CANYON OF DESOLATION
Ouray, Utah, consisted of a large store to supply the wants of the
Indians and ranchers, a small hotel, and a few dwellings. The agency
proper was located some distance up the Uinta River, which stream
emptied into the Green, just below Ouray.
Supper was taken at the hotel, after which we visited a young man in
charge of the store, looking over his curios and listening to tales
of his life here among these Indians. They were peaceable enough now,
but in years gone by were a danger to be reckoned with. We slept in
our own beds close to our boats by the river.
The following morning, when we were ready to leave, a small crowd
gathered, a few Indians among them. Most of the Indians were big,
fat, and sleepy-looking. Apparently they enjoyed the care of the
government. A mile below we passed several squaws and numerous
children under some trees, while on a high mound stood a lone buck
Indian looking at us as we sped by, but without a single movement
that we could see. He still stood there as we passed from sight a
mile below. It might be interesting if one could know just what was
in his mind as he watched us.
A mile below the Uinta River, which entered on the west, we passed
another stream, the White River, entering from the east, the two
streams adding considerable water to the Green River. We passed
another idle dredge, also some mineral workings in tunnels, and saw
two men camped on the shore beside them. We saw numerous Indian
carvings on the rocks, but judged they were recent because horses
figured in most of them. In all the open country the river was
fringed with large cottonwood trees, alders and willow thickets. A
number of islands followed, one of them very symmetrical in shape,
with cottonwood trees in the centre, while around the edge ran a
fringe of bushes looking almost like a trimmed hedge. The autumn
colouring added to its beauty. The hedge, as we called it, was
dark red, brown, yellow, and green; the cottonwoods were a light
yellow. After we had passed this island, a deer, confused by our
voices, jumped into the river fifty yards behind us, leaping and
swimming as he made for the shore. We had no gun, but Emery had
the moving-picture camera at hand, and turned it on the deer. The
hour was late, however, and we had little hopes of its success as a
picture. The country back from the river stretched in rolling, barren
hills 200 or 300 feet high--a continuation of the Bad Lands of Utah,
which lay off to the west.
With the next day’s travel the hills lost some of their barren
appearance. Some cattle were seen early in the afternoon of the
following day. We passed a cattle man working at a ferry, who had
just taken some stock across, which other men had driven on ahead. He
was busy, so we did not interrupt him, merely calling to him from the
boats, drifting meanwhile with the current. Soon we saw him riding
down the shore and waited for him to catch up. He invited us to camp
with him that evening, remarking that he had “just killed a beef.” We
thanked him, but declined, as it was early and we had only travelled
a short distance that day. We chatted awhile, and he told us to look
out for rapids ahead. He was rather surprised when he learned that we
had started at Green River, Wyoming, and had already come through a
few rapids.
“Where are you going to stop?” he then asked.
On being told that our destination was Needles, California, he threw
up his hands with an expressive gesture, then added soberly, “Well,
boys, I sure wish you luck,” and rode back to his camp.
We had difficulty in making a suitable landing that evening, as
the high water had deposited great quantities of black mud over
everything, making it very disagreeable when we left the boats. We
finally found a place with less mud to wade through than on most of
the banks seen, and tied up to the roots of a tree.
While lying in our beds that night looking at the starlit sky--such
a sky as is found only on these high plateaus--we discovered a comet
directly above us. An astronomer would have enjoyed our opportunities
for observing the heavens. No doubt this comet had been heralded far
and wide, but we doubt if any one saw it to better advantage than did
we.
Later, some coyotes, possibly in chase of a rabbit, gave vent to
their yodeling cry, and awakened us from a sound sleep. They were in
a little lateral canyon, which magnified and gave a weird, organ-like
echo to their calls long after the coyotes themselves had passed from
hearing.
The nights were getting warmer as we travelled south, but not so warm
that we were bothered with insects. The same reason accounted for the
absence of snakes or scorpions, for no doubt there were plenty of
both in warm weather in this dry country. When there was no wind, the
silence of the nights was impressive, with no sound save the lapping
of the water against the banks. Sometimes a bird in the trees above
would start up with a twitter, then quiet down again. On occasions
the air chambers in our boats would contract on cooling off, making
a noise like the boom of a distant gun, every little sound being
magnified by the utter stillness of the night.
There were other times when it was not so quiet. Hundreds of birds,
geese, ducks and mud-hens had been seen the last few days. Also there
were occasional cranes and herons, over a thousand miles from their
breeding place at the mouth of the Colorado. As dusk settled, we
would see these birds abandon their feeding in the mud, and line up
on the shore, or on an island, and go to sleep. Occasionally one of
these birds would start up out of a sound sleep with an unearthly
squawk. Possibly an otter had interrupted its dreams, or a fox had
pounced on one as it slept. It may be that it was only a bad dream
of these enemies that caused their fright, but whatever it was, that
first call would start up the entire flock and they would circle in
confusion like a stampeded herd of cattle, their discordant cries
putting an end to the stillness of the night. Finally they would
settle down in a new spot, and all would be quiet once more.
