GRAND AND GREEN
July 6.--Start early this morning. A short distance below the mouth of
the Uinta, we come to the head of a long island. Last winter, a man
named Johnson, a hunter and Indian trader, visited us at our camp in
White River Valley. This man has an Indian wife, and, having no fixed
home, usually travels with one of the Ute bands. He informed me it was
his intention to plant some corn, potatoes, and other vegetables on
this island in the spring, and, knowing that we would pass it, invited
us to stop and help ourselves, even if he should not be there; so we
land and go out on the island. Looking about, we soon discover his
garden, but it is in a sad condition, having received no care since
it was planted. It is yet too early in the season for corn, but Hall
suggests that potato tops are good greens, and, anxious for some change
from our salt meat fare, we gather a quantity and take them aboard.
At noon we stop and cook our greens for dinner; but soon, one after
another of the party is taken sick; nausea first, and then severe
vomiting, and we tumble around under the trees, groaning with pain,
and I feel a little alarmed, lest our poisoning be severe. Emetics
are administered to those who are willing to take them, and about the
middle of the afternoon we are all rid of the pain. Jack Sumner records
in his diary that “Potato tops are not good greens on the sixth day of
July.”[5]
This evening we enter another cañon, almost imperceptibly, as the walls
rise very gently.
_July 7._--We find quiet water to-day, the river sweeping in great and
beautiful curves, the cañon walls steadily increasing in altitude. The
escarpment formed by the cut edges of the rock are often vertical,
sometimes terraced, and in some places the treads of the terraces are
sloping. In these quiet curves vast amphitheaters are formed, now in
vertical rocks, now in steps.
The salient point of rock within the curve is usually broken down in
a steep slope, and we stop occasionally to climb up, at such a place,
where, on looking down, we can see the river sweeping the foot of
the opposite cliff, in a great, easy curve, with a perpendicular or
terraced wall rising from the water’s edge many hundreds of feet. One
of these we find very symmetrical, and name it Sumner’s Amphitheater.
The cliffs are rarely broken by the entrance of side cañons, and we
sweep around curve after curve, with almost continuous walls, for
several miles.
Late in the afternoon, we find the river much rougher, and come upon
rapids, not dangerous, but still demanding close attention.
We camp at night on the right bank, having made to-day twenty-six miles.
_July 8._--This morning, Bradley and I go out to climb, and gain an
altitude of more than two thousand feet above the river, but still do
not reach the summit of the wall.
After dinner, we pass through a region of the wildest desolation. The
cañon is very tortuous, the river very rapid, and many lateral cañons
enter on either side. These usually have their branches, so that the
region is cut into a wilderness of gray and brown cliffs. In several
places, these lateral cañons are only separated from each other by
narrow walls, often hundreds of feet high, but so narrow in places that
where softer rocks are found below, they have crumbled away, and left
holes in the wall, forming passages from one cañon into another. These
we often call natural bridges; but they were never intended to span
streams. They had better, perhaps, be called side doors between cañon
chambers.
Piles of broken rock lie against these walls; crags and tower shaped
peaks are seen everywhere; and away above them, long lines of broken
cliffs, and above and beyond the cliffs are pine forests, of which we
obtain occasional glimpses, as we look up through a vista of rocks.
The walls are almost without vegetation; a few dwarf bushes are seen
here and there, clinging to the rocks, and cedars grow from the
crevices--not like the cedars of a land refreshed with rains, great
cones bedecked with spray, but ugly clumps, like war clubs, beset with
spines. We are minded to call this the Cañon of Desolation.
The wind annoys us much to-day. The water, rough by reason of the
rapids, is made more so by head gales. Wherever a great face of rock
has a southern exposure, the rarified air rises, and the wind rushes
in below, either up or down the cañon, or both, causing local currents.
Just at sunset, we run a bad rapid, and camp at its foot.
