WHAT CHRISTMAS EVE BROUGHT
In recording our various mishaps and upsets in these pages, it may
seem to the reader as if I have given undue prominence to the part I
took in them. If so, it has not been from choice, but because they
happened in that way. No doubt a great deal of my trouble was due
to carelessness. After I had learned to row my boat fairly well I
sometimes took chances that proved to be anything but advisable,
depending a good deal on luck, and luck was not always with me. My
brother was less hasty in making his decisions, and was more careful
in his movements, with the result that his boat had few marks of any
kind, and he had been more fortunate than I with the rapids.
It is my duty to record another adventure at this point, in which we
all three shared, each in a different manner. This time I am going
to give my brother’s record of the happenings that overtook us about
four o’clock in the afternoon of December the 24th, less than three
hours after we left our friends at the Bass Trail with “best wishes
for a Merry Christmas,” and had received instructions from John “to
keep our feet dry.”
My brother’s account follows:
“The fourth rapid below the Bass Trail was bad, but after looking it
over we decided it could be run. We had taken chances in rapids that
looked worse and came through unharmed; if we were successful here,
it would be over in a few minutes, and forgotten an hour later. So we
each made the attempt.”
“Lauzon had gone near the lower end of the rapid, taking the left
shore, for a sixty-foot wall with a sloping bench on top rose sheer
out of the water on the right. The only shore on the right was close
to the head of the rapid, a small deposit or bank of earth and rock.
The inner gorge here was about nine hundred feet deep.”
“Ellsworth went first, taking the left-hand side. I picked out a
course on the right as being the least dangerous; but I was scarcely
started when I found myself on a nest of jagged rocks, with violent
water all about me, and with other rocks, some of them submerged,
below me. I climbed out on the rocks and held the boat.”
“If the others could land below the rapid and climb back, they might
get a rope to me and pull me off the rocks far enough to give me a
new start, but they could not pull the boat in to shore through the
rough water. A person thinks quickly under such circumstances, I
had it all figured out as soon as I was on the rocks. The greatest
trouble would be to hold the boat if she broke loose.”
“Then I saw that the _Defiance_ was in trouble. She caught in a
reverse whirl in the very middle of the pounding rapid, bouncing
back and forth like a great rubber ball. Finally she filled with
the splashing water, sank low, and the water pouring over the rock
caught the edge of the twelve-hundred pound boat and turned her over
as if she were a toy; my brother was holding to the gunwale when she
turned. Still she was held in the whirl, jumping as violently as
ever, then turned upright again and was forced out. Ellsworth had
disappeared, but came up nearly a hundred feet below, struggling to
keep on top but going down with every breaking wave. When the quieter
water was reached, he did not seem to have strength enough to swim
out, but floated, motionless, in a standing position, his head kept
up by the life-preservers. The next rapid was not over fifty yards
below. If he was to be saved it must be done instantly.”
“I pried the boat loose, jumped in as she swung clear, and pulled
with all my might, headed toward the centre of the river. I was
almost clear when I was drawn over a dip, bow first, and struck a
glancing blow against another rock I had never seen. There was a
crash, and the boards broke like egg-shells. It was all done in a
few moments. The _Edith_ was a wreck, I did not know how bad. My
brother had disappeared. Lauzon was frantically climbing over some
large boulders trying to reach the head of the next rapid, where the
boat was held in an eddy. My boat was not upset, but the waves were
surging through a great hole in her side. She was drawn into an eddy,
close to the base of the wall, where I could tie up and climb out.
It seemed folly to try the lower end with my filled boat. Climbing
to the top of the rock, I could see half a mile down the canyon,
but my brother was nowhere to be seen and I had no idea that he had
escaped. I was returning to my wrecked boat when Bert waved his arms,
and pointed to the head of the rapid. Going back once more, I saw
him directly below me at the base of the sheer rock, in an opening
where the wall receded. He had crawled out twenty feet above the
next rapid. Returning to my wrecked boat, I was soon beside him. He
was exhausted with his struggle in the icy waves; his outer garments
were frozen. I soon procured blankets from my bed, removed the wet
clothes, and wrapped him up. Lauzon, true to our expectations of what
he would do when the test came, swam out and rescued the _Defiance_
before she was carried over the next rapid. He was inexperienced at
the oars and had less than two hours practice after he had joined us.
