Frederick S. Dellenbaugh: The Romance of the Colorado River

Powell’s Second Attack on the Colorado—Green River City—Red Canyon and a Capsize—The Grave of Hook—The Gate of Lodore—Cliff of the Harp—Triplet Falls and Hell’s Half-Mile—A Rest in Echo Park.

Green River Station. U. P. Ry., Wyoming, 1871. Starting poit of two Powell expeditions.

Though Powell had demonstrated the possibility of passing alive through the thousand-mile stretch of canyons on the Green and Colorado, the scientific results of his hazardous voyage were not what he had desired. Owing to the numerous disasters many of the instruments had been lost, and he had been prevented by this, as well as by other circumstances, from fully accomplishing his intention. On this account he concluded to continue his labours in this direction, and determined to make another descent if he could secure the pecuniary aid of the Government. His application was favourably considered, as it certainly deserved to be, and Congress appropriated a sum for a second expedition that should also examine the adjacent country for a distance of twelve miles on each side of the river. To insure certainty of food supplies for the continuance of the work, Powell visited the region in 1870 for the purpose of examining the feasibility of having rations taken in by pack-trains at several points. He concluded this could be done at the mouth of the Uinta River, at the mouth of the Dirty Devil, at the Ute Ford or Crossing of the Fathers, and at the mouth of the Paria, where he expected to retire from the river for the winter, to conduct explorations in the surrounding mountains. It was on this occasion that he went to the Uinkaret Mountains (September, 1870) and investigated the cause of the disappearance of the Howlands and Dunn. Returning then to Kanab, at that time the farthest frontier settlement of the Mormons, he visited the Moki Towns, across the Colorado, and went back to the East to finish his preparations. In the winter of 1871-72 Congress made an additional appropriation for this expedition. The supervision was vested in that noble character, Joseph Henry, then Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution. Professor Henry was entirely favourable and sympathetic, and his approval was of the highest value. He secured some instruments for the work and lent his aid in every possible manner. A privilege of drawing rations at the Western army posts was also again granted, and this saved a great deal of expense.

Through a friend who was an old army acquaintance of Powell’s I secured an interview in Chicago, whither I went for the purpose. Its character was a good illustration of the explorer’s quick decision. As I advanced towards him he rose to his feet, surveyed me with a lightning glance, and said heartily, “Well, Fred, you’ll do.” These words constituted me a member of his party, and I began my preparations forthwith. Dozens of men applied to join the expedition, but no more were taken, the party being now full.

Thompson, Hattan, Jones, Steward, W. C. Powell. Richardon, Dellenbaugh, Bishop. Our First Camp, Green River, Wyoming. U. S. Colorado River Expedition, 1871 The borrowed tables was, of course, left behind. Photograph by E. O. Beaman.

The boats for this trip were modelled on those used on the former descent, with such changes and improvements as experience had suggested. They were honestly and thoroughly constructed by a builder named Bagley, who had a yard where he turned out small craft, at the north end of the old Clark Street bridge, and we often felt a sense of gratitude to him for doing his work so well. They were three in number, of well-seasoned, clear-grained, half-inch oak, smooth-built, double-ribbed fore and aft, square-sterned, and all practically the same, the former trip having shown the needlessness of taking any smaller or frailer boat for piloting purposes. These were each twenty-two feet long over all, and about twenty on the keel. They were rather narrow for their length, but quite deep for boats of their size, drawing, if I remember correctly, when fully laden, some fourteen or sixteen inches of water. This depth made it possible to carry a heavy load, which was necessary, and at the same time which acted as ballast to keep them right side up amidst the counter-currents and tumbling waters. A rudder being entirely out of place in the kind of navigation found in the canyons, a heavy rowlock was placed at the stern to hold a strong, eighteen-foot steering oar. The boats were entirely decked over on a level with the gunwales, excepting two open spaces left for the rowers. These open spaces, or standing-rooms, were separated from the decked portions by bulkheads, thus forming under the decks three water-tight compartments or cabins, that would not only protect the cargoes and prevent loss in the event of capsize, but would also serve to keep the boats afloat when loaded and full of water in the open parts. The rowlocks were of iron, of the pattern that comes close together at the top, so that an oar must either be slipped through from the handle end or drawn up toward the thin part above the blade to get it out. By attaching near the handle a rim of hard leather, there was no way for the oar to come out accidentally, and so well did this arrangement work that in a capsize the oars remained in the rowlocks. To any one wishing to try the descent of the Colorado, I commend these boats as being perhaps as well adapted to the work as any that can be devised; though perhaps a pointed stern would be an improvement. Iron construction is not advisable, as it is difficult to repair.

