Advantages of Camping Trips. The suggestions in this chapter are mainly for
the strenuous and strong, though this by no means excludes members of the
gentle sex. Many women and girls--some who have never before been on
horseback--have made these extended trips, even those that have required
weeks of rough camping. For detailed particulars of the scenery, those
interested are referred to the various chapters devoted to the respective
trails. The transportation department at El Tovar is under the control of
competent men, and is thoroughly well equipped to send visitors on
prolonged camping trips with everything needed for a week, a month, or six
months. It is merely a question of time and meeting the necessary expense.
On the occasion of my last visit to El Tovar, a small party of both sexes
was equipped and started out for a trip to last fully three weeks.
Reference to the chapter entitled "Across the Grand Canyon to Point
Sublime," mainly written as her diary by an elderly lady, will give the
ideas of a woman who had next to no previous experience of the hardships,
as well as the immediate enjoyments of such a trip. But no one can estimate
the continual source of delight and pleasure the memories of such a trip
are to those who have resolutely faced and overcome the merely temporary
discomforts entailed. The experiences with the burros, the surprises of the
scenery, the exquisite delight of the perfect rest and dreamless sleep one
enjoys, after the first few nights of novelty are worn off, the
satisfaction of seeing and knowing much of the most sublime piece of
natural scenery on earth, are compensations and satisfactions enough.
Down Bright Angel Trail. After one has gained the slight knowledge of the
Canyon afforded by the easier trips described, let him plan to make the
following as "a starter" in his more thorough investigation. With a good
guide, pack animals carrying a full equipment of sleeping, cooking and
eating necessities, plenty of water in canteens, one or two extra canvasses
in case of rain, a note-book, and pencils or fountain pen, a compass and
barometer for altitude readings, and the United States Geological Survey
maps of the region, one is ready to make a "good start." Descend the
Bright Angel Trail to the river, study the formations all the way down; get
a clear idea of the relative positions of the strata, and learn to detect
them by the individualistic appearances of wall, temple, butte, etc.; and
examine the so-called cliff-dwellings hidden away in the Tonto sandstones
before descending on the gneiss into Pipe Creek Canyon. Arrived at the
river, spend a day there investigating the peculiar foldings and tiltings
of the Algonkian strata. Sleep, as did Powell and his men for weeks, on the
sands of the Colorado River, with the noise of the rapids ever in your
ears. Breathe the pure air, and watch the solemn march of the stars.
Have you ever noticed how delicious the most ordinary food is, when cooked
and eaten in the open air, after a day of reasonable exertion? Climbing,
riding, and walking expand the lungs, and this means the absorption of
immeasurably more oxygen. Weak stomachs, fickle appetites, dyspeptic
symptoms, insomnia, blue devils and a score of the ills that human flesh is
heir to, disappear before the floods of sunshine and oxygen that bathe the
body, inside and out, of the man or woman who gladly accepts the outdoor
life, even though only for a short time, in this Canyon region.
These philosophizings are aroused by the smell of bacon frying over the
camp-fire, or the crack of a fine, mealy Arizona potato, roasting in the
ashes, or a whiff from the coffee-pot, just about to topple over on the
burning sticks. The fire is made of driftwood washed down possibly from
some storm-swept region where a Mormon dwells with his numerous family; or,
mayhap, from a forest where the elk of Wyoming still roam.
How real life in this Canyon now begins to be. It is opening up its secrets
to us as we thus come into it. We are learning to love it, therefore it
shows its heart to us. It no longer is a "thing" to be looked at; it is a
real something, an individuality to love, to listen to, to question, to
honor.
On the Tonto Trail. We are now ready to go over the old Tonto Trail the
trail made centuries ago by mountain sheep, small bands of which are still
to be found in the remoter corners of the Canyon--then followed by the
Indians, whose moccasined feet made less impression upon it than did the
hoofs of the sheep. And in the two or three decades just passed, a few
white men trod it. Perhaps Powell, or some of his men, or Stanton, walked
where we now walk, or ride, and surely some of those early mining
prospectors of the Canyon--Ashurst, McClure, Marshall, Hance, Boucher,
Berry, Brashear,--once went this way.