It was a tense moment when he started across, above the rapid. But he
made it! Landing with a big grin, he exclaimed, ‘Young fellows,
business is picking up!’ then added, ‘And we’re losing lots of good
pictures!’”
[Illustration: THE INNER PLATEAU, THIRTEEN HUNDRED FEET ABOVE THE
RIVER.]
[Illustration: BERT LAUZON. ABOVE SEPARATION RAPID.]
“These experiences were our Christmas presents that year. They were
not done up in small packages.”
“We repaired the boat on Christmas day. Three smashed side ribs were
replaced with mesquite, which we found growing on the walls. The hole
was patched with boards from the loose bottom. This was painted;
canvas was tacked over that and painted also, and a sheet of tin or
galvanized iron went over it all. This completed the repair and the
_Edith_ was as seaworthy as before.”
This is Emery’s account of the “Christmas Rapid.”
I will add that the freezing temperature of the water and the
struggle for breath in the breaking waves left me exhausted and at
the mercy of the river. An eddy drew me out of the centre of the
stream when I had given up all hope of any escape from the next
rapid. I had seen my brother on the rock below the head of the rapid
and knew there was no hope from him. As I was being drawn back into
the current, close to the end of the sheer wall on the right, my
feet struck bottom on some débris washed down from the cliff. I
made three efforts to stand but fell each time, and finally crawled
out on my hands and knees. I had the peculiar sensation of seeing a
rain-storm descending before my eyes, although I knew no such thing
existed; every fibre in my body ached and continued to do so for days
afterward; and the moment I would close my eyes to sleep I would
see mountainous waves about me and would feel myself being whirled
head over heels just as I was in that rapid; but this rapid, strange
to say, while exceedingly rough and swift, did not contain any
waves that we would have considered large up to this time. In other
words, it depended on the circumstances whether it was bad or not.
When standing on the shore, picking a channel, it appeared to be a
moderately bad rapid, in which a person, aided with life-preservers,
should have little difficulty in keeping on top, at least half the
time. After my battle, in which, as far as personal effort went, I
had lost, and after my providential escape, that one rapid appeared
to be the largest of the entire series.
It is difficult to describe the rapids with the foot-rule standard,
and give an idea of their power. One unfamiliar with “white water”
usually associates a twelve-foot descent or a ten-foot wave with a
similar wave on the ocean. There is no comparison. The waters of the
ocean rise and fall, the waves travel, the water itself, except in
breakers, is comparatively still. In bad rapids the water is whirled
through at the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour, in some cases
much swifter; the surface is broken by streams shooting up from every
submerged rock; the weight of the river is behind it, and the waves,
instead of tumbling forward, quite as often break upstream. Such
waves, less than six feet high, are often dangers to be shunned.
After being overturned in them we learned their tremendous power, a
power we would never have associated with any water, before such an
experience, short of a waterfall.
There is a certain amount of danger in the canyons,--plenty of it.
Still, in most cases, with care and forethought, much of it can be
avoided. We think we are safe in saying that half of the parties
who have attempted a passage through these canyons have met with
fatalities. Most of these have occurred in Cataract Canyon, not
because it is any worse than other sections,--certainly no worse
than the Grand Canyon,--but because it is easily entered from the
quiet, alluring water of the lower Green River. Without a doubt each
successful expedition is responsible in a way for others’ attempts.
In nearly every instance the unfortunate ones have underestimated the
danger, and have attempted the passage with inadequate boats, such as
Smith had for instance, undecked and without air chambers. Both of
these are imperative for safety.
We had the benefit of the experiences of others. In addition, our
years of work in the canyons had robbed them of their imaginary
dangers, and--while we trust that we are not entirely without
imagination--much of their weirdness and glamour with which they are
inseparable to the idealist and the impressionist. Each of these
upsets could have been avoided by a portage had we desired to make
one, but success in other rapids made us a little reckless and ready
to take a chance.
