AN INLAND EXCURSION
Jensen was a small village with two stores and a post-office. A few
scattered houses completed the village proper, but prosperous-looking
ranches spread out on the lowland for two or three miles in all
directions on the west side of the river. Avenues of poplar trees,
fruit trees, and fields of alfalfa gave these ranches a different
appearance from any others we had passed.
We found some mail awaiting us at the post-office, and were soon
busily engaged in reading the news from home. We conversed awhile
with the few people at the hotel, then retired, but first made
arrangements for saddle horses for the ride to Vernal.
Next morning we found two spirited animals, saddled and waiting for
us. We had some misgivings concerning these horses, but were assured
that they were “all right.” A group of grinning cowboys and ranch
hands craning their necks from a barn, a hundred yards distant,
rather inclined us to think that perhaps our informant might be
mistaken. Nothing is more amusing to these men of the range than to
see a man thrown from his horse, and a horse that is “all right” for
one of them might be anything else to persons such as we who never
rode anything except gentle horses, and rode those indifferently. We
mounted quickly though, trying to appear unconcerned. The horses,
much to our relief, behaved quite well, Emery’s mount rearing back on
his hind legs but not bucking. After that, all went smoothly.
Leaving the irrigated ranches on the bottom lands, we ascended a low,
rolling mesa, composed of gravel and clay, unwatered and unfertile,
from which we caught occasional glimpses of the mountains and the
gorge from which we had emerged, their brilliant colours softened
and beautified by that swimming blue haze which belongs to this
plateau region. Then we rode down into the beautiful Ashley Valley,
watered by Ashley Creek, a good-sized stream even after it was used
to irrigate all the country for miles above. The valley was several
miles wide. The stream emptied into the river about a mile below
Jensen. All parts of the valley were under cultivation. It is famous
for its splendid deciduous fruits, apples, pears, peaches; splendid
both in appearance and flavour. It excelled not only in fruits,
however, but in all products of the field as well. “Vernal honey,”
which is marketed far and near, has a reputation for fine flavour
wherever it is known. A thick growth of the bee-blossom or bee-weed
crowded the road sides and hugged the fences. The fragrance of
the flower can easily be noticed in the sweetness of the honey. The
pity of it was that bushels of fruit lay rotting on the ground, for
there were no transportation facilities, the nearest railroad being
90 miles distant. There were stock ranches too, with blooded stock in
the fence-enclosed fields. Some of the splendid horses paced along
beside us on the other side of the fence. We heard the rippling song
of some meadow-larks this day, the only birds of this species we
remember having seen on the Western plateaus.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
PAT LYNCH: THE CANYON HERMIT.]
All these ranches were laid out in true Mormon style, that is,
squared off in sections, fenced, and planted with shade-trees
before being worked. The roads are usually wide and the streets
exceptionally so. Except in the business streets, a large garden
usually surrounds the home building, each family endeavouring to
raise all their own vegetables, fruits, and poultry. They usually
succeed.
The shade trees about Vernal were Lombardy poplars. They attained a
height that would give ample shade under most conditions, and too
much when we were there, for the roads were very muddy, although they
had dried in all other sections. Nearing Vernal, we passed Nathan
Galloway’s home, a cozy place set back some distance from the road.
We had hoped to meet Galloway and have an opportunity of talking over
his experiences with him, but found he was absent on a hunting trip,
in fact was up in the mountains we had come through.
On nearing the town we were greeted by a busy scene. Numerous wagons
and horses stood in squares reserved for that purpose, or were tied
to hitching posts in front of the many stores. Ranchers and their
families were everywhere in evidence; there were numerous prospectors
in their high-topped boots just returning from the mountains, and oil
men in similar garb, muddy from head to foot. Later we learned that
oil had recently been discovered about forty miles distant, this fact
accounting for much of the activity.
The town itself was a surprise; we found it to be very much
up-to-date considering its isolated position. Two of the streets were
paved and oiled and were supplied with drinking fountains. There were
two prosperous looking banks, two well-stocked and up-to-date drug
stores, several mercantile stores, and many others, all busy. Many of
the buildings were of brick; all were substantial.
Near a hotel we observed a group of men surrounding some one who was
evidently keeping them interested. On approaching them we found it
was Jimmy, giving a graphic description of some of our difficulties.
His story was not finished, for he saw us and ran to greet us, as
pleased to see us as we were to see him. He had little idea we would
be along for two or three days and naturally was much surprised.
On entering the hotel we were greeted by an old Grand Canyon friend,
a civil engineer named Duff, who with a crew of men had been mapping
the mountains near Whirlpool Canyon. You can imagine that it was a
gratifying surprise to all concerned to find we were not altogether
among strangers, though they were as hospitable as strangers could
be. The hotel was a lively place that night. There was some musical
talent among Duff’s men, and Duff himself was an artist on the piano.
Many of the young people of the town had dropped in that evening,
as some one had passed the word that there might be an impromptu
entertainment at the hotel. There was. Duff played and the boys sang.
Jimmy was himself again and added his rich baritone. The town itself
was not without musical talent, and altogether it was a restful
change for us.