_July 9._--Our run to-day is through a cañon, with ragged, broken
walls, many lateral gulches or cañons entering on either side. The
river is rough, and occasionally it becomes necessary to use lines in
passing rocky places. During the afternoon, we come to a rather open
cañon valley, stretching up toward the west, its farther end lost in
the mountains. From a point to which we climb, we obtain a good view of
its course, until its angular walls are lost in the vista.
_July 10._--Sumner, who is a fine mechanist, is learning to take
observations for time with the sextant. To-day, he remains in camp to
practice.
Howland and myself determine to climb out, and start up a lateral
cañon, taking a barometer with us, for the purpose of measuring the
thickness of the strata over which we pass. The readings of a barometer
below are recorded every half hour, and our observations must be
simultaneous. Where the beds, which we desire to measure, are very
thick, we must climb with the utmost speed, to reach their summits in
time. Again, where there are thinner beds, we wait for the moment to
arrive; and so, by hard and easy stages, we make our way to the top of
the cañon wall, and reach the plateau above about two o’clock.
Howland, who has his gun with him, sees deer feeding a mile or two
back, and goes off for a hunt. I go to a peak, which seems to be the
highest one in this region, about half a mile distant, and climb, for
the purpose of tracing the topography of the adjacent country. From
this point, a fine view is obtained. A long plateau stretches across
the river, in an easterly and westerly direction, the summit covered
by pine forests, with intervening elevated valleys and gulches. The
plateau itself is cut in two by the cañon. Other side cañons head
away back from the river, and run down into the Green. Besides these,
deep and abrupt cañons are seen to head back on the plateau, and run
north toward the Uinta and White Rivers. Still other cañons head in the
valleys, and run toward the south. The elevation of the plateau being
about eight thousand feet above the level of the sea, brings it into
a region of moisture, as is well attested by the forests and grassy
valleys. The plateau seems to rise gradually to the west, until it
merges into the Wasatch Mountains. On these high table lands, elk and
deer abound; and they are favorite hunting grounds for the Ute Indians.
A little before sunset, Howland and I meet again at the head of the
side cañon, and down we start. It is late, and we must make great
haste, or be caught by the darkness; so we go, running where we can;
leaping over the ledges; letting each other down on the loose rocks, as
long as we can see. When darkness comes, we are still some distance
from camp, and a long, slow, anxious descent we make, towards the
gleaming camp fire.
After supper, observations for latitude are taken, and only two or
three hours for sleep remain, before daylight.
_July 11._--A short distance below camp we run a rapid, and, in doing
so, break an oar, and then lose another, both belonging to the _Emma
Dean_. So the pioneer boat has but two oars.
We see nothing of which oars can be made, so we conclude to run on to
some point, where it seems possible to climb out to the forests on the
plateau, and there we will procure suitable timber from which to make
new ones.
We soon approach another rapid. Standing on deck, I think it can be
run, and on we go. Coming nearer, I see that at the foot it has a short
turn to the left, where the waters pile up against the cliff. Here we
try to land, but quickly discover that, being in swift water, above
the fall, we cannot reach shore, crippled, as we are, by the loss of
two oars; so the bow of the boat is turned down stream. We shoot by a
big rock; a reflex wave rolls over our little boat and fills her. I see
the place is dangerous, and quickly signal to the other boats to land
where they can. This is scarcely completed when another wave rolls our
boat over, and I am thrown some distance into the water. I soon find
that swimming is very easy, and I cannot sink. It is only necessary to
ply strokes sufficient to keep my head out of the water, though now and
then, when a breaker rolls over me, I close my mouth, and am carried
through it. The boat is drifting ahead of me twenty or thirty feet,
and, when the great waves are passed, I overtake it, and find Sumner
and Dunn clinging to her. As soon as we reach quiet water, we all swim
to one side and turn her over. In doing this, Dunn loses his hold and
goes under; when he comes up, he is caught by Sumner and pulled to the
boat. In the meantime we have drifted down stream some distance, and
see another rapid below. How bad it may be we cannot tell, so we swim
toward shore, pulling our boat with us, with all the vigor possible,
but are carried down much faster than distance toward shore is gained.
