Red Canyon.
Ashley Falls from Below.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.
Below Ashley Falls the declivity of the river was very great with a correspondingly swift current, in one rapid reaching a velocity of at least fifteen miles an hour, and with waves that tossed our heavy boats like feathers. These were the most violent rapids we had yet met, not excepting the ones we had portaged. The cliffs, about 2500 feet high, of red sandstone, were often almost perpendicular on both sides, or at least they impressed us so at the time. There was much vegetation, pine, spruce, willow-leaved cottonwood, aspens, alder, etc., which added to the beauty and picturesqueness of the wild scenery. Beaman stopped each day where possible and desirable to take photographs, and at these times the others investigated the surroundings and climbed up side canyons when they existed. Late in the afternoon we came out suddenly into a small valley or park formerly called Little Brown's Hole, a noted rendezvous for trappers, and which we rechristened Red Canyon Park. This was a beautiful place bounded by round mountains, into which our great cliffs had temporarily resolved themselves, particularly on the right, the left side remaining pretty steep. Our camp was pitched under two large pine trees and every one was prepared, in the intervals of other duties, to take advantage of this respite to patch up clothing, shoes, etc., as well as to do what laundering was necessary. The river ran so quietly that we felt oppressed after the constant roaring since we had entered Red Canyon. I remember climbing up at evening with one of my companions, to a high altitude where the silence was deathlike and overpowering. Prof. and some of the others climbed to greater heights for topographical purposes, easily reaching an altitude of about 4000 feet above the river in an air-line distance of about five miles. Here they obtained a magnificent panorama in all directions, limited on the west by the snowy chain of the Wasatch, and on the north by the Wind River Range like white clouds on the horizon 200 miles away, and they could trace the deep gorges of the river as they cleave the mountains from distance to distance.
Here we saw signs of abundant game, elk, deer, bear, etc., but we had no time to go hunting as a business and the game refused to come to us. Each man had his work to accomplish so that we could get on. It was impracticable to go wandering over the mountains for game, much as we would have enjoyed a change from our bacon and beans. One day, only, was spent here for all purposes, geologising, topographic climbing, and working out the notes from up the river, making repairs and all the other needful things that crowded upon us. Here it was that I did my first tailoring and performed a feat of which I have ever since been proud; namely, transferring some coattails, from where they were of no use, to the knees and seat of my trousers where they were invaluable.
On June 8th, we left this "Camp Number 13" regretfully and plunged in between the cliffs again for about eight miles, running five rapids, when we emerged into a large valley known as Brown's Hole, where our cliffs fell back for two or three miles on each side and became mountain ranges. Pulling along for a couple of miles on a quiet river we were surprised to discover on the left a white man's camp. Quickly landing we learned that it was some cattlemen's temporary headquarters (Harrell Brothers), and some of the men had been to Green River Station since our departure from that place, the distance by trail not being half that by river. They were expecting us and had brought some mail which was a glad sight for our eyes. These men had wintered about 2000 head of Texas cattle in this valley, noted for the salubrity of its winter climate since the days of the fur-hunters, and were on their way to the Pacific coast. We made a camp near by, with a cottonwood of a peculiar "Y" shape, more stump than tree, to give what shade-comfort it could, and enjoyed the relaxation which came with the feeling that we had put twenty-five miles of hard canyon behind, and were again in touch, though so briefly and at long range, with the outer world. As some of these men were to go out to the railway the following Sunday and offered to carry mail for us, we began to write letters to let our friends know how we were faring on our peculiar voyage. This "Brown's Hole" was the place selected by a man who pretended to have been with the former party, for the scene of that party's destruction which he reported to the newspapers. He thought as it was called a "hole" it must be one of the worst places on this raging river, not knowing that in the old trapper days when a man found a snug valley and dwelt there for a time it became known as his "hole" in the nomenclature of the mountains. The Major did not think this a satisfactory name and he changed it to "Brown's Park" which it now bears. I met an "old timer" on a western train several years afterward, who was greatly irritated because of this liberty which the Major took with the cherished designation of the early days. Fort Davy Crockett of the fur-trading period was located somewhere in this valley.
In Red Canyon Park.
Ashley Falls from Below.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.
The next morning after reaching Harrell's camp we were told that, as Frank did not seem able to stand the voyage he was to leave us here, to go over the mountains back to the railway, whence he would go home. We were all sorry to hear this and doubly sorry when on Sunday the 11th he mounted a mule and regretfully rode away with Mr. Harrell. The latter was to telegraph to Salt Lake to Mrs. Powell, to send our mail back to Green River Station so that it could be brought out to us on Mr. Harrell's return. Meanwhile we dropped down the river, now tranquil as a pond, with low banks covered with cottonwood groves. There were two small canyons the first of which we called "Little" about one-half mile long, and the second "Swallow," about two miles long. The cliffs were red sandstone about three hundred feet high, often vertical on both sides. Thousands of swallows swarmed there, and we did not resist giving it an obvious name. Below this the water spread out more and was full of islands. The current was sluggish, two miles an hour perhaps, and we indulged in the novelty of rowing the boats, though we did not try to make speed, for we had to wait for Mr. Harrell's return anyhow. The boats had been lightened by trading to Harrell some of our flour, of which we had an over abundance when it came to portages, for fresh beef, of which we were very much in need. At a convenient place we landed where there was a fine cottonwood grove and remained while Prof. made a climb and to jerk the beef. It was cut into thin strips and hung on a willow framework in the sun with a slow fire beneath. As the thermometer now stood at ninety-nine in the shade the beef was fairly well cured by the 13th and we went on, seeing one of the cattlemen and a Mexican boy on the left bank. In this neighbourhood we passed from Utah into Colorado. The river was six hundred feet broad and about six feet deep. We had no trouble from shoals, and finally lashed the three boats side by side and let them drift along in the slow current. The Major sitting in his arm-chair on the middle boat read aloud selections from The Lady of the Lake which seemed to fit the scene well. Steward and Andy amused themselves by swimming along with the boats and occasionally diving under them.