The Boats of Powell’s Second Expedition on the Beach at Green River, Wyoming. Photograph by E. O. Beaman, U. S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

When I went the first, time to look at the boats lying on Bagley’s wharf, their ominous porpoise-like appearance gave me a peculiar sensation. I had expected rough-water, but this was the first understanding I had that the journey was to be more or less amphibian. On a day when the waves on Lake Michigan were running high we took them out for trial. The crews were filled out by Bagley’s men, our party not all being present, and with some reporters and a cargo of champagne and cigars our course was laid for the open sea. The action of the boats was all that could be desired, and, in the great billows it was so constant that our reportorial friends found some difficulty in obtaining their share of the refreshments. We were satisfied that the boats could ride any sea, and they were accordingly placed on a car and sent by way of the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy and the Union Pacific railways to Green River Station. These companies charged nothing for this service and also transported all the men and baggage on the same terms. On the 29th of April we alighted at Green River and found the boats already there. This place, when the railway was building, had been for a considerable time the terminus, and a town of respectable proportions had grown up, but with the completion of the road through this region, the terminus had moved on, and now all that was to be seen of those golden days was a group of adobe walls, roofless and forlorn. The present “city” consisted of about thirteen houses, and some of these were of such complex construction that one hesitates whether to describe them as houses with canvas roofs, or tents with board sides. The population consisted of a few whites, a number of Chinese railway labourers, an occasional straggling miner, native, or cattleman, and last but not least, at the small railway-station eating-house, honoured by the patronage of emigrant-trains, his highness Ah Chug, the cook, whose dried-apple pies, at twenty-five cents apiece, I have never ceased to enjoy, for they were the ladder by which I was able to descend from a home table to the camp fare of bacon and beans. I then despised these ruder viands, but now I desire to pay my tribute to them by saying that as a basis for campaigning they are the very best. In hot weather you eat more beans and less bacon, and when the weather is cold your diet is easily arranged in the reverse order.

Ruins of Green River Terminus. Photograph by E. O. Beaman, U. S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The boats were speedily launched upon the swift current at the bridge and steered down to a little cove on the left, a few hundred yards below, where they were hauled out on a beach to give them the finishing touches of preparation, like attaching canvas covers to the cabins, and so forth. Nearby, amongst the willows, we established our first camp—a place of real luxury, for Mr. Field, who had an outfitting house here, lent us a table and two benches. Andy set up some crotches and a cross-bar, to hang his kettles on, and with a cast-iron bake oven—one of the kind like a flat, iron pot, in which, after it is stood upon a bed of hot coals, the bread is placed, and then the cast-iron cover is put on, and laden with hot coals—began his experiments in cookery, for it was a new art to him. In the beginning he was rather too liberal with his salaratus, but the product gave us the pleasant delusion of having reached a land of gold nuggets. Andy soon improved, and we learned to appreciate his rare skill to such an extent that the moment he took his old hat and with it lifted the coffee-pot off the fire, and then placed beside it the bread and bacon with the pleasing remark: “Well, now, go fur it, boys!” we lost not a moment in accepting the invitation. As bread must be made for every meal, Andy’s was no easy berth, for his work on the river was the same as that of the rest of us. It was only when we were engaged in a portage near dinner or supper time that he was permitted to devote his entire attention to the preparation of our elaborate meals. Bean soup, such as Andy made, is one of the most delicious things in the world; and Delmonico could not hold a candle to his coffee. Our three boats bore the names Emma Dean, after Mrs. Powell, Nellie Powell, after Major Powell’s sister, Mrs. Thompson, and Cañonita. The men and their assignment to the boats were these: J. W. Powell, S. V. Jones, J. K. Hillers; F. S. Dellenbaugh—the Emma Dean; A. H. Thompson, J. F. Steward, F. M. Bishop, F. C. A. Richardson—the Nellie Powell; E. O. Beaman, W. C. Powell, A. J. Hattan—the Cañonita.