We saw a few birds that were strangers to us,--water birds which we
imagined belonged to the salt water rather than the inland streams,
making a little excursion, perhaps, away from their accustomed
haunts. One type we saw on two occasions, much like a gull, but
smaller, pure white as far as we could tell, soaring in graceful
flight above the river.
Camp No. 26 was close to the beginning of a new canyon. The country
had been changing in appearance from rather flat plains to small
bare hills, gradually increasing in height with smooth, rounded
sides, and going up to a point, usually of a dirty clay colour, with
little vegetation of any kind on them. The river for miles past had
swept in long graceful curves, the hills being close to the river on
the outside of the curve, leaving a big flat on the inside. This flat
gradually sloped back to hills of an equal height to those opposite.
Then the curve would reverse, and the same conditions would be met
with again, but on opposite sides from the previous bend. After
passing a creek the evening before, the hills became higher, and
from our camp we could see the first place where they came close on
both sides to the river. We felt now that our beautiful tree-covered
canyons were behind us and from now on we would be hemmed in by the
great eroded canyons of the Southwest. We were sorry to leave those
others behind, and could easily understand why Major Powell had named
this Desolation Canyon.
As the canyon deepened the cliffs were cut into fantastic shapes,
as is usual in rocks unprotected by vegetation. There was a hard
rock near the top in places, which overhung a softer formation. This
would erode, giving a cornice-like effect to the cliffs. Others
were surmounted by square towers and these were capped by a border
of little squares, making the whole look much like a castle on the
Rhine. For half a day we found no rapids, but pulled away on a good
current. The walls gradually grew higher and were more rugged; a
few trees cropped out on their sides. At noon our boats were lashed
together and lunch was eaten as we drifted. We covered about three
miles in this way, taking in the scenery as we passed. We saw a great
stone arch, or natural bridge, high on a stupendous cliff to our
right, and wondered if any one had ever climbed up to it. Our lunch
was no more than finished when the first rapid was heard ahead of us.
Quickly unlashing our boats, we prepared for strenuous work. Friday
the 13th proved to be a lucky day; thirteen large rapids and thirteen
small ones were placed behind us before we camped at Rock Creek--a
splashing, laughing mountain stream, no doubt containing trout.
The following morning we found there was a little ranch house below
us, but, though we called from our boats, no one came out. We
wondered how any one could reach this out-of-the-way place, as a road
would be almost an impossibility. Later we found a well-constructed
trail on the right-hand side all the way through the canyon. We saw
a great many cattle travelling this trail. Some were drinking at the
river when we swept into view. Our boats filled them with alarm, and
they scrambled for the hillsides, looking after us with frightened
expressions as we left them to the rear.
We put in a full day at running rapids, one after another, until
fifteen large ones were passed, no count being kept of the smaller
ones. Some of these rapids resembled dams from six to twelve feet
high, with the water falling abruptly over a steep slope. Others were
long and rough, with swift water in places. Above one of these we had
landed, then found we could get a much better view from the opposite
shore. Emery crossed and landed, I followed. We had been having heavy
winds all day. When crossing here I was caught by a sudden gust of
wind and carried to the head of the rapid. I heard Emery call, “Look
out for the big rock!” then over I went. The wind and water together
had turned my boat sideways, and try as I would I could not get it
turned around. I saw the rock Emery referred to straight ahead of
me. It was about fifteen feet square and about fourteen feet from
the shore, with a powerful current shooting between the rock and the
shore. It seemed as if I must strike the rock broadside, and I ceased
my struggle, but held out an oar with both hands, hoping to break
the blow. But it never came. The water struck this rock with great
force, then rebounded, and actually kept me from even touching the
rock with the oar, but it caught the boat and shot it through the
narrow channel, bow first, as neatly as it could possibly be done,
then, turned the boat around again as I scrambled to regain my hold
on both oars. No other rocks threatened, however, and besides filling
the cockpit with water, no damage was done.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
E. L. KOLB. EMERY KOLB.
“NOW FOR A FISH STORY!”]
Emery had no desire to follow my passage and crossed back to the
other side. Shooting over the upper end of the rapid, his boat ran
up on a rounded rock, the stern sticking high in the air; it paused
a moment, the current slowly turning it around as if on a pivot, and
the boat slid off; then down he came lurching and plunging, but with
no more difficulty. Many times in such places as these we saw the
advantage of our flat-bottomed boats over one with a keel, for these
would surely be upset when running up on such a rock.