In and out of the recesses of the much carved walls, up and down the wavy
ridges of the plateaus, sometimes descending into deep side gorges, we
ride, our guide leading the way to the Grand View Trail, and our pack-mules
and burros following, while we occupy the rear of the procession. We stop
for noon lunch in one of the side canyons where is a spring of clear water.
We take off the packs from the animals, and let them nibble away at the
rich grama and gallinas grasses that flourish here after the summer rains.
Comfortable and contented after our meal, we lie on our backs under the
shelter of a juniper or a friendly cottonwood, or in the shade of an
immense block fallen from some cracked wall above. Already we are becoming
familiar with the strata, and can call each one by name. The red wall
limestone, we find, is known to the guides and miners as the "blue lime,"
owing to the fact that its capping stratum, where exposed, has a light blue
color.
Cottonwood Creek and Horseshoe Mesa. In due time we reach Cottonwood Creek,
which flows down to the left (west) of Grand View Point. Here the plateau
opens out, but we leave it in order to follow the creek, on the Berry Trail
down to the river. Perhaps we spend the night here, and in the morning
ascend to the mesa on to the Tonto, then up the well-engineered trail to
Grand View Cave (see description in chapter on Grand View Trail). Sending
the pack animals on from here, we wait until some one descends from the
near-by Horseshoe Mesa, where the camp of the Canyon Copper Company is
located, with candles ready to conduct us through the wonders of this
natural excavation in the red-wall limestone. This occupies the whole of
our afternoon, so that when we reach the mesa, we are ready to partake of
the substantial and cheery fare of the Camp, and then unroll our blankets,
lie down, listen to the chat of the miners and guide, hear them recount
some of their thrilling and exciting experiences, enjoy their singing of
old-time melodies, with a peculiar western flavor to them, and then roll
over to dreamless sleep.
Copper Mines. Half a day can be well spent on the morrow in the mines, and
one is surprised to find here over half a mile of tunnels and shafts, with
workings on seven levels, and ore so rich that under usual conditions it
pays to mine, sort, pack on mules three miles or a little more to the rim,
place in wagons, haul some fifteen or twenty miles to Apex, load on railway
cars and ship--paying full freight, of course--about six hundred and eighty
miles to El Paso, Texas, where it is "milled," and the copper, silver and
gold extracted. These various processes are expensive. It costs to buy
grain in Flagstaff, or Phoenix, and pay freight on it to Apex, and then
haul it to the head of the trail, and thence to the stables on the plateau
near the mine. Hay, too, has to come just as far. Every pound of the
provisions used by the men has to be hauled in similar fashion over
railroad, wagon road and canyon trail. Every pick, shovel, piece of iron or
woodwork, every pound of powder, dynamite and fuse, every box of candles
has to pay toll in like fashion, before it can be used in the mine. So we
are not surprised to learn that the ore is rich, the first thousand tons
mined going as high as thirty percent in copper, with several ounces of
silver to the ton, and small but appreciable and valuable traces of gold.
(At the time of this writing, the mines are temporarily shut down.)
To the Old Hance Trail. The mouth of the mine enters the face of the cliff
to the east, and overlooks the trail down which we descend into Hance
Creek, where the old Hance Trail to the river used to be. It is an old
friend, for we have been down it more times than once, and can recall every
feature. We rest awhile here, in order to go down to the place where the
side canyon through which the creek flows "narrows up." We pass through,
and on the other side stand before the shattered Tonto sandstones that
Thomas Moran, years ago, named the Temple of Set, and even further on,
where we used to leave the horses and climb down a boulder, and up the face
of the cliff, and down the rope ladder over the archaean rocks--here a
crystalline mica schist--and so on, all the way to the river. So another
day passes, and we stretch out our blankets, and sleep on the very ledge on
which we bunked years and years ago, when we made our first descent and
camp in this canyon.
Red Canyon Trail. The next day we are ready to continue on to the west. We
climb out of Hance Canyon, and cross the ridge into Mineral Canyon, ascend
again, cross another ridge, and find ourselves in that wonderland of the
geologist, the Red Canyon Trail.
What do I mean by the Wonderland of the Geologist? Ask of these tilted
strata of red rock, that give the canyon its name, that the men wise in
rocks call the non-conformable Algonkian strata! Ask of the folds, or,
flexures, in the strata, which the untrained eye can readily discern!
