The first rapid is in Horseshoe Canyon, and it was no obstacle, being small and docile, but when they had gone through the next canyon, named Kingfisher, they found themselves at the beginning of a new and closer, deeper gorge, Red Canyon, where the waters first begin to exhibit their grim intention. Here they encountered real rapids, the boats often dashing along at railroad speed, the waves fiercely breaking over them, and bailing becoming an imperative accomplishment. The attempt of a Ute to run through this canyon was described in picturesque terms by one of the tribe. “Rocks, heap, heap, high,” he said; “water go hoowoogh, hoowoogh; water-pony heap buck; water catch um; no see um Injun any more! no see um squaw any more! no see um papoose any more!” and thus begins and ends the only history of native navigation on this upper river I ever heard of.
Red Canyon—Green River. Upper Portion. Looking up Stream.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
After considerable hard work the party reached a particularly sharp, though not very high, fall, announced before arrival by a loud and angry roar. Here a portage was deemed wise, and the goods were carried up over the huge broken rocks and so on down to a point well below the foot of the drop, where the cargoes were again restored to the boats, which meanwhile had been lowered by lines. It was here that the name of Ashley and a year date were found inscribed on a rock. Of this I made a careful copy in 1871, which is given on page 112. The second figure could, of course, be only an 8, and the fourth was plainly a 5. The third, however, was obscure, and Powell was uncertain whether it was a 3 or a 5. It could have been nothing but a 2, because, as we have seen, it was in the twenties of the last century that Ashley operated in this region; and it was in 1825 that he made the Red Canyon journey. At the date which a 3 would make he was a Congressman, and he was never in the Far West again. Running on through Red Canyon with exhilarating velocity, but without any serious drawback, the party came out into the tranquil Brown’s Hole, henceforth called Brown’s Park. At the foot of this, without any preliminaries, they were literally swept into the heart of the mountains, for it is here that the river so suddenly rends the massive formations in twain and speeds away toward the sea between wonderful precipices of red sandstone, churning itself to ivory in the headlong rush. This was named the Canyon of Lodore at the suggestion of one of the men. The work of safely proceeding down the torrent now grew far more difficult. Rapids were numerous and the descent in most of them very great. The boats had to be handled with extra caution. The method of travelling was for Powell to go ahead in the Emma Dean to examine the nature of each rapid before the other boats should come down to it. If he saw a clear chute he ran through and signalled “come on,” but if he thought it too risky he signalled “land,” and the place was examined as well as he was able from the shore. If this investigation showed a great many dangerous rocks, or any other dangerous element, a portage was made, or the boats were let down along the edge by lines without taking out the cargoes. In this careful way they were getting along very well, when one day they came to a particularly threatening place. Powell immediately perceived the danger, and, landing, signalled the other boats to do likewise. Unfortunately, the warning came too late for the No-Name, which was drawn into a sag, a sort of hollow lying just above the rapid, to clutch the unwary and drive them over the fall to certain destruction. Powell for a moment had given his attention to the last boat, and as he turned again and hurried along to discover the fortune of the No-Name, which was plunging down, without hope of escape, toward the frightful descent, he was just in time to see her strike a rock and, rebounding, careen so that the open compartment filled with water. Sweeping on down now with railway speed, broadside on, she again struck a few yards below and was broken completely in two, the three men being tossed into the foaming flood. They were able to gain some support by clinging to the main part of the boat, which still held together. Drifting on swiftly over a few hundred yards more to a second rapid full of large boulders, the doomed craft struck a third time and was entirely demolished, the men and the fragments being carried then out of sight. Powell climbed as rapidly as possible over the huge fallen rocks, which here lie along the shore he was on, and presently he was able to get a view of his men. Goodman was in a whirlpool below a great rock; reaching this he clung to it. Howland had been washed upon a low rocky island, which at this stage of water was some feet above the current, and Seneca Howland also had gained this place. Howland extended a long pole to Goodman and by means of it pulled him to the island, where all were safe for the time being. Several hundred yards farther down, the river took another and more violent fall, rendering the situation exceedingly hazardous. A boat allowed to get a trifle too far towards this descent would be treated as the No-Name had been served higher up, and the expedition could not afford to lose a second boat with its contents. The water in these rapids beats furiously against the foot of the opposite vertical cliff, and if a boat in either place should by chance get too far over towards this right-hand wall it would be dashed to pieces there, even could it escape the rocks of the main channel. The problem was how to rescue the men from the island and not destroy another boat in doing it. Finally, the Emma Dean was brought down, and Jack Sumner undertook to reach the island in her. Keeping well up stream, as near the first fall as he could, a few bold strokes enabled him to land near the lower end. Then, all together, they pulled the boat to the very head of the island and beyond that as far as they could stand up in the water. Here one man sat on a rock and held the boat steady till the others were in perfect readiness to pull with all their power, when he gave a shove and, clinging on, climbed in while the oarsmen put their muscle to the test. The shore was safely attained, and Powell writes: “We are as glad to shake hands with them as though they had been on a voyage around the world, and wrecked on a distant coast.” This disaster was most serious, even though the men were saved, for, besides the loss of the craft itself, all the barometers by some miscalculation were on the No-Name. They were able to make camp on the shore and survey the situation. “No sleep comes to me in all those dark hours,” writes Powell. To meet with such a reverse at so early a stage was very discouraging, but Powell had counted on disaster, and, as he was never given to repining, as soon as breakfast was eaten the next morning he cast about for a way to rescue the barometers which were in a part of the wreck that had lodged among some rocks a half mile below. Sumner and Dunn volunteered to try to reach the place with the small boat, and they succeeded. When they returned, a loud cheer went up from those on shore, and Powell was much impressed with this exhibition of deep interest in the safety of the scientific instruments, but he soon discovered that the cheer was in celebration of the rescue of a three-gallon keg of whiskey that had been smuggled along without his knowledge and happened to be on the ill-fated No-Name.
The Canyon of Lodore—Upper Part of Disaster Falls.
Where Powell lost the No-Name in 1869.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
