Steward with Clem, when the Yampa expedition had gone, started back over the cliffs for Alcove Brook to geologise, leaving Prof. busy with observation, Cap. plotting the topographical notes and making his map thereby, and me with no special duty at the time. Every man who wants to be efficient in the field must learn to cook. This was my opportunity as Andy was absent and the others had their special work on hand, so I turned my attention to the culinary realm. A few directions and an example from Cap. who was a veteran gave me the method and I succeeded as my first offering, in placing before my comrades some biscuits hot from the Dutch oven, which compared favourably with those of Andy himself. With the constant practice Andy by this time had become an expert. The day wore away and at evening I got supper with more biscuits of which I was proud, but Steward and Clem failed to come to partake of them as we expected. Darkness fell and still there was dead silence outside of our camp. Much concerned we then ate supper momentarily expecting to hear their voices, but they did not come. Something had happened, but we could not follow their trail till morning to find out what it was. At ten o'clock we gave them up for the night deeply troubled about them. I had been sitting alone by the fire keeping the coffee hot and listening, when suddenly I heard a crackling of the bushes between me and the river and in a second or two Clem, laughing as over a joke, came to the fire with the water running off him in streams. While I was trying to get an explanation Steward also appeared in the same condition. At first they would not tell what had occurred but finally they confessed on condition that I would keep the matter a secret. They had made a long hard climb and late in the afternoon had come to a place where Steward found it necessary to descend to the river in examining the strata. They intended to climb back, but when the work was done the sun had set and it was too late to venture up as they could not climb in the dark. Rather than stay there all night they made a raft of two little dead cedars and tying their shoes upon it, they waited for the moon to rise. This was very soon and they slipped into the current relying on the raft merely to keep their heads above water. They knew there were no rapids between them and camp but they did not properly estimate the velocity of the river and the eddies and whirlpools. They kept near the left wall so as not to be carried past camp and in this they made a great mistake for they were caught in a whirlpool caused by a projection, and the raft was wrenched from them while they were violently thrown around. Steward being a powerful swimmer succeeded after nearly going under for good in regaining the raft which Clem meanwhile had been losing and recovering quickly several times. He was not a good swimmer. After this whirlpool was passed they reached the locality of our camp with no further adventure. They were very desirous that the story be kept from the rest of the party but they had hardly finished telling me when Prof. came and insisted on knowing what had occurred. Their punishment for this indiscretion was the hard climb back again to where they had left a rifle and other things that must be recovered.
A delightful episode of this camp was a row which several of us made up the Yampa in the moonlight. As far as we went the current was not swift and we were able to pull gently along under the great cliffs in shadows made luminous by the brilliancy of the moon. A song the Major was fond of singing, Softly and Sweetly it Comes from Afar, almost involuntarily, sprang from us all, though our great songster, Jack, was not with us. Jack had an extensive repertory, an excellent voice, and a hearty, exuberant spirit. He would sing Write Me a Letter from Home, The Colleen Bawn, The Lone Starry Hours, Beautiful Isle of the Sea, and many others in a way that brought tranquillity to our souls. We missed him on this evening but nevertheless our song sounded well, echoing from wall to wall, and we liked it. Somehow or other that night remains one of the fairest pictures I have ever seen.
Another day I went with Steward down across the triangular bottom to the lower end of the park where we climbed out through the canyon of a little brook to a sandy and desolate plateau. Currant bushes laden with fruit abounded and there were tracks of grizzlies to be seen. Possibly some may have been lying in the dense underbrush, but if so they kept their lairs as these bears generally do unless directly disturbed.
On the 30th of June Prof., Steward, and Cap. went for a climb. They proceeded to the lower end of the park by boat and through the little canyon that came in there, got out to the plateau where Steward and I had before been, but there they went farther. After a very hard climb they succeeded in reaching the crest where they had a broad view and could see nearly all of the next canyon with its rapids which we would have to pass through; the canyon the Major had called Whirlpool on his first trip. They could also see the Yampa River for twenty miles and discovered the Dean coming back down that stream, their attention being attracted by a gunshot in that direction, which they knew could be only from our own men. In camp during the day I again experimented in the culinary department, and produced two dried-apple pies, one of which Clem and I ate with an indescribable zest, and the other we kept to astonish the absentees with when they should reach camp. I have since learned that my method of pie-making was original I soaked the dried apples till they were soft then made a crust which had plenty of bacon grease in it for shortening and put the apples with sugar between, baking the production in the Dutch oven.
About five o'clock the Yampa explorers came. They were ragged, tired, and hungry having had nothing to eat all day, and not enough any day, as the Major had not taken sufficient supplies in his desire to make the boat light. They were all rather cross, the only time on the whole expedition that such a state existed, but when they had eaten and rested their genial spirits came back, they even liked my pie, and they told us about their struggle up the canyon.
We were all rather sorry to pull away from this comfortable camp at the mouth of the Yampa on July 3d, but the rapids of Whirlpool were challenging and we had to go and meet them. At the foot of Echo Park the Green doubles directly back on itself for a mile as it turns Echo Rock, the narrow peninsula of sandstone 600 feet high. The canyon became suddenly very close and assumed a formidable appearance. We listened for the roar of a rapid but for some time nothing was heard. The splendour of the walls impressed us deeply rising 2000 feet, many coloured, carved, and terraced elaborately. Our admiration was interrupted by a suggestive roar approaching and suddenly a violent rapid appeared. There was ample room and we got below it by a let-down, that is by lowering the boats one at a time with their cargoes on board, along the margin, working in and out of the side currents. Then we had dinner while waiting for the Cañonita which had remained behind for pictures.
A part of my work was to make a continuous outline sketch of the left wall for the use of the geologists and this I was able to do as we went along. I had a pocket on the bulkhead in front of my seat in which I kept a sole leather portfolio, which I could use quickly and replace in the waterproof pocket.
The walls of the canyon became more flaring as soon as the rapid was passed at noon, but they lost none of their majesty. We now expected very bad river and whirlpools from the experience of the first party, but the river is never twice alike. Not only does its bottom shift, but every variation in stage of water brings new problems or does away with them entirely. It was an agreeable surprise to be able to run three rapids with ease by four o'clock, when we saw on some rocks two hundred feet above the stream a flock of mountain sheep. An immediate landing was made with fresh mutton in prospect. Unluckily our guns in anticipation of severe work had all been securely packed away, and it was some moments before they could be brought out. By that time the sheep had nimbly gone around a corner of the wall where a large side canyon was now discovered bringing in a fine creek. It was useless to follow the sheep though one or two made a brief trial, and camp was made in a cottonwood grove at the mouth of the creek. Cottonwoods fringed the stream as far as it could be seen from our position. Brush Creek we called it believing it to be the mouth of a stream in the back country known by that name. The next day, two or three miles up, a branch was found to come from the south, and as this was thought to be Brush Creek, the larger one was named after Cap., and "Bishop's Creek" was put on our map. Doubtless there are plenty of trout in this creek and in others we had passed, but we had no proper tackle for trout and besides seldom had time for fishing when at these places. Jack, when not too tired, fished in the Green and generally had good success. Our present locality would have been a rare place for a month or two's sojourn had we been sportsmen with time on our hands. Sheep, deer, and bear existed in abundance as well as smaller game, but we had to forget it though none of us cared about shooting for fun. Our minds were on other things. Often we went out leaving rifles behind as they were heavy in a climb.
