Through the Grand Canyon from Wyoming to Mexico

by E. L. Kolb

It was too late to go any farther that evening, so we camped a hundred yards below him, close to where our boats were pulled out. At this place there was a long, wide flat in the canyon, with plenty of driftwood, so we saw no reason why we should quarrel with our neighbour. Smith accepted our invitation to supper, stating that he had just eaten before we arrived, but enjoyed some pineapple which we had kept for some special occasion, and which was served for dessert.

Over the table we became better acquainted, and, after learning what we were doing, he recounted his experiences. He told us he had left Green River, Utah, a month before, and had been trapping as he came along. He knew there was a canyon, and some rapids below, but had no idea they were so bad, and thought they were about ended. No one had warned him, for he had told no one what he intended doing. He had bought an old water-logged boat that had been built by Galloway, and seeing the uselessness of trying to run the rapids with it, worked it down along the shores by holding it with a light chain. Once he had been pulled into the river, twice the boat had been upset, and he was just about dried out from the last spill when we arrived. He had heard us shooting at the ducks, so rather expected company—this in brief was his amazing story.

We were surprised when we examined the boat closely. It had been well made, but was so old and rotten that it seemed ready to fall to pieces. In places, the nail heads had pulled through the boards. It was entirely open on top—a great risk in such water. His boxes were tied in to prevent loss. These boxes were now piled on the shore, with a large canvas thrown over them. This canvas, fastened at the top and sloping to the ground, served him for a tent; his bed was underneath. A pair of high-topped boots, placed bottom up over two sticks, stuck in the sand beside the camp-fire, explained the different tracks we had seen above.

Smith evidently was not much alarmed over his situation. About the only thing that seemed to bother him was the fact that his smoking tobacco had been wet several times. That evening we got out our guide-book—Dellenbaugh's "A Canyon Voyage"—and tried to give him an idea of what was ahead. The walls ahead grew higher, and closer together; sometimes there was a shore on one side, sometimes on the other, at one or two places there was no shore on either side, and the rapids continued to get worse,—so we gathered from Dellenbaugh's experience. Above this point there were several places where one could climb out,—we had even seen signs of ancient trails in two side canyons,—below here few such places existed.

Smith listened to all this attentively, then smiled and said "I guess there will be some way through." After a short visit he returned to his camp. We noticed that he slept on his gun,—to keep it dry, no doubt, for it looked like rain.

Morning found us very sorry that we had not erected our tent, for it rained nearly all night, but when once in our beds it was a question which was preferable; to get out in the rain and put up our tent, or remain in our comfortable beds. We remained where we were. As we prepared to leave, we offered Smith a chance to accompany us through Cataract Canyon, telling him that we would help him with his boat until the quiet water of Glen Canyon was reached. He declined the opportunity, saying that he would rather travel slowly and do what trapping he could. He welcomed a chance to take a ride on the Defiance, however. We took him over two small rapids, and gave him an insight into our method of avoiding the dangers. He was very enthusiastic about it. On reaching the next rapid we all concluded it would be very unwise to carry any passengers, for it was violent water, so he got out on the shore.

Smith had once seen some moving pictures of Japanese shooting rapids, but he said they were nothing compared to these, remarking that a bronco could hardly buck any harder. The next rapid was just as bad, Rapid No. 14 for Cataract Canyon, and Smith helped us secure a motion picture. Then he prepared to return to his camp. Just before leaving he explained rather apologetically, that ranchers, or others, were usually very unfriendly to a stranger coming into their section of the country. He had heard us shooting at the ducks and he imagined we belonged in some of the side canyons or on the top. This explained his puzzling attitude at our first meeting. If he had any beaver skins in his pack this would make him even more suspicious of strangers. We wished him nothing but the best of luck, and were good friends when we parted. His decision to make the trip alone, poorly equipped as he was, seemed like suicide to us. He promised to write to us if he got out, and with a final wave of the hand we left him on the shore.

The rapid just passed was possibly the scene of the disaster discovered by the Stone expedition. They found a clumsy boat close to the shore, jammed in a mass of rocks, smashed and abandoned. There were tracks of three people in the sand, one track being a boy's. A coat was left on the shore. The tracks disappeared up a box canyon. Mr. Stone corresponded with the only settlements in all that region, few in number, and far distant; but nothing was ever heard of them, Two other parties have left Green River, Utah, within a year of this find and disappeared in like manner. This seemed to be the usual result of these attempts. In nearly every case they have started in boats that are entirely unfitted for rough water, and, seemingly without any knowledge of the real danger ahead, try to follow where others, properly equipped, have gone through.

What a day of excitement that was! We always thought we needed a certain amount of thrills to make life sufficiently interesting for us. In a few hours' time, in the central portion of Cataract Canyon, we experienced nearly enough thrills to last us a lifetime. In one or two of the upper canyons we thought we were running rapids. Now we were learning what rapids really were. No sooner were we through one than another presented itself. At each of them we climbed along the boulder-strewn shores—the lower slopes growing steeper, the walls above towering higher—clear to the end of the rapid. Looking upstream we could pick out the submerged rocks hidden in the muddy water, and looking like an innocent wave from above. Twice we had picked out channels in sharp drops, after carefully observing their actions and deciding they were free from obstructions, when suddenly the waves would part for an instant and disclose a hidden rock—in one case as sharp as a hound's tooth—sure disaster if we ever struck it. As soon as we had decided on a channel we would lose no time in getting back to our boats and running it for we could feel our courage oozing from our finger tips with each second's delay. Time and again we got through just by a scratch. Success bred confidence; I distinctly remember feeling that water alone would not upset the boat; that it would take a collision with a rock to do it. And each time we got through. Twice I almost had reason to reverse my impression of the power of water. First the stern rose up in front of me, as if squaring off at the tops of the cliffs, then descended, until it seemed to be trying to plumb the depths of the river. The waves, rolling over me, almost knocked me out of the boat, I lost my hold on the oars and grabbed the sides of the boat; then, regaining the oars, I finished the run by pulling with the bow headed downstream, for the boat had "swapped ends" in the interval, and was heavy with about three barrels of water in the cockpit. I bailed out with a grocery box, kept under the seat for that purpose. It had been growing quite cold, and Emery's indisposition—or what was really acute indigestion—had weakened him for the past two days, but he pluckily declined to stop. I was soaked with my last immersion and chilled with the wind, so concluded there was no use having him go through the same experience and I ran his boat while he made a picture. We were both ready to camp then, but there was no suitable place and we had to push on to the next rapid. On looking it over we almost gave up our intention of running it. It was about a fourth of a mile long; a mass of submerged rocks extended entirely across the river; the entire rapid seemed impossible. We finally concluded it might be run by shooting up, stern first, on a sloping rock near the shore, then return as the current recoiled and ran back, dividing on either side of the rock. The only clear channel was one about twelve feet wide, between this rock and the shore. A projecting shore above prevented a direct entrance to this channel.

We threw logs in and watched their action. In each case they paused when within five or six feet of the top of the slope, then returned with the current, whirled back to the side and shot through close to the shore. We planned to go through as close together as possible. Emery was ready first, I held back in a protecting pool, waiting for him to get out of the way. He got his position, facing stern downstream, gave the slightest shove forward, and the released boat whizzed down for fifty feet and ran up on the rock. She paused a moment, as the water prepared to return. He gave two quick pulls, shooting back again, slightly to the right, until he struck the narrow channel, then reversed his course and went through stern first exactly as we had planned it. The square stern, buoyed up by the air-chamber, lifted the boat out of the resulting wave as he struck the bottom of the descent. This much of the rapid had only taken a few seconds.