Almon Harris Thompson. Powell’s colleague in the second descent of the Colorado and subsequent work. For over thirty years prominently connected with United States survey work in the basin of the Colorado and adjacent country, and in the eastern states Recent photograph by Clinedinst.

Jones had been a teacher in Illinois. He went as a topographer. Hillers was a soldier in the Civil War, and was at first not specially assigned, but later, when the photographer gave out, he was directed to assist in that branch, and eventually became head photographer, a position he afterwards held with the Geological Survey for many years. A large number of the photographs from which this volume is illustrated were taken by him and they speak for themselves. Thompson was from Illinois. He also had been a soldier in the war, and on this expedition was Powell’s colleague, as well as the geographer. To his foresight, rare good judgment, ability to think out a plan to the last minute detail, fine nerve and absolute lack, of any kind of foolishness, together with a wide knowledge and intelligence, this expedition, and indeed the scientific work so admirably carried on by the United States Survey of the Rocky Mountain region and the Geological Survey for three decades in the Far West, largely owe success. Steward was an old soldier, was from Illinois, and went with us as geologist, assisting Powell himself in this line. Bishop had been a captain in the war, had been shot through and through the left lung, and was an enthusiast in Western exploration. He was one of the topographers. Richardson was from Chicago and was general assistant to the geologists and topographers. Beaman was from New York. He was photographer; and W. C. Powell, from Illinois, and a nephew of Major Powell, was his assistant. Hattan was a Virginian, but had lived long in Illinois. He had been a soldier in the war, and went with us as cook, because he wanted the trip, and there was no other post open to him. I hailed from Buffalo, was the youngest of the party, and served as artist to the geologists, and later was placed on the topographical work. Mrs. Powell and Mrs. Thompson spent several days at Green River and rendered much assistance, the latter presenting each boat with a handsome flag made by her own hands.

An arm-chair obtained from Field was arranged so that it could be strapped on the deck of the middle cabin of our boat, as a seat for Powell, to enable him to be comfortable and at the same time see well ahead. This had a tendency to make the Dean slightly top-heavy, but only once did serious consequences apparently result from it, and I am not sure that the absence of the high load would have made any difference. Though Powell had descended before, he could not remember every detail and kept a sharp lookout always. The provisions—everything, in fact, except the bacon, which was too greasy—were put in rubber sacks that, when closed, were absolutely water-tight. These bags were encased in cotton sacks and gunny bags to protect the rubber. Each man was allowed one hundred pounds of baggage, including his blankets, and was given two rubber bags to stow it in. When the time came to load up we found we had a formidable pile of things that must go. The photographic apparatus was particularly bulky, for neither the dry-plate nor film had yet been invented. The scientific instruments were also bulky, being in wooden, canvas-covered cases; and there were eleven hundred pounds of flour in twenty-two rubber sacks.

Ready for the Start, U. S. Colorado River Expedition, Green River, Wyoming, 1871. Photograph by E. O. Beaman.

On the 22d of May, 1871, all being ready, and the boats finally packed, we prepared to push off. To save time, breakfast was taken at Field’s place, which, owing to the kindness of himself and his charming family, had seemed very much like home to us. Then the populace to the number of about fifteen—the Chinamen refusing to countenance any outfit harbouring such a terrible engine of the devil as a photographic apparatus—assembled on the beach to give us God-speed. The cheerful conception of this service on the part of a deaf-mute was to fill the air with violent gestures to indicate—and it was vivid enough—that we could not possibly escape destruction. One of his series represented with uncomfortable clearness a drowning man vainly striving to climb up a vertical wall. This pantomime was the last thing I saw from my position at the oars as we turned a bend and left the “city” behind.

