
disappear in the hazy blue. Finally Emery’s keen eyes, aided by the
binoculars, discover a log cabin at the foot of a mountain, on the
plateau opposite us, about three miles away.”
“We hurry back to camp and write some letters; then Jim and I cross
the river and climb out over the rocky walls to the plateau above. In
two hours we reach the cabin. It is new--not yet finished. A woman
and four children are looking over a garden when we arrive. They are
a little frightened at first, but soon recover. The woman gladly
promises to take out our mail when they go to the nearest town,
which happens to be Vernal, Utah, forty-five miles away. Three other
families live near by, all recently moved in from Vernal. The woman
tells us that Galloway hunts bear in these timbered mountains, and
has killed some with a price on their heads--bear with a perverted
taste for fresh beef.”[3]
“Thanking the woman, we make our way back to the river. We see some
dried-out elk horns along our trail; though it is doubtful if elk
get this far south at present. A deer trail, leading down a ravine,
makes our homeward journey much easier. It has turned quite cold this
evening, after sunset. We finish our notes and prepare to roll into
our beds a little earlier than usual.”