At last we reach a huge pile of drift wood. Our rolls of blankets, two
guns, and a barometer were in the open compartment of the boat, and,
when it went over, these were thrown out. The guns and barometer are
lost, but I succeeded in catching one of the rolls of blankets, as it
drifted by, when we were swimming to shore; the other two are lost, and
sometimes hereafter we may sleep cold.
A huge fire is built on the bank, our clothing is spread to dry, and
then from the drift logs we select one from which we think oars can be
made, and the remainder of the day is spent in sawing them out.
_July 12._--This morning, the new oars are finished, and we start once
more. We pass several bad rapids, making a short portage at one, and
before noon we come to a long, bad fall, where the channel is filled
with rocks on the left, turning the waters to the right, where they
pass under an overhanging rock. On examination, we determine to run it,
keeping as close to the left hand rocks as safety will permit, in order
to avoid the overhanging cliff. The little boat runs over all right;
another follows, but the men are not able to keep her near enough to
the left bank, and she is carried, by a swift chute, into great waves
to the right, where she is tossed about, and Bradley is knocked over
the side, but his foot catching under the seat, he is dragged along in
the water, with his head down; making great exertion, he seizes the
gunwale with his left hand, and can lift his head above water now and
then. To us who are below, it seems impossible to keep the boat from
going under the overhanging cliff; but Powell, for the moment, heedless
of Bradley’s mishap, pulls with all his power for half a dozen strokes,
when the danger is past; then he seizes Bradley, and pulls him in. The
men in the boat above, seeing this, land, and she is let down by lines.
Just here we emerge from the Cañon of Desolation, as we have named it,
into a more open country, which extends for a distance of nearly a
mile, when we enter another cañon, cut through gray sandstone.
About three o’clock in the afternoon we meet with a new difficulty. The
river fills the entire channel; the walls are vertical on either side,
from the water’s edge, and a bad rapid is beset with rocks. We come to
the head of it, and land on a rock in the stream; the little boat is
let down to another rock below, the men of the larger boat holding to
the line; the second boat is let down in the same way, and the line of
the third boat is brought with them. Now, the third boat pushes out
from the upper rock, and, as we have her line below, we pull in and
catch her, as she is sweeping by at the foot of the rock on which we
stand. Again the first boat is let down stream the full length of her
line, and the second boat is passed down by the first to the extent
of her line, which is held by the men in the first boat; so she is two
lines’ length from where she started. Then the third boat is let down
past the second, and still down, nearly to the length of her line, so
that she is fast to the second boat, and swinging down three lines’
lengths, with the other two boats intervening. Held in this way, the
men are able to pull her into a cove, in the left wall, where she is
made fast. But this leaves a man on the rock above, holding to the
line of the little boat. When all is ready, he springs from the rock,
clinging to the line with one hand, and swimming with the other, and
we pull him in as he goes by. As the two boats, thus loosened, drift
down, the men in the cove pull us all in, as we come opposite; then we
pass around to a point of rock below the cove, close to the wall, land,
and make a short portage over the worst places in the rapid, and start
again.
At night we camp on a sand beach; the wind blows a hurricane; the
drifting sand almost blinds us; and nowhere can we find shelter. The
wind continues to blow all night; the sand sifts through our blankets,
and piles over us, until we are covered as in a snow-drift. We are glad
when morning comes.
_July 13._--This morning, we have an exhilarating ride. The river is
swift, and there are many smooth rapids. I stand on deck, keeping
careful watch ahead, and we glide along, mile after mile, plying
strokes now on the right, and then on the left, just sufficient to
guide our boats past the rocks into smooth water. At noon we emerge
from Gray Cañon, as we have named it, and camp, for dinner, under a
cottonwood tree, standing on the left bank.