We were much better provided for than the first party. We had a guide, our boats were superior, our plan for supplies was immeasurably better, both as to caring for what we took along and what we were to receive at the several indicated places—mouth of the Uinta, mouth of the Dirty Devil, Crossing of the Fathers, and the Paria. We also had rubber life-preservers to inflate at the more dangerous points. Mine did me little good, as I soon found it was in my way and I never wore it; nor did Hillers wear his. As we handled the oars of our boat we concluded it would be safer to do it in the best manner possible, and not be encumbered by these sausages under our elbows, but we always placed them behind us at bad places, ready for use; all the others, however, wore theirs and seemed to find no objection to them in the way of interference. A cork jacket could be worn easier when rowing, and I would recommend it, but the thing of first importance is to have the right kind of boats, and know how to handle them. An humble spirit is also a great safeguard. After starting, the usual number of slight accidents occurred, but there was nothing to interfere with our steady progress into the silent, lonely land, where the great Dragon, whose tail we were now just touching, tore the air to tatters with his writhings. Our light oars were snapped like reeds, but luckily we had plenty of extras, and some ten-foot ones were cut down to eight, and these proved to be strong enough. On the morning of the 23d we were treated to a snow-storm and the air was very cold. It soon cleared, however; and the sun shone again bright and warm, and we went on rejoicing. The next day we reached the mouth of Black’s Fork, and after this the river was deeper and we were less troubled by grounding, the boats being only three inches out of water at the gunwales. The area between Black’s Fork and the Green was strewn with beautiful moss-agates. I longed to secure a quantity, but this was out of the question. Geese and ducks floated on the water around us, but with our rifles it was difficult to get any. There was not a shot-gun in the party. We soon came in sight of the superb snow-covered Uinta range, extending east and west across the land, and apparently an effectual barrier to any progress of the river in that direction, but

Green River Valley. Camp at Tilted Ledge near Henry’s Fork. Photograph by E. O. Beaman.

every day we drew nearer to it. Some of our men shot three deer, and we had fresh meat for a day or two, “jerking” all we could not consume in that time. There was plenty of game along the river here and for a long distance down, but we were not skilled hunters, nor did we have time to follow game or manoeuvre for it, so our diet was mainly confined to what Andy could produce by his manipulation of the supplies we carried. The day following the one that gave us the deer, the river became very winding, and a fearful gale blew across it, carrying sand into our eyes and some water into our boats. In the late afternoon we bore down on a ridge, about one thousand feet high, which extended far in both directions athwart our course. It was the edge of the Uinta Mountains. At its very foot the river seemed to stop. It could be seen neither to right nor, to left, nor could any opening be detected in the mountain, except high up where Powell pointed out to us a bare patch of brilliant red rocks saying it was the top of Flaming Gorge, the beginning of the canyon series. Passing the mouth of Henry’s Fork on the right, the river doubled suddenly to the left between two low cliffs, where there was a small whirlpool, which I take to be the “Green River Suck” of Ashley and the early trappers. Around another point we swept and found ourselves floating on the tranquil waters of Flaming Gorge. A fine grove of deep green cottonwoods stood out on the left in contrast to the rough red rocks. There were moored the other boats, which on this occasion had preceded us, and the ever-faithful Andy was engaged in preparing dinner. The next and first real canyon was the one called Horseshoe, a short and beautiful gorge some sixteen hundred feet in depth, and containing rapid “Number One,” a very mild affair, but particularly noticeable because it is the first of the six hundred, great and small, we had the satisfaction of vanquishing in our war against the falling waters. We had already descended something over one hundred and fifty of the five thousand feet we expected to go down, but there had been only swift water at that stage of flood; nothing that, on the Colorado, would be considered a serious rapid.

Every morning the cabins of the boats were packed like so many trunks. The blankets were rolled up and put in their rubber cases, all bags of supplies were securely tied and stowed away, in short, every article was placed in the cabins and the hatches firmly buttoned in place, with the canvas cover drawn snugly over the deck. Only a grand smash-up could injure these things. Nothing was left out but such instruments as were hourly needed, the guns, life-preservers, and a camp-kettle in each boat for bailing purposes. On each of two boats there was a topographer, whose duty was to sight the direction of every bend of the river and estimate the length of the stretch. Thompson, on his boat, also kept a similar record. The sighting was done with a prismatic compass, and one of these was rendered more interesting by bearing on the leather case the name of George B. McClellan, written by the future general when he was a lieutenant of engineers. There was seldom much discrepancy between the different estimates made during the day, as men grow very accurate in such matters, but a check on all estimates was obtained by frequent observations for latitude and longitude.