The Algonkian. This is one of the spots that all geologists--from every
part of the civilized world--aim for. They know it is one of the rare
things of the known world, and they come here to see it. So make yourself
as wise as you can while you are here and have the chance. Read Dr.
Walcott's monograph from the fourteenth report of the United States
Geological Survey, Volume No. 2, entitled "Pre-Cambrian Igneous Rocks of
the Unkar Terrane." Then read Major Powell's luminous earlier descriptions
of these rocks in his "Explorations of the Colorado River of the West."
Learn from their own words what these geological masters say of these
wonderful five hundred feet thick remnants of twelve thousand feet of
strata that were once piled here above the archaean rocks. Imagine over two
miles of strata thrust up into the air, and then pay strict attention as
the scientists reason out their conclusions as to the how, why, where, and
whence of the eleven thousand five hundred feet of washed away strata.
Asbestos Mines. If your guide knows how to compass it, cross the river here
at the foot of the Red Canyon Trail, and visit the asbestos mines of the
Hance Asbestos Mining Company of New York. Try to comprehend what asbestos
is; how it is formed. See where it is located in these much burnt and much
twisted strata.
If possible, go up and down the river, and see where the Inner Gorge--the
granite or gneiss--really begins. It is not so very far away.
Then, when you are ready, watch the guide adjust the much-lightened pack,
for the supply of "grub" is getting low; perhaps assist him swing the
packs on the packsaddle, put on the canvas covering and throw the "diamond
hitch," and then saddle your own horse--for by now you will have begun to
feel some confidence and pride in doing things that the "tenderfoot"
generally leaves to the guide--and soon you are climbing up the trail on
your way to the rim. As soon as you are on "top," you "push on" the pack
animals and "hit the trail hard" by way of Hance's Ranch, now owned by
Martin Buggel, to Grand View, and over the familiar road back to El Tovar.
Eastern Points. Or, before returning, one day or several more days can be
spent in visiting the salient promontories--Moran, Zuni, Papago, Pinal and
Lipan Points--and then descending the most eastern trail of the Grand
Canyon, known as the Tanner-French Trail.
Imagine the gain after such a trip. Count up the store of knowledge
acquired; the health, vim, vigor added to one's store; the capacity for
energetic life developed; the experiences accumulated; the hardships
laughed at and overcome; and then tell me whether any similar outlay of
cash elsewhere can produce equal benefits in results.
This is but one of many such trips which I will now briefly and succinctly
name, each one of which is different from every other one.
To Havasu Canyon. One, two, or three weeks (or more) can profitably be
spent in going westward (twenty-five miles) over the Topocobya Road to the
head of the Topocobya Trail into Havasu (Cataract) Canyon. This is a drive
of forty miles. Camp over night there, and then descend in the cool of the
morning down either arm of this stupendous cliff (see chapter on Havasu
Canyon) to Topocobya Spring, and on down the wash into Havasu Canyon,
fifteen miles or so to the Havasupai village.
Camp near, or in, one of the fields of the Indians, where good alfalfa can
be purchased for the animals and fresh vegetables and fruit (in season) for
one's own use. If you are not too squeamish to see aboriginal man in his
primitive dirt, study him in his home. Try to learn to look at things from
his standpoint. If possible, witness one of his dances--a religious
ceremony--and arrange to enter his primitive toholwoh or sweat-house, where
he will give you a most effective and powerful Russo-Turkish bath. Swim in
Havasu Creek to your heart's content, several times a day. Climb to the old
fort, where the Havasupais used to retire to defend themselves when pressed
too closely by their hereditary foes, the Apaches. Listen to the stones,
the legends, the myths about the stone figures your eye cannot fail to see
soon after you reach the village, which command the widest part of the
Canyon, where the Indians live, and which are called by them Hue-puk-eh-eh
and Hue-gli-i-wa. Get one of the storytellers to recite to you the deeds of
Tochopa, their good god, and Hokomata, their bad god, and ask them for the
wonderfully fascinating legend of the mother of their tribe--the daughter
of Tochopa, from whom the whole human race descended. Ask one of the old
men to tell you the stories of some of their conflicts with the Apaches,
and why Tochopa placed the Hue-gli-i-wa in so prominent and salient a
position. If you desire something of a different nature, engage some of the
younger men to get up a horse race. The wise and judicious expenditure of a
few dollars will generally produce the desired effect.
