JIMMY GOES OVER THE MOUNTAIN
The Yampa, or Bear River, was a welcome sight to us in spite of its
disagreeable whitish yellow, clay colour; quite different from the
red water of the Green River. The new stream meant more water in the
channel, something we needed badly, as our past tribulations showed.
The recent rise on the Green had subsided a little, but we now had a
much higher stage than when we entered Lodore. Quite likely the new
conditions gave us six feet of water above the low water on which we
had been travelling. Would it increase or diminish our dangers? We
were willing, Emery and I, even anxious, to risk our chances on the
higher water.
Directly opposite the Yampa, the right shore of the Green went up
sheer about 700 feet high, indeed it seemed to overhang a trifle.
This had been named Echo Cliffs by Powell’s party. The cliffs gave a
remarkable echo, repeating seven words plainly when shouted from the
edge of the Yampa a hundred yards away, and would doubtless repeat
more if shouted from the farther shore of the Yampa. Echo Cliffs,
we found, were in the form of a peninsula and terminated just below
this point where we stood, the river doubling back on the other side
of the cliff. On the left side of the river, the walls fell back,
leaving a flat, level space of about twenty-five acres. Here was a
little ranch of which Mrs. Chew had told us. The Chew ranch lay back
from the river on top of the cliffs. We found no one at home here at
this first ranch, but there was evidence of recent habitation. There
were a few peach trees, and a small garden, while beyond this were
two buildings,--little shacks in a dilapidated condition. The doors
were off their hinges and leaned against the building, a few logs
being placed against the doors. Past the dooryard, coming out of a
small canyon above the ranch, ran a little brook; up this canyon was
a trail, the outlet to the ranch above. We camped near the mouth of
the stream.
It had been agreed upon the night before, that we should endeavour
to make arrangements to have Jimmy taken out on horseback over the
mountains. Before looking for the ranch, however, we asked him if he
did not wish to reconsider his decision to leave here. We pointed
out that Jensen, Utah, was only fifty miles away, half that distance
being in quiet water, and that the worst canyon was behind us. But
he said he had enough of the river and preferred to see what could
be done. While I busied myself about camp, he and Emery left for the
ranch.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
ECHO CLIFFS. “THIS WAS THE END OF LODORE.”]
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
END OF ECHO CLIFFS. THE MOUTH OF THE YAMPA RIVER IS ON THE RIGHT.]
About seven o’clock that evening they returned in great spirits.
They had found the ranch without any trouble nearly three miles from
our camp. Mrs. Chew was there and gave them a hearty welcome. She
had often wondered what had become of us. She invited the boys to
remain for supper, which they did. They talked over the matter of
transportation for Jimmy. As luck would have it, Mrs. Chew was going
to drive over to Jensen, and Vernal, Utah, in two days’ time, and
agreed to take Jimmy along.
Early the next morning two boys, one about fourteen years old the
other a little older, rode down from the ranch. Some of their horses
were pastured across the river and they had come after these. After
a short visit they got into the _Edith_ with Emery and prepared to
cross over to the pasture, which was a mile or more downstream. They
were soon out of our sight. Jimmy and I remained at the camp, taking
pictures, packing his belongings, and finding many odd jobs to be
done. In about three hours the boys returned with their horses. The
horses were quite gentle, and they had no difficulty in swimming them
across. A young colt, too feeble to swim, placed its fore feet on its
mother’s flanks and was ferried across in that way. Then they were
driven over a narrow trail skirting the cliff, 300 feet above the
river. No one, looking from the river, would have imagined that any
trail, over which horses could be driven, existed.
The boys informed us that we were expected at the ranch for dinner,
and would listen to no refusal so up we went, although we would have
to make a second trip that day. The view of the ranch was another of
those wonderful scenic changes which we were to meet with everywhere
in this region. The flat on which we stood was simply a pocket, shut
in by the round-domed mountains, with a pass, or an opening, to the
east side. A small stream ran down a mountain side, spreading over
the rocks, and glistening in the sunlight. This same stream passed
the ranch, and ran on down through the narrow canyon up which we had
come. The ranch itself was refreshing. The buildings were new, some
were under construction; but there was considerable ground under
cultivation. Cattle were scattered up the valley, or dotted the rocky
slopes below the mountains. A wild spot this, on the borderland of
the three states. None but people of fortitude, or even of daring,
would think of taking up a homestead in this secluded spot. The same
rumours of the escaped prisoners had drifted in here. It was Mr. Chew
who gave us the information we have previously quoted concerning the
murdered man. He had found the body in the boat, in front of the
post-office. He further stated that others in the mountains would not
hesitate at anything to drive out those who were trying to improve
a homestead as he was doing, and that it was a common event to find
the carcasses of his own horses or cattle which had been ruthlessly
slaughtered. This was the reason for putting the horses across the
river. There they were safe, for none could approach them save by
going past the ranch, or coming through Lodore Canyon.