Perhaps we should have felt even better if we had been dressed
differently, for we wore much the same clothes as those in which we
did our work on the river--a woollen shirt and overalls. Besides,
neither Emery nor I had shaved since starting, and it is quite likely
that we looked just a little uncouth. Appearances count for little
with these people in the little-settled districts, and it is a
common enough sight to them to see men dressed as we were. They did
everything they could to make us feel at ease. As one person remarked,
“The wealthiest cattle man, or the owner of the richest mine in the
country, usually looks worse than all others after a month on the
range or in the hills.”
If wealth were indicated on an inverse ratio to one’s good
appearance, we should have been very wealthy indeed. We felt as if it
would take us a week to get rested and lost little time in getting
to bed when the party broke up. We imagine most of the residents of
Vernal were Mormons. It is part of their creed to give “the stranger
within their gates” a cordial welcome. This however, was accorded to
us, not only among the Mormons, but in every section of our journey
on the Green and Colorado rivers.
The following day was a busy one. Arrangements had been made with a
local photographer to get the use of his dark room, and we proceeded
to develop all plates and many of our films. These were then to be
packed and shipped out. We were informed at the local express office,
that it might be some time before they would go, as the recent rains
had been very bad in Colorado and had washed out most of the bridges.
Vernal had passenger transportation to the railway--a branch of the
D. & R. G. running north into Colorado--by automobile, the route
lying across the Green and also across the White River, a tributary
to the Green. A steel structure had been washed away on the White
River, making it impossible to get through to the station. The high
water below here must have been a flood, judging from all reports.
About ten bridges, large and small, were reported as being washed
away on numerous branch streams leading into the Green River.
Fortunately Vernal had another means of communication. This was a
stage running southwest from Vernal, over 125 miles of rough road to
Price, Utah--Price being a station on the main line of the D. & R. G.
Jimmy concluded that he would take this road, in preference to the
uncertainties of the other route, and noon that day found him on
board the stage. He promised to write to us, and was anxious to hear
of our success, but remarked that when he once got home he would
“never leave San Francisco again.” There was a final hand clasp, a
cheer from the small group of men, and the stage drove away with
Jimmy, a happy boy indeed.
Our work on the developing progressed well, and with very satisfying
results on the whole, and that evening found us with all plates
packed ready for shipment to our home. The moving-picture film was
also packed and shipped to be developed at once. This was quite a
load off our minds.
The following day we prepared to depart, but did not leave until the
afternoon. Then, with promises to let them know the outcome of our
venture, we parted from our friends and rode back to Jensen.
We planned on leaving the following morning. The river had fallen one
foot since we had landed, and we were anxious to have the benefit of
the high water. We were told that it was six feet above the low-water
stage of two weeks before.
On Monday, October the 9th, after loading our boat with a new stock
of provisions,--in which was included a few jars of honey, and a few
dozen of eggs, packed in sawdust,--we began what might be called
the second stage of our journey; the 175-mile run to Blake or Green
River, Utah, a little west of south from Jensen. Ten miles below
Jensen was a ferry used by the auto and wagons. Here also was a
ranch house, with a number of people in the yard. We were invited to
land and did so. They had been informed by telephone of our coming
and were looking for us; indeed they had even prepared dinner for
us, hoping we would reach there in time. Not knowing all this, we
had eaten our cold lunch half an hour before. The women were busy
preserving fruits and garden truck, and insisted on us taking two or
three jars along. This was a welcome change to the dried fruit, which
was one of our principal foods. These people made the usual request--
“Drop us a post card if you get through.”
The memory of these people that we met on this journey will linger
with us as long as we live. They were always anxious to help us or
cheer us on our way.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
EACH BED WAS PLACED IN A RUBBER AND A CANVAS SACK. PHOTO TAKEN IN
MARBLE CANYON.]
We passed a dredge that evening and saw a man at work with a team
and scoop shovel, the method being to scoop up the gravel and
sand, then dump it in an iron car. This was then pulled by the horses
to the top of a derrick up a sloping track and dumped. A stream of
water pumped up from the river mixed with the gravel, the entire mass
descended a long zigzagging chute. We paused a few minutes only and
did not examine the complicated process of separating the mineral
from the gravel. This dredge had been recently installed. We camped
early, half a mile below the dredge.
Emery had been feeling poorly all this day. He blamed his
indisposition to having eaten too many good things when in Vernal--a
break in training, as it were. This was our excuse for a short run
that day. I played nurse and gave him some simple remedy from the
little supply that we carried; and, after he was in his sleeping bag,
I filled some hot-water bags for the first time on the trip, and soon
had him feeling quite comfortable.
A hard wind came up that night, and a little rain fell. I had a busy
half-hour keeping our camp from being blown away. The storm was
of short duration, and all was soon quiet again. On the following
morning Emery felt so good that I had a hard time in keeping up with
him and I wondered if he would ever stop. Towards evening, after a
long pull, we neared the reservation of the Uinta Utes, and saw a few
Indians camped away from the river. Here, again, were the cottonwood
bottoms, banked by the barren, gravelly hills. We had been informed
that there was a settlement called Ouray, some distance down the
river, and we were anxious to reach it before night. But the river
was sluggish, with devious and twisting channels, and it was dark
when we finally landed at the Ouray ferry.