Horseshoe Canyon
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.
The gorge we ran into so suddenly was short and by dinner-time we had emerged into a wider, more broken place, though we were still bound in by tremendous heights. We saw that we had described a complete horseshoe and this fact determined the canyon's name—number two of the series. When we landed for dinner, an examination was made of the locality from that base before we dropped down a little distance to the mouth of a fine clear creek coming in from the right. This was a fascinating place. The great slopes were clothed with verdure and trees, and the creek ran through luxuriant vegetation. A halt of a day was made for observation purposes. The air was full of kingfishers darting about and we immediately called the creek by their name.
I was sent with Steward on a geological expedition out over the right or western cliffs. We consumed two hours in getting out, having to climb up about 1000 feet over a difficult way. After a good deal of going up and down across rough ridges, we finally worked our way around to the head of Flaming Gorge. Here we reckoned up and found that eight steep ridges intervened between us and camp by the way we had come, and we concluded that we could get back easier through Flaming Gorge and thence by climbing over the tongue or base of the horseshoe which was lower than the end. Steward grew decidedly weary and I felt my legs getting heavy too. Rain had fallen at intervals all day and we were wet as well as tired and famished. We struck an old trail and followed it as long as it went our way. Then it became too dark to see which way it went and we climbed on as best we could. It was about half-past eight when we reached our camp to find a splendid fire burning and a good supper waiting for us.
The new canyon which closed in the next day had walls about 1500 feet in height, that being the general height of the spur of the Uintas through which we were travelling. The changes from one canyon to another were only changes in the character of the bounding mountain walls, for there was no break into open country. The name of Kingfisher we gave to the new gorge for the same reason we had called the creek at our camp by that name, and so numerous were these birds at one rounded promontory that there was no escape from calling it Beehive Point, the resemblance to a gigantic hive being perfect. Kingfisher Canyon like its two predecessors was short, all three making a distance by the river of only about ten miles. Flaming Gorge is the gateway, Horseshoe the vestibule, and Kingfisher the ante-chamber to the whole grand series. At the foot of Kingfisher the rocks fell back a little and steep slopes took their place. Where the rocks closed in again, we halted on the threshold of the next gorge, in a fine grove of cottonwoods. A significant roar came to us out of the gate to Red Canyon, rolling up on the air with a steady, unvarying monotony that had a sinister meaning. It was plain that we were nearing something that was no paltry gem like the rapid we had so much admired in Horseshoe Canyon.
The remainder of that day and all the next, which was June 1st, we stayed at this camp completing records, investigating the surroundings, and preparing for rough work ahead. On Friday morning the cabins were packed carefully, the life preservers were inflated, and we pulled out into the current. The cliffs shot up around us and rough water began at once. The descent was almost continuous for a considerable distance, but we divided it into three rapids in our notes, before we reached a sharp turn to the right, and then one just as sharp to the left, with vertical walls on both sides and a roaring torrent, broken by rocks, whirling between. Our boat shot down with fierce rapidity and would have gone through without a mishap had not the current dashed us so close to the right-hand wall that Jack's starboard row-lock was ripped off by a projection of the cliff as we were hurled along its rugged base. At the same moment we saw the Nell upsetting against some rocks on the left. Then we swept out of view and I was obliged to pull with all my strength, Jack's one oar being useless. We succeeded in gaining a little cove on the left, and jumped out as soon as shallow enough, the Major immediately climbing the cliffs to a high point where he could look down on the unfortunate second boat. Prof., it seems, had misunderstood the Major's signal and had done just what he did not think he ought to do. He thought it meant to land on the left and he had tried to reach a small strip of beach, but finding this was not possible he turned the boat again into the current to retrieve his former position, but this was not successful and the Nell was thrown on some rocks projecting from the left wall, in the midst of wild waters, striking hard enough to crush some upper planks of the port side. She immediately rolled over, and Frank slid under. Prof. clutched him and pulled him back while the men all sprang for the rocks and saved themselves and the boat from being washed away in this demoralised condition. With marvellous celerity Cap. took a turn with a rope around a small tree which he managed to reach, while Steward jumped to a position where he could prevent the boat from pounding. In a minute she was righted and they got her to the little beach where they had tried to land. Here they pulled her out and, partially unloading, repaired her temporarily as well as they could. This done they towed up to a point of vantage and made a fresh start and cleared the rapid with no further incident. Meanwhile the Cañonita had come in to where we were lying, and both boats were held ready to rescue the men of the other. After about three-quarters of an hour the unfortunate came down, her crew being rather elated over the experience and the distinction of having the first capsize.
Setting out on the current again we passed two beautiful creeks entering from the right, and they were immediately named respectively, Compass and Kettle creeks, to commemorate the loss of these articles in the capsize. At the mouth of Kettle Creek, about a mile and a half below the capsize rapid, we stopped for dinner. Then running several small drops, we arrived at a long descent that compelled careful action. We always landed, where possible, to make an examination and learn the trend of the main current. Our not being able to do this above was the cause of the Nell's trouble. We now saw that we had here landed on the wrong side and would have to make a somewhat hazardous crossing to the opposite, or right bank. Our boat tried it first. In spite of vigorous pulling we were carried faster down towards the rapid than to the objective landing. When we reached water about waist deep we all sprang overboard, and I got to shore with the line as quickly as I could. We were able to turn and catch the Nell as she came in, but the Cañonita following ran too far down. We all dashed into the stream almost at the head of the rapid, and there caught her in time. The load was taken out of our boat and she was let down by lines over the worst part. Loading again we lowered to another bad place where we went into camp on the same spot where the Major had camped two years before. We unloaded the other boats and got them down before dark, but we ate supper by firelight. The river averaged about 250 feet wide, with a current of not less than six miles an hour and waves in the rapids over five feet in vertical height. These waves broke up stream as waves do in a swift current, and as the boats cut into them at a high velocity we shipped quantities of water and were constantly drenched, especially the bow-oarsmen. The cliffs on each side, wonderfully picturesque, soon ran up to 1200 or 1500 feet, and steadily increased their altitude. Owing to the dip of the strata across the east and west trend of the canyon the walls on the north were steeper than those on the south, but they seldom rose vertically from the river. Masses of talus, and often alluvial stretches with rocks and trees, were strung along their base, usually offering numerous excellent landings and camping places. We were able to stop about as we wished and had no trouble as to camps, though they were frequently not just what we would have preferred. There was always smooth sand to sleep on, and often plenty of willows to cut and lay in rows for a mattress. It must not be imagined that these great canyons are dark and gloomy in the daytime. They are no more so than an ordinary city street flanked with very high buildings. Some lateral canyons are narrow and so deep that the sun enters them but briefly, but even these are only shady, not dark.