COULD WE SUCCEED?
An hour or two at the oars the next morning sufficed to bring us to
the junction of the Green and the Grand rivers. We tied up our boats,
and prepared to climb out on top, as we had a desire to see the view
from above. A mile back on the Green we had noticed a sort of canyon
or slope breaking down on the west side, affording a chance to reach
the top. Loading ourselves with a light lunch, a full canteen, and
our smaller cameras, we returned to this point and proceeded to climb
out. Powell’s second expedition had climbed out at this same place;
Wolverton had also mentioned the fact that he had been out; so we
were quite sure of a successful attempt before we made the climb.
The walk close to the river, over rocks and along narrow ledges, was
hard work; the climb out was even more so. The contour maps which
we carried credited these walls with 1300 feet height. If we had
any doubt concerning the accuracy of this, it disappeared before we
finally reached the top. What we saw, however, was worth all the
discomfort we had undergone. Close to the top, three branches of dry,
rock-bottomed gullies, carved from a gritty, homogeneous sandstone,
spread out from the slope we had been climbing. These were less
precipitous. Taking the extreme left-hand gully, we found the climb
to the top much easier. At the very end we found an irregular hole a
few feet in diameter, not a cave, but an opening left between some
immense rocks, touching at the top, seemingly rolled together.
Gazing down through this opening, we were amazed to find that we
were directly above the Colorado itself. It was so confusing at
first that we had to climb to the very top to see which river it
was, I contending that it was the Green, until satisfied that I was
mistaken. The view from the top was overwhelming, and words can
hardly describe what we saw, or how we were affected by it.
We found ourselves on top of an irregular plateau of solid rock,
with no earth or vegetation save a few little bushes and some very
small cedars in cracks in the rocks. Branching canyons, three or four
hundred feet in depth, and great fissures ran down in this rock at
intervals. Some were dark and crooked, and the bottom could not be
seen. Between these cracks, the rock rounded like elephants’ backs
sloping steeply on either side. Some could be crossed, some could
not. Others resembled a “maze,” the puzzle being how to get from one
point to another a few feet away. The rock was a sandstone and
presented a rough surface affording a good hold, so there was little
danger of slipping. We usually sat down and “inched” our way to the
edge of the cracks, jumping across to little ledges when possible,
always helping each other.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
“THE LAND OF STANDING ROCKS WAS LIKE A MAZE.”]
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
“ROCKS OVERHANGING THE COLORADO’S GORGE.” NOTE FIGURE.]
The rock at the very edge of the main canyon overhung, in places 75
to 100 feet, and the great mass of gigantic boulders--sections of
shattered cliffs--on the steep slope near the river gave evidence of
a continual breaking away of these immense rocks.
To the north, across the canyon up which we had climbed, were a great
number of smooth formations, from one hundred to four hundred feet
high, rounded on top in domes, reminding one of Bagdad and tales from
the Arabian Nights. “The Land of Standing Rocks,” the Utes call it.
The rock on which we stood was light gray or nearly white; the river
walls at the base for a thousand feet above the river were dark red
or chocolate-brown; while the tops of the formations above this level
were a beautiful light red tint.
But there were other wonders. On the south side of the Colorado’s
gorge, miles away, were great spires, pointing heavenward, singly and
in groups, looking like a city of churches. Beyond the spires were
the Blue Mountains, to the east the hazy LaSalle range, and nearest
of all on the west just north of the Colorado lay the snow-covered
peaks of the Henry Mountains. Directly below us was the Colorado
River, muddy, swirling, and forbidding. A mile away boomed a rapid,
beyond that was another, then the river was lost to view.
Standing on the brink of all this desolation, it is small wonder if
we recalled the accounts of the disasters which had overtaken so many
others in the canyon below us. Many who had escaped the water had
climbed out on to this death trap, as it had proven to be for them,
some to perish of thirst and starvation, a few to stagger into the
ranch below the canyon, a week or more after they had escaped from
the water. Small wonder that some of these had lost their reason. We
could only conjecture at the fate of the party whose wrecked boat had
been found by the Stone expedition, a few miles below this place,
with their tracks still fresh in the sand. No trace of them was ever
found.
For the first time it began to dawn on us that we might have tackled
a job beyond our power to complete. Most of the parties which had
safely completed the trip were composed of several men, adding much
to the safety of the expedition, as a whole. Others had boats much
lighter than ours, a great help in many respects. Speaking for
myself, I was just a little faint-hearted, and not a little overawed
as we prepared to return to the boats.