Then, when you are ready to travel again, get a Havasupai to guide you--no
one else can--up to the fascinating spring called Pack-a-tha-true-ye-ba, or
to some of their side canyons where cliff-dwellings, corn-storage houses
and pictographs abound.
Bridal Veil Falls. On your return, descend to Bridal Veil Falls, and see
where a capitalist spent many thousands of dollars in unnecessary work
because he had been deluded into the belief that platinum existed here.
Then forget men and their mad search for gold, and stand reverent before a
secret shrine of beauty incomparable--this exquisite fall in its majestic
setting. A day or more can be well spent here, and yet not exhaust the
delight of this one fall. There are four ways of approach to it from the
village above. Go over them all, as each has its own peculiar charm. Then
strike off down the Canyon to Mooney Falls, and hear the story, as you
cross and recross Havasu Creek, of the poor miner who was killed here and
from whom the fall obtains its name. And finally, follow the winding of the
pellucid stream until it is ejected through a narrow passageway into the
turbulent Colorado.
Cushing's Story of the Havasupais. On returning from the Havasupai village,
come out by the Wallapai Trail or ascend the steep cleft of the Hopi Trail.
Both ought to be seen and gone over, in order to know something of the
engineering skill of these Blue Water Indians. And if you can get hold of
it, read Frank Hamilton Cushing's delightful account (in Volume 50 of the
Atlantic Monthly) of his trip from Zuni and down the Hopi Trail to the
village you have just left. Also, if you care to read more ancient history
still, get Lieutenant Ives's fascinating report of his trip into this
Canyon (published by the War Department) and, even earlier still, the diary
of Padre Garces (see chapter on Garces), the man who camped with the
ancestors of these hospitable Indians, while Jefferson, Adams, Washington
and Hancock were defying the British and preparing to launch the
Declaration of Independence.
To Powell Plateau and Point Sublime. Another two or three weeks' delightful
experience can be gained by arranging to go down Bass's Trail, cross on his
cable ferry, go up the Shinumo Trail to Powell Plateau, watch the herds of
protected and preserved deer and antelope, look longingly upon the
succulent and delicious pine-hens that live upon pinion nuts and roost in
the branches of the pine trees of the Kaibab forest, and pleasantly saunter
along out to Point Sublime. The guide will point out to you--or he is no
guide--the spot where in 1873 Thomas Moran sat with Major Powell, and
afterwards painted the memorable canvas of the Grand Canyon which now hangs
in the Capitol at Washington. Sleep out on Point Sublime and remember
Dutton, whose beautifully polished descriptions of the Canyon, written
here, have thrilled thousands of civilized and cultured people. Then push
on west to the Greenland Spring, over Walhalla Plateau to Naji Point,
whence you can look down into Chuar Creek, where Dr. Walcott, with three
Mormons, spent a snowy winter studying the Algonkian strata.
An Adventurous Trip. Or, better still, if you are ready for whatever
adventure may befall on a seldom used trail, descend Dr. Walcott's old
trail to the river, and there build a raft (it is perfectly feasible and
not too dangerous, unless the river be at the flood) and cross to the other
side, letting your horses swim over. Then come out by way of the Tanner
Trail, after riding up and down the wide beach and sandy stretches of this
part of the Canyon as far north and east as the Little Colorado.
Indeed you may walk up the boxed-in canyon of this side gorge--where few
white men have trod--on your return.
Qver the Desert to Hopiland. A fascinating trip, not however connected with
the Canyon, is suggested in the chapter on "An Historical Trail across the
Grand Canyon Country." Arrange to go in mid-August, even though it be hot
weather, if you have grown a little toughened, for then you will reach
Hopiland at the time of the Snake Dance, which thrilling ceremony I have
briefly, but truthfully, described in a special chapter.
Many such trips can be planned for those who really wish them, and he who
is wise enough to take them will probably improve in health, gain a
wonderful knowledge of one of the most fascinating regions of the earth,
and fill the memory with treasures that nothing can destroy.