The high cliffs, two thousand feet, red and towering in the bright sun, became sombre and mysterious as the night shadows crept over them, the summits remaining bright from the last western rays when the river level was dim and uncertain. There was plenty of driftwood, and our fires were always cheery and comfortable. The nights were now quite cold, or at least chilly, while the days were hot as soon as the sun came over the edge of the cliffs. Through some of the narrow promontories at this particular camp there were peculiar perforations suggesting immense windows looking into some fairer land. I would have been glad to examine some of these closely, but as it was not necessary they were passed by. It would also have been difficult to reach them as they were very high up.
The rapid at our camp was a starter the next day on a line of them following one after the other till we had run without accident nine before halting for dinner; and nine in 6-3/4 miles was not a bad record. We landed for noon on the same spot where the first party had stopped and our last night's camp was also coincident with theirs, according to their map which we had for consultation. Prof. decided to remain here for the rest of the day and also the next one which was Sunday. Up in a high gulch some pine trees were visible, and Jack and I climbed up to them and collected several pounds of gum for repairing the boats. Sunday morning Prof., Jones, and Steward struck for the summit up the cliffs to get observations. An hour and a half of steady hard work put them 2576 feet above the river, but they were still three hundred feet below the general level of the great plateau which we were bisecting. Prof. thought he would like to make better time down the river, which we could easily have done up to this point, but if we arrived at the end of the canyon too soon we would have to wait there and it was better to distribute the wait as we went along. It was now August 14th and we were not due below till September 3d.
On Monday morning we pushed and pulled and lifted the boats through a shallow rapid half a mile long. It was hard work. Then came one which we ran, but the following drop was deemed too risky to trust our boats in, and they were lowered by lines. Then in a short distance this same process was repeated with hard work in a very bad place, and when we had finished that we were tired, hungry, wet, and cold, so under a cottonwood tree on the right we stopped for needed refreshment, and while it was preparing most of us hung our clothes on the branches of a fallen tree to dry. The rapid foaming and fuming presented so vigorous an appearance and made so much noise we thought it ought to be named, and it was called Fretwater Falls. At three o'clock we took up our oars again and were whirled along at runaway speed through a continuous descent for half a mile. After another half-mile a small rapid appeared, which we dashed through without a second thought, and then came our final effort of the day, a line-portage over a particularly bad spot. It was a difficult job, requiring great exertion in lifting and pushing and fending off, so when Prof. gave the word to camp on the left, we were all glad enough to do so. We had made only 5-1/4 miles and seven rapids. The let-downs had been hard ones, with a couple of men on board to fend off and two or three on the hawser holding back.
The next morning, August 15th, we made another let-down around a bad piece of river, and ran two or three small rapids before dinner. At the let-down the water dropped at least ten feet in two hundred yards, and Prof. estimated thirty in half a mile. The river was also narrow, not more than sixty or seventy feet in one place. Many rocks studded the rapids, and great caution had to be exercised both in let-downs and in runs, lest the boats should be seriously injured. With two or three more feet of water we could have run some that were now impossible. Fortunately there was always plenty of room on both banks, the cliffs being well back from the water. A series of small rapids gave us no special trouble, and having put them behind, we ran in at the head of a rough-looking one, had dinner, and then made a let-down. Starting on, we soon came to a very sharp rapid, which we ran, and found it was only an introduction to one following that demanded careful treatment. Another let-down was the necessary course, and when it was accomplished we stopped for the night where we were on the sand, every man tired, wet, and hungry. We had made only four miles. A significant note of warning was found here in the shape of fragments of the unfortunate No-Name mixed up with the driftwood, fully two hundred miles below the falls where the wreck occurred.
The precipices surrounding us had now reached truly magnificent proportions, one section near our camp springing almost vertically to a height of 2800 or 3000 feet. On the dizzy summit we could discern what had the appearance of an old-fashioned log-cabin, and from this we called it "Log-cabin Cliff." The cabin was in reality a butte of shale, as we could see by means of our glasses, and of course of far greater size than a real cabin, but from below the illusion was complete. At this camp, No. 40, we remained the next day, Prof. wishing to make some investigations. He and Jones crossed to the other side and went down on foot two or three miles; then returning he went up some distance, while the rest of us mended our clothes, worked up notes, and did a score of little duties that had been neglected in the river work. Jack and I climbed up the cliffs and got more pine gum, with which we caulked up the seams in our boat. Cap. kindly turned barber and redeemed me from the danger of being classed as orang-outang. The air was too hazy for photographing or for getting observations from the summit, and Prof. concluded to stay till next day at this place and then go to the top of the world; in other words, to the summit. Very early in the morning, August 17th, Steward and Cap. started with Prof. for the climb. Keeping up the main canyon for a mile they came to a side gorge where Prof. had been the day before, which they followed for half a mile and then boldly mounted the cliffs, reaching an altitude of 3100 feet above the river. While they were gone, Jack and I climbed after more pine gum, and succeeded in getting five or six pounds for future use. As I was descending along a terrace, Jack being some distance behind and above, a fine, large mountain sheep, sleek and clean, with beautiful strong horns, sprang along four or five hundred feet from me, and stopped in full view listening to Jack's footsteps. I had no gun, and could only admire him till he bounded lightly away.
