A PATIENT AMID THE CATARACTS
An hour or so after making our camp, we began to doubt the wisdom
of our choice of a location, for a downpour of rain threatened to
send a stream of water under the tent. The stream was easily turned
aside, while a door and numerous boards found in the drift pile, made
a very good floor for the tent and lifted our sleeping bags off the
wet sand. We had little trouble in this section to find sufficient
driftwood for fires. The pile at this camp was enormous, and had
evidently been gathering for years. Some of it, we could be sure,
was recent, for a large pumpkin was found deposited in the drift
pile twenty-five feet above the low-water stage on which we were
travelling. This pumpkin, of course, could only have come down on the
flood that had preceded us.
What a mixture of curios some of those drift piles were, and what a
great stretch of country they represented! The rivers, unsatisfied
with washing away the fertile soil of the upper country, had levied
a greedy toll on the homes along their banks, as well. Almost
everything that would float, belonging to a home, could be found in
some of them. There were pieces of furniture and toilet articles,
children’s toys and harness, several smashed boats had been seen,
and bloated cattle as well. A short distance above this camp we had
found two cans of white paint, carefully placed on top of a big rock
above the high-water mark, by some previous voyager.[5] The boats
were beginning to show the effect of hard usage, so we concluded to
take the paint along. At another point, this same day, we found a
corked bottle containing a faded note, undated, requesting the finder
to write to a certain lady in Delta, Colorado. A note in my journal,
beneath a record of this find, reads: “Aha! A romance at last!”
Judging by the appearance of the note it might have been thrown in
many years before. Delta, we knew, was on the Gunnison River, a
tributary of the Grand River. The bottle must have travelled over two
hundred miles to reach this spot.
A letter which I sent out later brought a prompt answer, with the
information that this bottle and four others with similar notes were
set adrift by the writer and four of her schoolmates, nearly two
years before. An agreement was made that the one first receiving an
answer was to treat the others to a dinner. Our find was the second,
so this young lady was a guest instead of the host.
Emery took but little interest in our camp arrangements this evening,
and went to bed as soon as it was possible for him to do so. He said
little, but he was very weak, and I could tell from his drawn face
that he was suffering, and knew that it was nothing but nervous
energy that kept him at his work--that, and a promise which he had
made to build a fire, within a stated time now less than two weeks
away, in Bright Angel Creek Canyon, nearly three hundred miles below
this camp, a signal to his wife and baby that he would be home the
next day. I was worried about his condition and I feared a fever or
pneumonia. For two or three days he had not been himself. It was one
thing to battle with the river when well and strong; it would be
decidedly different if one of us became seriously ill.
For the first time in all our experiences together, where
determination and skill seemed necessary to success, I had taken the
lead during the past two days, feeling that my greater weight and
strength, perhaps, would help me pull out of danger where he might
fail. In two or three rapids I felt sure he did not have the strength
to pull away from certain places that would smash the boats. After
running the _Defiance_ through these rapids I suggested to him that
he would take a picture while I brought the _Edith_ down. He would
stay near the _Defiance_, ready to aid in case of emergency. After
being once through a rapid I found it quite a simple matter to run
the second boat, and the knowledge that he would save me in case
of an upset greatly lessened any danger that might have existed. He
was too nervous to sleep, and asked me to take a last look at the
boats before going to bed. They were pulled well up on the shore and
securely tied, I found, so that it would take a flood to tear them
loose. The rain, which had stopped for a while, began again as I
rolled into the blankets; the fire, fed with great cottonwood logs,
threw ghostly shadows on the cliffs which towered above us, and
sputtered in the rain but refused to be drowned; while the roar of
rapids, Nos. 22 and 23 combined, thundered and reverberated from wall
to wall, and finally lulled us to sleep.
[Illustration: THE “EDITH” IN A CATARACT.]
[Illustration: A SEVENTY-FIVE FOOT DROP IN THREE-FOURTHS OF A MILE.]
The rain continued all night, but the weather cleared in the morning.