While returning, we saw evidences of ancient Indians--some broken
arrow-heads, and pottery also, and a small cliff ruin under a
shelving rock.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
THIRTEEN HUNDRED FEET ABOVE THE GREEN RIVER. NOTE FIGURE.]
What could an Indian find here to interest him! We had found neither
bird, nor rabbit; not even a lizard in the Land of Standing Rocks.
Perhaps they were sun worshippers, and wanted an unobstructed view of
the eastern sky. That at least could be had, in unrivalled grandeur,
here above the Rio Colorado.
The shadows were beginning to lengthen when we finally reached our
boats at the junction. Camp was made under a large weeping willow
tree, the only tree of its kind we remembered having seen on the
journey.
While Emery prepared a hasty meal I made a few arrangements for
embarking on the Colorado River the next morning. We were prepared
to bid farewell to the Green River--the stream that had served us
so well. In spite of our trials, even in the upper canyons, we had
found much enjoyment in our passage through its strange and beautiful
surroundings.
From a scenic point of view the canyons of the Green River, with
their wonderful rock formations and stupendous gorges, are second
only to those of the Colorado itself. It is strange they are so
little known, when one considers the comparative ease with which
these canyons on the lower end can be reached. Some day perhaps,
surfeited globe-trotters, after having tired of commonplace scenery
and foreign lands, will learn what a wonderful region this is, here
on the lower end of the Green River.
Then no doubt, Wolverton, or others with similar outfits, will
find a steady stream of sight-seers anxious to take the motor boat
ride down to this point, and up to Moab, Utah, a little Mormon town
on the Grand River. A short ride by automobile from Moab to the D.
& R. G. railway would complete a most wonderful journey; then the
transcontinental journey could be resumed.
So I mused, as I contrived an arrangement of iron hooks and oak
sticks to hold on a hatch cover, from which all the thumb screws
had been lost. More than likely my dream of a line of sight-seeing
motor boats will be long deferred; or they may even meet the fate of
Brown’s and Stanton’s plans for a railroad down these gorges.
As a reminder of the fate which overtakes so many of our feeble
plans, we found a record of Stanton’s survey on a fallen boulder,
an inscription reading “A 81 + 50, Sta. D.C.C. & P.R.R.,” the
abbreviations standing for Denver, Colorado Canyons, and Pacific
Railroad. It is possible that the hands that chiselled the
inscription belonged to one of the three men who were afterwards
drowned in Marble Canyon.
Emery--being very practical--interrupted my revery and plans for
future sight-seers by announcing supper. The meal was limited in
variety, but generous in quantity, and consisted of a dried-beef
stew, fried potatoes, and cocoa. A satisfied interior soon dispelled
all our previous apprehensiveness. We decided not to run our rapids
before we came to them.
The water still gave indications of being higher than low-water mark,
although it was falling fast on the Green River. Each morning, for
three days previous to our arrival at the junction, we would find the
water about six inches lower than the stage of the evening before.
Strange to say, we gained on the water with each day’s rowing, until
we had almost overtaken the stage of water we had lost during the
night. More than likely we would have all the water we needed under
the new conditions which were before us.
Beginning with the Colorado River, we made our journals much more
complete in some ways, giving all the large rapids a number and
describing many of them in detail. This was done, not only for our
own satisfaction, but for the purpose of comparison with others who
had gone through, for many of these rapids have histories.
It was often a question, when on the Green River, where to draw the
line when counting a rapid; this was less difficult when on the
Colorado. While the descent was about the same as in some of the
rapids above, the increased volume of water made them look and act
decidedly different. We drew the line, when counting a rapid, at
a descent having a decided agitation of the water, hidden rocks,
or swift descent and with an eddy or whirlpool below. Major Powell
considered that many of these drops in the next canyon were above the
ordinary rapid, hence the name, Cataract Canyon.
At one of the camps below Green River, Utah, my boat had been
christened the _Defiance_, by painting the name on the bow. After
leaving the Green we usually referred to the boats by their
respective names, Emery being in the _Edith_, I in the _Defiance_.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
THE JUNCTION OF THE TWO RIVERS. THE GRAND RIVER IS ON THE RIGHT.
NOTE BOATS.]