Head of Kingfisher Canyon, Green River.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, U. S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The third canyon is also a short one, the three aggregating less than ten miles. Because of the many kingfishers flying about it was called Kingfisher Canyon, and a point where they were especially numerous was named Bee-hive. At the foot of this third short canyon the rocks ran together in a forbidding manner, and out of the depths beyond came a roar, just as one outside of the jungle might hear the lion’s note within. On a bright Friday morning we were ready to try our fortune, and with all made snug, pulled in between the cliffs where in a moment we beheld a wild sea of descending foam. Rapid quickly followed rapid and immediately we had some exciting work. Our boat was swept so near the right-hand cliff that one of the after rowlocks was torn off, and at about the same time the Nellie Powell, following but signalled to keep to the left, was seen to strike rocks near the opposite side and capsize. The next instant we were borne out of sight. Hillers, with only one rowlock, could not use his oars, so the work devolved entirely on me. The boat was heavy for one pair of oars, and we were being carried down stream at a terrific pace. On the left was a little beach where we might land, and I pulled for this with all my power. At length to my great relief I felt the keel touch bottom. We were still about fifteen feet from the beach, but the water was not any deeper than the grating of the keel indicated, so we were overboard in a moment and pulled her to the bank. At the same instant the Cañonita ran in, dashing up like a horse finishing a race. The crew reported the other boat upside down, but they were unable to stop to help her. They thought the crew were safe, and we hoped with all our hearts they were. There was nothing we could do but wait for some sign from above, and in about three quarters of an hour the boat came rushing down with all hands safe and exceedingly happy over claiming the distinction of the first capsize. Now many rapids fell to our lot, and we were kept busy every moment. On the 4th of June we passed the wrecks of some boats half-buried in the sand, and on landing we discovered a grave on a little knoll some distance back from the water, with a pine board stuck up at its head bearing the name of Hook. The rapid that had apparently caused the disaster told by these objects we easily ran. The unfortunates had attempted the descent in flat-bottomed boats, that shipped much water and toppled over with the slightest provocation. They had followed Powell on his former trip, declaring that if he could go down the river so could they, but they learned their mistake and paid dearly for the experience. The leader, whose bones lie in these splendid depths of Red Canyon, was said to have been the first mayor of Cheyenne. Many more rapids we ran with a current of from six to twelve or fifteen miles per hour, and we made many “let-downs,” which means working a boat along the edge of a rapid by the aid of lines, without removing the cargo. We called this process, when we removed the cargo, a “line portage,” as distinguished from a complete portage where the boats were taken out of the water.

Shortly after dinner one day we heard a deep roaring, which implied that we were approaching a violent fall, and hugging the left-hand bank, we drifted slowly down to within a rod or two of the drop and easily landed. It was Ashley Falls. In the centre of the river protruded an immense rock, twenty-five feet square, and the river rushed by on each side making a sudden descent of about eight feet. It would have been nothing to run had it been free from rocks; but it was in reality the rocks which formed it. They had fallen from the left-hand wall within some comparatively recent time, and acted as a dam. Many more were piled up against the left-hand cliff. The river, averaging about two hundred and fifty feet wide, had been narrowed by about one-third and a rapid had thus been changed into a fall. We made a portage here with the first and third boats. The second we allowed to run through with lines attached, but as she got several severe knocks we deemed it unsafe to risk the other. Our camp was on a small level place among some pine trees, almost over the fall, and I think I never saw a more romantic spot. The moon shone down into the canyon with surpassing brilliancy, and this, in contrast to our lavish camp-fire and extremely comfortable surroundings, made a combination ever to be remembered. See pages 113 and 112.

It was on one of the huge rocks above the river on the left that Ashley wrote his name. This was in black letters, sheltered by a slight projection of the rock which acted as a cornice. Thus it had remained distinct, except one figure of the date, for forty-six years, having been done in 1825. The portage around Ashley Falls was laborious as we were obliged to climb with everything about fifty feet above the river, but labour is better than disaster, and it was on such points as these that Powell and Thompson always exhibited good sense. Smaller men would have been unable to resist the temptation to run everything, for there comes an exhilaration in this work that is subtle and dangerous. Below this the declivity was very great, but as there were few rocks our boats were able to go down flying. The walls were two thousand to twenty-five hundred feet high, but not vertical. Suddenly we ran out into a beautiful little valley on the right known to trappers as Little Brown’s Hole, and renamed by our party Red Canyon Park. Here we camped for a day and then went on between high walls over a number of rapids, to emerge into Brown’s Park. This place, I take it, was the end of Ashley’s journey down the river. Sailing along on a quiet current in a valley six miles wide, we ran upon a camp of cattle herders, where Richardson left us, as Powell decided that he was not able to stand the work. He regretfully went back with some of the cattlemen to Green River Station.