About one o'clock the climbing party came back. Steward had shot a mountain sheep with a revolver, only to find that a deep canyon intervened between him and his prize and there was no way of getting it.
About half past two we shoved out into the river again, running a small rapid immediately. The water was so shallow that our keel struck a number of times but no damage was done. We had hardly cleared this when we arrived at a drop of about six feet in a few yards with the whole river filled with bad rocks. At this place, according to the map made by the first party, their Emma Dean was capsised. We made a let-down and a quarter of a mile farther on repeated the operation should be. Following this were some swift shoals which brought us to another ugly descent where the Nell stove a hole in her side and came near upsetting. Prof. was knocked half out of the boat but got in again. The other boats we lowered by lines and they passed through uninjured. Near this point a fine clear little stream about a rod wide entered from the west. After running two more rapids Prof. decided to camp which we did on the right, Camp 41. Our run footed up 3-3/4 miles. Our camp was in some cottonwoods and we had to cross a wide rocky bar to get to it but it was preferable to camping on the sand. In this canyon there was generally a valley about one-quarter mile wide on one side or the other, and with the abundant supply of driftwood for fires and a whole river for drink we fared well. The great canyon now appeared deeper than at any point above, about three thousand feet we estimated, the walls being extremely precipitous. One cliff not far from camp appeared to be nearly perpendicular.
Steward got up very early the next morning in order to mend his shoes, and he succeeded so well as cobbler, we declared he had missed his calling, but we did not start till ten o'clock, waiting for Beaman to take views. The first thing we then did was to run a very shallow rapid, followed by another, long, difficult, narrow, and rocky. Then there was a short, easy one, with the next below compelling a very hard let-down. There was nothing but rocks, large rocks, so close together that it was all we could do to manœuvre the boats between them. There was no channel anywhere. For the greater part of the way we had to pull them empty over the rocks on driftwood skids which taxed our muscles considerably and of course saturated our clothing for half the time we were in the water, as was always the case at let-downs. This over we had our noon ration of bread, bacon, and coffee and took a fresh start by running a nice, clear rapid and then another a half-mile below, and we thought we were getting on well when we saw ahead a fall of some ten feet in fourteen rods, turbulent and fierce. The only prudent thing for this rapid was a let-down and we went at it at once. It was the usual pulling, hauling, fending, and pushing, but we got through with it after a while and naming it at the suggestion of some one, Melvin Falls, we went on to the eighth and last rapid for the day. This was half a mile long and very rocky, but it was thought we could run it and all went through safely except the Nell which caught her keel on a rock and hung for a moment, then cleared and finished with no damage. We made Camp 42 on a sand-hill. These hills were a feature of the wide banks, being blown up by the winds, sometimes to a height of fifteen or twenty feet. Our run for the day was less than five miles, yet as we had passed eight rapids one way and another, we were all pretty tired and of course wet and hungry. A good big camp-fire was quickly started, our dry garments from the rubber bags donned in place of the flapping wet ones, and we were entirely comfortable, with the bread baking in the Dutch oven, the coffee or tea steaming away, and the inspiring fragrance of frying bacon wafted on the evening air. When we stopped long enough Andy would give us boiled beans or stewed dried apples as a treat. If we desired to enliven the conversation all that was necessary was to start the subject of the "light" back at the camp where we first met Douglas Boy. Every one would soon be involved except Prof. who only laughed and inserted from time to time a well-chosen remark to keep up the interest. Jack would always give us a half-dozen songs and to this Steward would add a solo on the mouth-organ. The evenings were growing longer, and we sat closer to the fire. Sometimes Cap. and Clem would play a game of euchre, but no one else seemed to care anything about cards. Our beds, when possible, were made by first putting down willows or cedar twigs in regular order, on which the blankets would be spread making a luxurious bed on which sleep instantly overtook us, with the sound of falling water generally the last thing and the first in our ears.
At 7.30 the next morning, August 19th, we were speeding on our way and ran the rapid which had sent its lullaby to our camp. Another came right after it, shallow and bad, and then one more where the channel was beset with innumerable boulders hidden under the surface. Happily the boats were not seriously damaged, they needed no repairs, and we kept on to the next barrier which proved to be not runable with any prospect of getting through whole so we made a portage. Then there was a rapid we ran easily, but as if to revenge itself for making one gentle for us, the river obliged us to work a laborious passage at the next two. We had good hard work, lowering by lines, wading alongside where necessary to ease the boats, or clinging to their sides where the water was deep, while the men on shore at the hawser's end lowered away to a shallow place. We were glad to halt at 11.30 for dinner, and a short rest.
There was a heavy rapid beside us as we ate, and Steward named it Chandler Falls. It had a descent of about twelve feet in twenty rods. On the opposite side of the river a clear little creek came in, and this was named Chandler Creek, Chandler being the maiden name of Steward's wife. Beaman and Clem selected a position with their photographic outfit and made some photographs of us as we were working the boats through. A mile below we halted on the right for Beaman to get more views. None of his photographs of the rapids came out well as the plates were too slow. Up a gulch on the right we could see a remarkable topographic feature, nothing less than a gigantic aperture, or natural arch, in the cliff. It had a span of at least 300 feet with a height of about half as much. It was 1500 or 1800 feet above the river. Hundreds of cedar trees grew around the arch on the ledges of the huge wall through which it was cut by the action of the elements.