Mr. Chew also told us of the Snyders, who had lost their boat in
upper Lodore Canyon, and of how he had given them a horse and
provisions to aid them in reaching the settlements. This did not
prevent the elder Snyder from coming back to trap the next year, much
to Mr. Chew’s disgust. He thought one experience should be enough for
any man.
While we were talking, a very old, bearded man rode in on a horse.
He was Pat Lynch, the owner of the little ranch by the river. He was
a real old-timer, having been in Brown’s Park when Major Powell was
surveying that section of the country. He told us that he had been
hired to get some meat for the party, and had killed five mountain
sheep. He was so old that he scarcely knew what he was talking about,
rambling from one subject to another; and would have us listening
with impatience to hear the end of some wonderful tale of the early
days, when he would suddenly switch off on to an entirely different
subject, leaving the first unfinished.
In spite of his years he was quite active, having broken the horses
on which he rode, bareback, without assistance. We were told that he
placed a spring or trap gun in his houses at the river, ready to
greet any prying marauder. The last we saw of him he was on his way to
the post-office, miles away, to draw his pension for service in the
Civil War.
Returning to the transportation of Jimmy, it was settled that the
Chews were to leave early the next morning. They also agreed to take
out our exposed films and plate for us--something we had not counted
on, but too good a chance to lose. We all three returned to the boats
and packed the stuff that was to go out; then went back to the ranch
with Jimmy. It was late--after midnight--when we reached there, and
we did not disturb any one. Jimmy’s blankets were unrolled in the
wagon, so there would be no question about his going out. He was
to go to Jensen, or Vernal, and there await us, keeping our films
until we arrived. We knew they were in good hands. It was with some
difficulty that we found our way back to our camp. The trail was
difficult and it was pitch dark. My boat had been taken down to where
Emery left the _Edith_ when the horses were driven across, and this
extra distance was added to our walk.
[Illustration: MARVELS OF EROSION.]
We were laggard the next morning, and in no hurry to resume our
work. We rearranged our loads in the boats; with one less man and
considerable less baggage as well, they were lighter by far. Our
chances looked much more favourable for an easier passage. Not only
were these things in our favour, but in addition we felt that
we had served our apprenticeship at navigation in rapid water, and
we were just as capable of meeting the rapids to follow as if we
had years of experience to our record. On summing up we found that
the river had dropped 1000 feet since leaving Green River, Wyoming,
and that 5000 feet remained, to put us on a level with the ocean.
Our difficulties would depend, of course, on how this fall was
distributed. Most of the fall behind was found in Lodore and Red
canyons. It was doubtful indeed if any section would have a more
rapid fall than Lodore Canyon.
There is a certain verse of wisdom which says that “Pride goeth
before a fall,” but perhaps it was just as well for us if we were a
little bit elated by our past achievements as long as we had to go
through with the balance of our self-imposed task. Confidence, in
a proper degree, is a great help when real difficulties have to be
surmounted. We were full of confidence that day when we pulled away
about noon into Whirlpool Canyon, Whirlpool Canyon being next on the
list. The camp we were about to leave was directly opposite Lodore
Canyon, where it ran against the upended cliff. The gorgeous colours
were the same as those on the opposite side, and, to a certain
degree, were also found in Whirlpool Canyon.
Our two and a half hours’ dash through the fourteen miles of rapid
water in Whirlpool Canyon put us in a joyful frame of mind. Rapid
after rapid was left behind us without a pause in our rowing, with
only a hasty survey standing on the deck of the boats before going
over. Others that were free from rocks were rowed in bow first, the
big waves breaking over our boats and ourselves. We bailed while
drifting in the quiet stretches, then got ready for the next rapids.
Two large rapids only were looked over from the shore and these were
run in the same manner. We could hardly believe it was true when
we emerged from the mountain so quickly into a little flat park or
valley sheltered in the hills. This was Island or Rainbow Park,
the latter name being suggested by the brilliant colouring of the
rocks, in the mountains to our left. Perhaps the form of the rocks
themselves helped a little, for here was one end of the rainbow of
rock which began on the other side of the mountains. Jagged-edged
canyons looking almost as if their sides had been rent asunder came
out of these mountains. There was very little dark red here except
away on top, 2300 feet above, where a covering of pines made a soft
background for light-cream and gorgeous yellow-coloured pinnacles,
or rocky walls of pink and purple and delicate shades of various
hues. Large cottonwoods appeared again along the river banks, in
brilliant autumn colours, adding to the beauties of the scene.