Emery felt much the same as he had the day before, so we kept the
same camp that day. We took some pictures, and made a few test
developments, hanging the dark-room, or tent, inside the other tent
for want of a better place to tie to.
Sunday, October the 29th, we remained at the same place, and by
evening were both greatly benefited by the rest. On Monday morning
we packed up again, leaving only the moving-picture camera out, and
pictured each other, alternately, as the boats made the plunge over
the steep descent in rapid No. 23. Both boats disappeared from sight
on two or three occasions in this rapid and emerged nearly filled
with water.
The section just passed is credited with the greatest descent on the
rivers, a fall of 75 feet in ¾ of a mile. This includes the three
rapids: Nos. 21, 22, and 23.
Proceeding on our way the canyon narrowed, going up almost sheer to
a height of 2500 feet or over. Segregated spires, with castle-like
tops, stood out from the upper walls. The rapids, or cataracts,
compared well with those passed above, connected in some instances
by swift-rushing water instead of the quiet pools which were usually
found between the rapids. We ran ten rapids this day, but several of
these which were counted as one were a series of two or three rapids,
which might be one in high water. All had a shore on one side or the
other, but caution was imperative when crossing in the swift water
between the rapids. A mishap here meant destruction. We figured that
we had travelled about ten miles for this day’s run.
The menacing walls continued to go higher with the next day’s travel,
until they reached a height of 2700 feet. The left wall was so sheer
that it almost seemed to overhang. The little vegetation which we
had found on the lower slope gradually disappeared as the walls grew
steeper, but a few scattered shrubs, sage-brush, and an occasional
juniper grew on the rocky sides, or in one or two side canyons which
entered from the south. These side canyons had the appearance of
running back for considerable distances, but we did not explore any
of them and could tell very little about them from the river.
After our noon lunch this day, in order to keep our minds from
dwelling too much on the rather depressing surroundings, we proposed
having a little sport. On two or three occasions we had made motion
pictures from the deck of the boats as we rowed in the quiet water;
here we proposed taking a picture from the boats as we went over
the rapids. The two boats were fastened stern to stern, so that the
rowing would be done from the first boat. My brother sat on the bow
behind with the motion-picture camera in front of him, holding it
down with his chin, his legs clinging to the sides of the boat, with
his left hand clutching at the hatch cover, and with his right hand
free to turn the crank. In this way we passed over two small rapids.
After that one experience we never tried it in a large rapid. As
Smith had said a few days before the boat bucked like a broncho, and
Emery had a great deal of difficulty to stay with the boat, to say
nothing of taking a picture. Once or twice he was nearly unseated but
pluckily hung on and kept turning away at the crank when it looked as
if he and the camera would be dumped into the river.
At one point in the lower end of Cataract Canyon we saw the name and
date A. G. Turner, ’07. Below this, close to the end of the canyon,
were some ruins of cliff dwellings, and a ladder made by white men,
placed against the walls below the ruins.
On reaching a very deep, narrow canyon entering from the south,
locally known as Dark Canyon, we knew that we were nearing the end of
the rapids in Cataract Canyon. Dark Canyon extends a great distance
back into the country, heading in the mountains we had seen to the
south, when we climbed out at the junction of the Green and the
Grand. Pine cones and other growths entirely foreign to the growth
of the desert region were found near its mouth. A flood had recently
filled the bottom of this narrow canyon to a depth of several feet,
but the water had settled down again and left a little stream of
clear water running through the boulders. The rapid at the end of
this canyon was one of the worst of the entire series, and had been
the scene of more than one fatality, we had been told. It had a very
difficult approach and swung against the right wall, then the water
was turned abruptly to the left by a great pile of fallen boulders.
The cresting waves looked more like breakers of the ocean than
anything we had seen on the river.