Extensive sand plains extend back from the immediate river valley, as
far as we can see, on either side. These naked, drifting sands gleam
brilliantly in the midday sun of July. The reflected heat from the
glaring surface produces a curious motion of the atmosphere; little
currents are generated, and the whole seems to be trembling and
moving about in many directions, or, failing to see that the movement
is in the atmosphere, it gives the impression of an unstable land.
Plains, and hills, and cliffs, and distant mountains seem vaguely to
be floating about in a trembling, wave rocked sea, and patches of
landscape will seem to float away, and be lost, and then re-appear.
Just opposite, there are buttes, that are outliers of cliffs to the
left. Below, they are composed of shales and marls of light blue and
slate colors; and above, the rocks are buff and gray, and then brown.
The buttes are buttressed below, where the azure rocks are seen, and
terraced above through the gray and brown beds. A long line of cliffs
or rock escarpments separate the table lands, through which Gray Cañon
is cut, from the lower plain. The eye can trace these azure beds and
cliffs, on either side of the river, in a long line, extending across
its course, until they fade away in the perspective. These cliffs
are many miles in length, and hundreds of feet high; and all these
buttes--great mountain-masses of rock--are dancing and fading away, and
re-appearing, softly moving about, or so they seem to the eye, as seen
through the shifting atmosphere.
This afternoon, our way is through a valley, with cottonwood groves on
either side. The river is deep, broad, and quiet.
About two hours from noon camp, we discover an Indian crossing, where
a number of rafts, rudely constructed of logs and bound together by
withes, are floating against the bank. On landing, we see evidences
that a party of Indians have crossed within a very few days. This is
the place where the lamented Gunnison crossed, in the year 1853, when
making an exploration for a railroad route to the Pacific coast.
An hour later, we run a long rapid, and stop at its foot to examine
some curious rocks, deposited by mineral springs that at one time must
have existed here, but which are no longer flowing.
_July 14._--This morning, we pass some curious black bluffs on the
right, then two or three short cañons, and then we discover the mouth
of the San Rafael, a stream which comes down from the distant mountains
in the west. Here we stop for an hour or two, and take a short walk up
the valley, and find it is a frequent resort for Indians. Arrow heads
are scattered about, many of them very beautiful. Flint chips are seen
strewn over the ground in great profusion, and the trails are well worn.
Starting after dinner, we pass some beautiful buttes on the left, many
of which are very symmetrical. They are chiefly composed of gypsum of
many hues, from light gray to slate color; then pink, purple, and brown
beds.
Now, we enter another cañon. Gradually the walls rise higher and higher
as we proceed, and the summit of the cañon is formed of the same beds
of orange colored sandstone. Back from the brink, the hollows of the
plateau are filled with sand disintegrated from these orange beds.
They are of rich cream color, shaded into maroon, everywhere destitute
of vegetation, and drifted into long, wave like ridges.
The course of the river is tortuous, and it nearly doubles upon itself
many times. The water is quiet, and constant rowing is necessary to
make much headway. Sometimes, there is a narrow flood plain between the
river and the wall, on one side or the other. Where these long, gentle
curves are found, the river washes the very foot of the outer wall. A
long peninsula of willow bordered meadow projects within the curve,
and the talus, at the foot of the cliff, is usually covered with dwarf
oaks. The orange colored sandstone is very homogeneous in structure,
and the walls are usually vertical, though not very high. Where the
river sweeps around a curve under a cliff, a vast hollow dome may be
seen, with many caves and deep alcoves, that are greatly admired by the
members of the party, as we go by.
We camp at night on the left bank.
_July 15._--Our camp is in a great bend of the cañon. The perimeter of
the curve is to the west, and we are on the east side of the river.
Just opposite, a little stream comes down through a narrow side cañon.
We cross, and go up to explore it. Just at its mouth, another lateral
cañon enters, in the angle between the former and the main cañon above.