Beyond getting our flour wet on the outside, we suffered very little
loss to our cargo. We placed the two flour sacks beside the fires
each evening, until the wet flour dried to a crust. We continued
to use out of the centre of the sacks as though nothing had ever
happened.
Bert and I each had a little cough the next morning, but it
disappeared by noon. Beyond that, we suffered no great inconvenience
from our enforced bath. Sleeping in the open, with plenty of
healthful exercise, kept us physically fit.
The cold air and the cold water did not seem to bother the others,
but I could not get comfortably warm during this cold snap. Added to
this, it took me some time to get over my scare, and I could see all
kinds of danger, in rapids, where Emery could see none. I insisted
on untying the photographic cases from the boats, and carrying them
around a number of rapids before we ran them. It is hardly necessary
to say that no upset occurred in these rapids.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
THE BREAK IN THE “EDITH.”]
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
MERRY CHRISTMAS! THE REPAIR WAS MADE WITH BILGE BOARDS, CANVAS,
PAINT, AND TIN.]
Then came a cold day, with a raw wind sweeping up the river. A
coating of ice covered the boats and the oars. We had turned directly
to the north along the base of Powell’s plateau, and were nearing
the end of a second granite gorge, with violent rapids and jagged
rocks. Emery made the remark that he had not had a swim for some
time. In a half-hour we came to a rapid with two twelve-foot waves in
the centre of the stream, with a projecting point above that would
have to be passed, before we could pull out of the swift-running
centre. Emery got his swim there. I was just behind and was more
fortunate. I never saw anything more quickly done. Before the boat
was fully overturned he swung an oar, so that it stuck out at an
angle from the side of the boat, and used the oar for a step; an
instant later he had cut the oar loose, and steered toward the
shore. Bert threw him a rope from the shore, and he was pulled in.
He was wearing a thin rubber coat fitting tightly about his wrists,
tied about his neck, and belted at the waist. This protected him so
thoroughly that he was only wet from the waist down.
If we were a little inclined to be proud of our record above Bright
Angel we had forgotten all about it by this time. We were scarcely
more than sixty miles from home and had experienced three upsets and
a smashed boat, all in one week.
Just at the end of the second granite section we made our first
portage since leaving Bright Angel. Bert and I worked on the boats,
while Emery cooked the evening meal.
Hot rice soup, flavoured with a can of prepared meat, was easily and
quickly prepared, and formed one of the usual dishes at these meals.
It contained a lot of nutriment, and the rice took up but little
space in the boats. Sometimes the meat was omitted, and raisins were
substituted. Prepared baked beans were a staple dish, but were not in
our supply on this last part of the trip. We often made “hot cakes”
twice a day; an excuse for eating a great deal of butter and honey,
or syrup. None of these things were luxuries. They were the best
foodstuff we could carry. We seemed to crave sweet stuff, and used
quantities of sugar. We could carry eggs, when packed in sawdust,
without trouble but did not carry many. We had little meat; what
we had was bacon, and prepared meats of the lunch variety. Cheese
was our main substitute for meat. It was easily carried and kept
well. Dried peaches or apricots were on the bill for nearly every
meal, each day’s allowance being cooked the evening before. We tried
several condensed or emergency foods, but discarded them all but one,
for various reasons. The exception was Erbeswurst, a patent dried
soup preparation. Other prepared soups were carried also. I must not
forget the morning cereal. It was Cream of Wheat, easily prepared;
eaten--not served, perhaps devoured would be a better word--with
sugar and condensed cream, as long as it lasted, then with butter.
Any remainder from breakfast was fried for other meals. Each evening,
we would make some baking-powder biscuit in a frying-pan. A Dutch
oven is better, but had too much weight. The appellation for such
bread is “flapjack” or “dough-god.” When I did the baking they were
fearfully and wonderfully made. Cocoa, which was nourishing, often
took the place of coffee. In fact our systems craved just what was
most needed to build up muscle and create heat. We found it was
useless to try to catch fish after the weather became cold. The fish
would not bite.