We each had a good scare as we ran this rapid. Emery was completely
hidden from my view, he was nearly strangled and blinded by the waves
for a few seconds while struggling in the maelstrom; the _Edith_
was dropped directly on top of a rock in the middle of this rapid,
then lifted on the next wave. I also had a thrilling experience but
avoided the rock. In the lower part of the rapid a rowlock pulled
apart; and to prevent the boat from turning sideways in the rapid, I
threw up my knee, holding the oar against it for a lever until I was
in quieter water, and could get the other rowlock in position.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
CAMP IN THE HEART OF CATARACT CANYON.]
Separated from my brother in this instance, I had an opportunity to
see the man and water conflict, with a perspective much as it would
have appeared to a spectator happening on the scene. I was out of
the heat of the battle. The excitement and indifference to danger
that comes with a hand-to-hand grapple was gone. I heard the roar
of the rapid; a roar so often heard that we forgot it was there. I
saw the gloom of the great gorge, and the towering, sinister shafts
of rock, weakened with cracks, waiting for the moment that would
send them crashing to the bottom. I saw the mad, wild water hurled
at the curving wall. Jagged rocks, like the bared fangs of some
dream-monster, appeared now and then in the leaping, tumbling waves.
Then down toward the turmoil--dwarfed to nothingness by the magnitude
of the walls--sped the tiny shell-like boat, running smoothly like a
racing machine! There was no rowing. The oar-blades were tipped high
to avoid loss in the first comber; then the boat was buried in foam,
and staggered through on the other side. It was buffeted here and
there, now covered with a ton of water, now topping a ten-foot wave.
Like a skilled boxer--quick of eye, and ready to seize any temporary
advantage--the oarsman shot in his oars for two quick strokes, to
straighten the boat with the current or dodge a threatening boulder;
then covered by lifting his oars and ducking his head as a brown
flood rolled over him. Time and again the manœuvre was repeated:
now here, now there. One would think the chances were about one to
a hundred that he would get through. But by some sort of a system,
undoubtedly aided, many times, by good luck, the man and his boat won
to land.
After running a small rapid, we came to another, in the centre of
which was an island,--the last rapid in Cataract Canyon. While not as
bad as the one at Dark Canyon it was rather difficult, and at this
point we found no shore on either side. The south side was rendered
impassable by great boulders, much higher than the river level, which
were scattered through the channel. The opposite channel began much
like the rapid at Dark Canyon, sweeping under the wall until turned
by a bend and many fallen rocks below the end of the island, then
crossed with a line of cresting waves to the opposite side, where it
was joined by the other stream, and the left wall was swept clean in
like manner. We ran it by letting our boats drop into the stream, but
pulled away from the wall and kept close to the island, then when
its end was reached crossed the ridge of waves and pulled for the
right-hand shore. In such rapids as this we often found the line of
waves in the swift-rushing centre to be several feet higher than the
water along the shore.
Then our thoughts reverted to Smith. What would he do when he came to
this rapid? The only escape was a narrow sloping ledge on the right
side, beginning close to the water some distance above the rapid,
reaching a height of sixty or seventy feet above the water at the
lower end, while a descent could be made to the river some distance
below here. It would be possible for him to climb over this with his
provisions, but the idea of taking his boat up there was entirely out
of the question, and, poorly equipped as he was, an attempt to run
it would surely end in disaster. The breaking of an oar, the loss of
a rowlock, or the slightest knock of his rotten boat against a rock,
and Smith’s fate would be similar to those others whose bones lay
buried in the sands.
In the next four miles we had no more rapids, but had some fine
travelling on a very swift river. It was getting dusk, but we pulled
away, for just ahead of us was the end of Cataract Canyon. We camped
by a large side canyon on the left named Mille Crag Bend, with a
great number of jagged pinnacles gathered in a group at the top of
the walls, which had dropped down to a height of about 1300 feet.
We felt just a little proud of our achievement, and believed we had
established a record for Cataract Canyon, having run all rapids in
four days’ travelling, and come through in safety.