Still another enters in the angle between the cañon below and the side
cañon first mentioned, so that three side cañons enter at the same
point. These cañons are very tortuous, almost closed in from view,
and, seen from the opposite side of the river, they appear like three
alcoves; and we name this Trin-Alcove Bend.
Going up the little stream, in the central cove, we pass between
high walls of sandstone, and wind about in glens. Springs gush from
the rocks at the foot of the walls; narrow passages in the rocks are
threaded, caves are entered, and many side cañons are observed.
The right cove is a narrow, winding gorge, with overhanging walls,
almost shutting out the light.
The left is an amphitheater, turning spirally up, with overhanging
shelves. A series of basins, filled with water, are seen at different
altitudes, as we pass up; huge rocks are piled below on the right, and
overhead there is an arched ceiling. After exploring these alcoves,
we recross the river, and climb the rounded rocks on the point of the
bend. In every direction, as far as we are able to see, naked rocks
appear. Buttes are scattered on the landscape, here rounded into cones,
there buttressed, columned, and carved in quaint shapes, with deep
alcoves and sunken recesses. All about us are basins, excavated in the
soft sandstones; and these have been filled by the late rains.
Over the rounded rocks and water pockets we look off on a fine stretch
of river, and beyond are naked rocks and beautiful buttes to the Azure
Cliffs, and beyond these, and above them, the Brown Cliffs, and still
beyond, mountain peaks; and clouds piled over all.
On we go, after dinner, with quiet water, still compelled to row, in
order to make fair progress. The cañon is yet very tortuous.
About six miles below noon camp, we go around a great bend to the
right, five miles in length, and come back to a point within a quarter
of a mile of where we started. Then we sweep around another great
bend to the left, making a circuit of nine miles, and come back to
the point within six hundred yards of the beginning of the bend. In
the two circuits, we describe almost the figure 8. The men call it a
bow-knot of river; so we name it Bow-Knot Bend. The line of the figure
is fourteen miles in length.
There is an exquisite charm in our ride to-day down this beautiful
cañon. It gradually grows deeper with every mile of travel; the walls
are symmetrically curved, and grandly arched; of a beautiful color,
and reflected in the quiet waters in many places, so as to almost
deceive the eye, and suggest the thought, to the beholder, that he is
looking into profound depths. We are all in fine spirits, feel very
gay, and the badinage of the men is echoed from wall to wall. Now and
then we whistle, or shout, or discharge a pistol, to listen to the
reverberations among the cliffs.
At night we camp on the south side of the great Bow-Knot, and, as we
eat our supper, which is spread on the beach, we name this Labyrinth
Cañon.
_July 16._--Still we go down, on our winding way. We pass tower cliffs,
then we find the river widens out for several miles, and meadows are
seen on either side, between the river and the walls. We name this
expansion of the river Tower Park.
At two o’clock we emerge from Labyrinth Cañon, and go into camp.
_July 17._--The line which separates Labyrinth Cañon from the one below
is but a line, and at once, this morning, we enter another cañon. The
water fills the entire channel, so that nowhere is there room to land.
The walls are low, but vertical, and, as we proceed, they gradually
increase in altitude. Running a couple of miles, the river changes its
course many degrees, toward the east. Just here, a little stream comes
in on the right, and the wall is broken down; so we land, and go out
to take a view of the surrounding country. We are now down among the
buttes, and in a region the surface of which is naked, solid rock--a
beautiful red sandstone, forming a smooth, undulating pavement. The
Indians call this the “_Toom′-pin Tu-weap′_,” or “Rock Land,” and the
“_Toom′-pin wu-near′ Tu-weap′_,” or “Land of Standing Rock.”
Off to the south we see a butte, in the form of a fallen cross. It is
several miles away, still it presents no inconspicuous figure on the
landscape, and must be many hundreds of feet high, probably more than
two thousand. We note its position on our map, and name it “The Butte
of the Cross.”