On the upper end of our journey we carried no tobacco, as it happened
that Jimmy as well as ourselves were not tobacco users. There were
no alcoholic stimulants. When Bert joined us, a small flask, for
medicinal purposes only, was taken along. The whiskey was scarcely
touched at this time. Bert enjoyed a pipe after his meals, but
continued to keep good-natured even when his tobacco got wet, so
tobacco was not absolutely necessary to him.
Uninteresting and unromantic these things may be, but they were most
important to us. We were only sorry the supply was not larger. While
we never stinted ourselves, or cut the allowance of food, the amount
was growing smaller every day, and it was not a question any more
whether we would go out or not, to get provisions, to “rustle” as
Bert called it, but where we would go out. We might go up Cataract
Creek or Ha Va Su Creek, as it is sometimes called. We had been to
the mouth of this canyon on foot, so there would be no danger of
missing it. The Ha Va Supai Indians, about two hundred in number,
lived in this lateral canyon about seven or eight miles from the
river. An agent and a farmer lived with them, and might be able
to sell us some provisions; if not, it would be fifty miles back
to our home. The trail was much more direct than the river. The
great drawback to this course was the fact that Ha Va Su Canyon,
sheer-walled, deep, and narrow, contained a number of waterfalls,
one of them about 175 feet high. The precipice over which it fell
was nothing but a mineral deposit from the water, building higher
every year. Formerly this was impassable, until some miners, after
enlarging a sloping cave, had cut a winding stairway in it, which
allowed a descent to be made to the bottom of the fall. A recent
storm had remodelled all the falls in Cataract Creek Canyon, cutting
out the travertine in some places, piling it up in others. A great
mass of cottonwood trees were also mixed with the débris. The
village, too, had been washed away and was then being rebuilt. We had
been told that the tunnel was filled up, and as far as we knew no one
had been to the river since the flood.
The other outlet was Diamond Creek Canyon, much farther down the
river. We would decide when we got to Ha Va Su just what we would do.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
PULLING CLEAR OF A ROCK.]
[Illustration: _Copyright by Kolb Bros._
A SHOWER BATH.]
Tapeets Creek, one mile below our camp,--a stream which has
masqueraded under the title of Thunder River, and about which
there has been considerable speculation,--proved to be a stream a
little smaller than Bright Angel Creek, flowing through a narrow slot
in the rocks, and did not fall sheer into the river, as has been
reported. Perhaps a small cascade known as Surprise Falls which we
passed the next day has been confused with Tapeets Creek. This stream
corkscrews down through a narrow crevice and falls about two hundred
feet, close to the river’s edge. We are told that the upper end of
Tapeets Creek is similar to this, but on a much larger scale.
Just opposite this fall a big mountain-sheep jumped from under an
overhanging ledge close to the water, and stared curiously at us, as
though he wondered what strange things those were coming down with
the current. It is doubtful if he ever saw a human being before. This
sight sent us scrambling in our cases for cameras and firearms; and
it was not the game laws, but a rusted trigger on the six-shooter
instead, that saved the sheep. He finally took alarm and scampered
away over the rocks, and we had no mutton stew that night.
We had one night of heavy rain, and morning revealed a little snow
within three hundred feet of the river, while a heavy white blanket
covered the upper cliffs. It continued to snow on top, and rained on
us nearly all this day. Emery took this opportunity to get the drop
of moisture out of the lens, and put the camera in such shape that
we could proceed with our picture making. A short run was made after
this work was completed.
The camp we were just leaving was about three miles above Kanab
Canyon. The granite was behind us, disappearing with a steep descent
much as it had emerged at the Hance Trail. There was also a small
deposit of algonkian. This too had been passed, and we were back in
the limestone and sandstone walls similar to the lower end of Marble
Canyon. While the formations were the same, the canyon differed. The
layers were thicker, the red sandstone and the marble walls were
equally sheer; there was no plateau between. What plateau this canyon
contained lay on top of the red sandstone. Few peaks rose above this.
The canyon had completed its northern run and was turning back again
to the west-southwest with a great sweep or circle. Less than an
hour’s work brought us to Kanab Canyon.