We had one rapid to run the next morning at the beginning of Narrow
Canyon, the only rapid in this nine-mile long canyon. The walls here
at the beginning were twelve or thirteen hundred feet high, and
tapered to the end, where they rise about four hundred feet above
the Dirty Devil River. Narrow Canyon contains the longest straight
stretch of river which we remembered having seen. When five miles
from its mouth we could look through and see the snow-capped peak of
Mt. Ellsworth beyond. This peak is one of the five that composes the
Henry Mountains, which lay to the north of the river.
Three hours’ rowing brought us to the end. We paused a few minutes
to make a picture or two of the Dirty Devil River,--or the Frémont
River as it is now recorded on the maps. This stream, flowing from
the north, was the exact opposite of the Bright Angel Creek, that
beautiful stream we knew so well, two hundred and fifty miles
below this point. The Dirty Devil was muddy and alkaline, while
warm springs containing sulphur and other minerals added to its
unpalatable taste. After tasting it we could well understand the
feeling of the Jack Sumner, whose remark, after a similar trial,
suggested its name to Major Powell.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
LOWER CATARACT CANYON. BOATS TANDEM.]
[Illustration: BEGINNING OF A NATURAL BRIDGE. GLEN CANYON.]
A short distance below this we saw a tent, and found it occupied by
an old-timer named Kimball. Among other things he told us that he had
a partner, named Turner, who had made the trip through the canyons
above, and arrived at this point in safety. This was the man whose
name we had seen on the walls in Cataract Canyon. Less than two miles
more brought us to the Hite ranch, and post-office. John Hite gave us
a cordial reception. He had known of our coming from the newspapers;
besides, he had some mail for us. We spent the balance of the day in
writing letters, and listening to Hite’s interesting experiences of
his many years of residence in this secluded spot. Hite’s home had
been a haven for the sole survivor of two expeditions which had met
with disaster in Cataract. In each case they were on the verge of
starvation. Hite kept a record of all known parties who had attempted
the passage through the canyons above. Less than half of these
parties, excepting Galloway’s several successful trips, succeeded
in getting through Cataract Canyon without wrecking boats or losing
lives.
After passing the Frémont River the walls on the right or north side
dropped down, leaving low, barren sandstone hills rolling away from
the river, with a fringe of willows and shrubs beside the water, and
with the usual sage-brush, prickly pear, cactus and bunch-grass on
the higher ground. We had seen one broken-down log cabin, but this
ranch was the only extensive piece of ground that was cultivated.
Judging by the size of his stacks of alfalfa, Hite had evidently had
a good season. The banks of the south side of the river were about
two hundred feet high, composed of a conglomerate mass of clay and
gravel. This spot has long been a ferry crossing, known far and wide
as Dandy Crossing, the only outlet across the river for the towns of
southeastern Utah, along the San Juan River. The entire 150 miles of
Glen Canyon had once been the scene of extensive placer operations.
The boom finally died, a few claims only proving profitable.
One of these claims was held by Bert Loper, one of the three miners
who had gone down the river in 1908. Loper never finished, as his
boat--a steel boat, by the way--was punctured in a rapid above Dark
Canyon but was soon repaired. His cameras and plates being lost, he
sent from Hite out for new ones. His companions--Chas. Russell, and
E. R. Monnette--were to wait for him at Lee’s Ferry, after having
prospected through Glen Canyon. Some mistake was made about the
delivery of the cameras and, as Hite post-office only had weekly
communication with the railroad, a month elapsed before he finally
secured them. Lee’s Ferry had been discontinued as a post-office at
that time, and, although he tried to get a letter in to them, it
was never delivered. His disappointment can be imagined better than
described, when he reached Lee’s Ferry and found his companions had
left just a few days previous. They naturally thought if he were
coming at all he would have been there long before that, and they
gave him up, not knowing the cause of the delay. They left a letter,
however, saying they would only go to the Bright Angel Trail, and the
trip could be completed together on the following year.
Loper spent many hard days working his boat, with his load of
provisions, back against the current, and located a few miles below
the Hite ranch.