Back from the river, to the west, stretched the level park, well
covered with bunch-grass on which some cattle grazed, an occasional
small prickly pear cactus, and the ever present, pungent sage.
Verdure-covered islands dotted the course of the stream, which was
quiet and sluggish, doubling back and forth like a serpent over many
a useless mile. Nine miles of rowing brought us back to a point about
three miles from the mouth of Whirlpool Canyon; where the river
again enters the mountain, deliberately choosing this course to one,
unobstructed for several miles, to the right.
The next gorge was Split Mountain Canyon, so named because the stream
divided the ridge length-wise, from one end to the other. It was
short, only nine miles long, with a depth of 2700 feet in the centre
of the canyon. Three miles of the nine were put behind us before we
camped that evening. These were run in the same manner as the rapids
of Whirlpool, scarcely pausing to look them over, but these rapids
were bigger, much bigger. One we thought was just formed or at least
increased in size by a great slide of rock that had fallen since the
recent rains. We just escaped trouble in this rapid, both boats going
over a large rock with a great cresting wave below, and followed
by a very rough rapid. Emery was standing on top of a fifteen-foot
rock below the rapid when I went over, and for a few moments could
see nothing of my boat, hardly believing it possible that I had come
through without a scratch. These rapids with the high water looked
more like rapids we had seen in the Grand Canyon, and were very
unlike the shallow water of a week previous. We had only travelled
a half day, but felt as if it had been a very complete day when we
camped at the foot of a rock slide on the right, just above another
big rapid.
On Thursday, October 5, Camp No. 20 was left behind. The rapid below
the camp was big, big enough for a moving picture, so we took each
other in turns as we ran the rapid. More rapids followed, but these
were not so large. A few sharp-pointed spires of tinted rock lifted
above us a thousand feet or more. Framed in with the branches of the
near-by cottonwood trees, they made a charming picture. Less than
three hours brought us to the end of Split Mountain Canyon, and the
last bad water we were to have for some time. Just before leaving
the canyon, we came to some curious grottos, or alcoves, under the
rock walls on the left shore. The river has cut into these until they
overhang, some of them twenty-five feet or over. In one of these was
a beaver lying on a pile of floating sticks. Although we passed quite
close, the beaver never moved, and we did not molest it.
Another shower greeted us as we emerged into the Uinta Valley as it
is called by the Ute Indians. This valley is eighty-seven miles long.
It did not have the fertileness of Brown’s Park, being raised in bare
rolling hills, runnelled and gullied by the elements. The water was
quiet here, and hard rowing was necessary to make any progress. We
had gone about seven miles when we spied a large placer dredge close
to the river. To the uninitiated this dredge would look much like a
dredging steamboat out of water, but digging its own channel, which
is what it really does.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
“HERE WAS ONE END OF THE RAINBOW OF ROCK WHICH BEGAN ON THE OTHER
SIDE OF THE MOUNTAINS.”]
Great beds of gravel lay on either side of the river and placer gold
in large or small quantities, but usually the latter is likely to
exist in these beds. When a dredge like the one found here is to
be installed, an opening is made in the river’s bank leading to an
excavation which has been made, then a large flatboat is floated in
this. The dredging machinery is on this float, as well as most of the
machinery through which the gravel is passed accompanied by a stream
of water; then with quicksilver and rockers of various designs, the
gold is separated from the gravel and sand.
Numerous small buildings were standing near the dredge, but the
buildings were empty, and the dredge lay idle. We saw many fresh
tracks of men and horses and were welcomed by a sleek, well-fed
cat, but found the place was deserted. All buildings were open and
in one was a telephone. We were anxious to hear just where we were,
so we used the telephone and explained what we wanted to know. The
“Central” informed us that we were about nine miles from Jensen, so
we returned to the boats and pulled with a will through a land that
was no longer barren, but with cozy ranch houses, surrounded by rows
of stately poplars, bending with the wind, for it was storming in
earnest now. About six o’clock that evening we caught sight of the
top of the Jensen bridge; then, as we neared the village, the sun
broke through the pall of cloud and mist, and a rainbow appeared in
the sky above, and was mirrored in the swollen stream, rainbow and
replica combined nearly completing the wondrous arc. There was a
small inn beside the bridge, and arrangements were made for staying
there that night. We were told that Jim and Mrs. Chew had passed
through Jensen about four hours before we arrived. They had left word
that they would go on through to Vernal, fifteen miles distant from
the river.