We continue our journey. In many places the walls, which rise from
the water’s edge, are overhanging on either side. The stream is still
quiet, and we glide along, through a strange, weird, grand region. The
landscape everywhere, away from the river, is of rock--cliffs of rock;
tables of rock; plateaus of rock; terraces of rock; crags of rock--ten
thousand strangely carved forms. Rocks everywhere, and no vegetation;
no soil; no sand. In long, gentle curves, the river winds about these
rocks.
When speaking of these rocks, we must not conceive of piles of
boulders, or heaps of fragments, but a whole land of naked rock, with
giant forms carved on it: cathedral shaped buttes, towering hundreds
or thousands of feet; cliffs that cannot be scaled, and cañon walls
that shrink the river into insignificance, with vast, hollow domes, and
tall pinnacles, and shafts set on the verge overhead, and all highly
colored--buff, gray, red, brown, and chocolate; never lichened; never
moss-covered; but bare, and often polished.
We pass a place where two bends of the river come together, an
intervening rock having been worn away, and a new channel formed
across. The old channel ran in a great circle around to the right, by
what was once a circular peninsula; then an island; then the water left
the old channel entirely, and passed through the cut, and the old bed
of the river is dry. So the great circular rock stands by itself, with
precipitous walls all about it, and we find but one place where it can
be scaled. Looking from its summit, a long stretch of river is seen,
sweeping close to the overhanging cliffs on the right, but having a
little meadow between it and the wall on the left. The curve is very
gentle and regular. We name this Bonita Bend.
And just here we climb out once more, to take another bearing on The
Butte of the Cross. Reaching an eminence, from which we can overlook
the landscape, we are surprised to find that our butte, with its
wonderful form, is indeed two buttes, one so standing in front of the
other that, from our last point of view, it gave the appearance of a
cross.
Again, a few miles below Bonita Bend, we go out a mile or two along
the rocks, toward the Orange Cliffs, passing over terraces paved with
jasper.
The cliffs are not far away, and we soon reach them, and wander in some
deep, painted alcoves, which attracted our attention from the river;
then we return to our boats.
Late in the afternoon, the water becomes swift, and our boats make
great speed. An hour of this rapid running brings us to the junction of
the Grand and Green, the foot of Stillwater Cañon, as we have named it.
These streams unite in solemn depths, more than one thousand two
hundred feet below the general surface of the country. The walls of the
lower end of Stillwater Cañon are very beautifully curved, as the river
sweeps in its meandering course. The lower end of the cañon through
which the Grand comes down, is also regular, but much more direct, and
we look up this stream, and out into the country beyond, and obtain
glimpses of snow clad peaks, the summits of a group of mountains known
as the Sierra La Sal. Down the Colorado, the cañon walls are much
broken.
We row around into the Grand, and camp on its northwest bank; and here
we propose to stay several days, for the purpose of determining the
latitude and longitude, and the altitude of the walls. Much of the
night is spent in making observations with the sextant.
* * * * *
The distance from the mouth of the Uinta to the head of the Cañon of
Desolation is twenty and three-quarters miles. The Cañon of Desolation
is ninety-seven miles long; Gray Cañon thirty-six. The course of the
river through Gunnison’s Valley is twenty-seven and a quarter miles;
Labyrinth Cañon, sixty-two and a half miles.
In the Cañon of Desolation, the highest rocks immediately over the
river are about two thousand four hundred feet. This is at Log Cabin
Cliff. The highest part of the terrace is near the brink of the Brown
Cliffs. Climbing the immediate walls of the cañon, and passing back to
the cañon terrace, and climbing that, we find the altitude, above the
river, to be 3,300 feet. The lower end of Gray Cañon is about 2,000
feet; the lower end of Labyrinth Cañon, 1,300 feet.
Stillwater Cañon is forty-two and three-quarters miles long; the
highest walls, 1,300 feet.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] Potato tops do make good greens when they are young, but become
poisonous as they mature, like poke shoots. (_Ed._)