Photograph by E. O. Beaman, U. S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The temperature was now often 99 degrees F. in the shade, and rowing on the slow current was irksome, so we lashed the boats together and drifted along while the Major in his armchair read aloud selections from Scott, Emerson, and others, whose condensed poetical works and a couple of Bibles were all the literature to be found in the party, as books are heavy and weight was to be avoided. At times some of the men amused themselves by diving under the boats, swimming around and ahead of them, or surprised a coyote on the bank with a rifle-shot, and otherwise enjoyed the relaxation we had well earned by our toil in Red Canyon. The river was smooth and deep and about six hundred to eight hundred feet wide. At the very foot of the valley we made a camp under the shadow of that magnificent and unrivalled portal, the Gate of Lodore, which had been visible to us for many miles; the dark cleft two thousand feet high, through which the river cuts into the heart of the mountains, appearing as solemn and mysterious as the pathway to another world. From an eminence we could peer into its depths for some distance, and there was no sign of a rapid, but we were not deceived, having posted ourselves by extracts from Jack Sumner’s diary, whose description of “how the waters come down at Lodore” was contained in the frequent repetition of the words, “a hell of foam.” Lodore, indeed, is almost one continuous rapid for the whole twenty miles of its length, and the passage through it will tax the endurance of any man. The declivity is the greatest of the whole river with the exception of the First Granite Gorge of the Grand Canyon and a portion of Cataract Canyon. A diagram of it is given on page 57. I have space only to describe one or two characteristic incidents. The current of the

Photograph by E. O. Beaman, U. S. Colo. Riv. Exp. River here was extremely swift. Fall at left distance. Second expedition landed with difficulty on the right at foot of tall pines. The dark lines at water’s edge are the boats.

river was extraordinarily swift; it must have been in some places nearly twenty miles an hour. The stream averaged about three hundred feet wide. The boats in a rapid fairly flew along amidst the foam, plunging and rearing in the “tails” of waves which always terminate rapids of this class. One day about noon we came shooting down over one of these places, having just run a rather bad rapid, when we saw only a few hundred yards below an ugly looking fall. The left wall came down very straight into the water and threw a deep shadow over it so that we could not tell exactly what was there. Opposite was a rocky wooded point, and between the two the river bodily fell away. Altogether it was a beautiful, though a startling picture. The whole set of the current was towards this drop with headlong fury. There were no eddies, no slack water of any kind. But we could not do such a foolhardy thing as to go into it without knowing what it was and therefore a landing was imperative. Accordingly we headed for the right bank, and laid to our oars till they bent like straws. We almost reached the shore. It was only a few feet away, but the relentless current was hurling us, broadside on, toward the dark rocks where the smooth water was broken and torn and churned to shreds of snowy foam. There was only one thing for us to do, if we did not want to run upon the rocks, and that was to leap overboard, and trust to bringing the boat to a stop by holding on to the bottom, here not so far down. This was done, and the depth turned out to be about to our waists; but for a little time the boat sped on as before. Planting our shoes firmly against the boulders of the bottom as we slid along, we finally gained the upper hand, and then it was an easy matter to reach the shore. Hardly had we done this when the Nell came tearing down in the same fashion. We rushed into the water as far as we dared, and they pulled with a will till they came to us, when they all jumped into the water and we tugged the boat ashore, just in time to plunge in again and help the Cañonita in the same way. Dinner over, the rapid was examined and it was discovered that by pulling straight out into it clear of the rocks, we could easily get through. This was accordingly done and one after the other the boats sped down as if towed by an express train. Then we ran a number of smaller ones with no trouble, and toward evening arrived at a place where the entire river dropped into a sag, before falling over some very bad rapids. We avoided the sag by keeping close to the left bank, and rounded a little point into a broad eddy, across which we could sail with

The Canyon of Lodore. Looking across a Rapid. Photograph by E. O. Beaman, U. S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

impunity. Then we landed on a rocky point at the head of the first bad plunge, the beginning of Disaster Falls, where the No-Name was wrecked two years before. At this place we camped for the night. The descent altogether here is about fifty feet. In the morning all the cargoes were taken over the rocks to the foot of the first fall, and the boats were cautiously worked down along the edge to where the cargoes were, where they were reloaded and lowered to the head of the next descent, several hundred yards. Here the cargoes were again taken out and carried over the rocks down to a quiet bay. This took till very late and everyone was tired out, but the boats were carried and pushed on skids up over the rocks for twenty or thirty yards, past the worst of the fall, and then lowered into the water to be let down the rest of the way by lines. Two had to be left there till the following day. We had found a one hundred pound sack of flour lying on a high rock, where it had been placed at the time of the wreck of the No-Name, and Andy that day made our dinner biscuits out of it. Though it was two years old the bread tasted perfectly good; and this is a tribute to the climate, as well as to the preservative qualities of a coating of wet flour. This coating was about half an inch thick, and outside were a cotton flour-sack and a gunny bag. The flour was left on the rock, and may be there yet. Not far below this we came to Lower Disaster Falls, which a short portage enabled us to circumnavigate and go on our way. The current was so swift all the time that objects on shore flitted past as they do when one looks from a window of a railway train. Just opposite our camp on this night the cliff was almost perpendicular from the water’s edge to the height of about twenty-five hundred feet. The walls seemed very close together, only a narrow strip of sky being visible. As we sat after supper peering aloft at this ribbon of the heavens, the stars in the clear sky came slowly out like some wonderful transformation scene, and just on the edge of the opposite wall, resembling an exquisite and brilliant jewel, appeared the constellation of the Harp. Immediately the name “Cliff of the Harp” suggested itself and from that moment it was so called. Here and there we discovered evidences of the former journey, but nothing to indicate that human beings had ever before, that been below Disaster Falls. There we saw the same indications of an early disaster which Powell had noticed on the first trip, a rusty bake-oven, some knives and forks and tin plates, in the sand at the foot of the second fall. The day after the Cliff of the Harp camp we began by making a line-portage around a very ugly place, which took the whole morning. In the afternoon there was another similar task, so that by night we had made only three or four miles, and camped at the beginning of a decidedly forbidding stretch. Just below us were three sharp rapids which received the name of Triplet Tails. A great deal of work was required to pass these, and then we ran three or four in good style, which brought us, in the late afternoon, to where the whole river spread out amongst innumerable rocks and for more than half a mile the water was a solid sheet of milky foam, sending up the usual wild roar, which echoed and echoed again and again amongst the cliffs around and above us. Some one proposed the name of “Hell’s Half-Mile” for this terrible place and the idea was at once adopted, so appropriate did it seem. The turmoil of the dashing waters was almost deafening, and, even when separated by only a few feet, we could only communicate with each other by shouting at the top of our lungs. It was a difficult task to get our little ships safely below this half-mile, but it was finally accomplished, and on we went in search of the next dragon’s claw. At our camp the fire in some way got into a pine grove and soon was crackling enough to rival the noise of the rapid. The lower region

Canyon of Lodore at Triplet Falls. Cliffs about 2500 feet high. River about 300 feet wide. Photograph by E. O. Beaman, U. S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

seemed now to be sending its flames up through the bottom of the gorge and the black smoke rolled into the sky far above the top of the walls. Many and varied were our experiences in this magnificent canyon, which for picturesqueness and beauty rivals even the Grand Canyon, though not on such a giant scale. Its passage would probably be far easier at low water. At last, one evening, as the soft twilight was settling into the chasm, a strange, though agreeable silence, that seemed almost oppressive, fell around us. The angry waters ceased their roaring. We slid along on a smooth, even river, and suddenly emerged into a pretty little park, a mile long, bounded by cliffs only some six hundred feet high. Running our boats up into the mouth of a quiet river entering from the left we tied them up and were quickly established in the most comfortable camp since Brown’s Park. We were at the mouth of Yampa River. From a wonderful echo which repeated a sentence of ten words, we called the place Echo Park. Such an echo in Europe would be worth a fortune. The Echo Rock is shown on page 203.

Here a stop was made for several days, and one evening some of us took a boat and went up the Yampa a little distance. The walls were vertical and high, and the shadows thrown by the cliffs as we floated along their base were fairly luminous, so bright was the moon. A song burst from the rowers and was echoed from wall to wall till lost in the silence of the night-enveloped wilderness. Nothing could have been more beautiful, and the tranquillity was a joy to us after the days of turmoil in Lodore.