Here a deer was brought in by one of the men, and, as they killed a mountain sheep farther up, they had not suffered for fresh meat. The entrance to the next canyon was very abrupt, and they were soon whirling along on a swift current. Though there were many rapids, landings were easy, and there was plenty of standing room everywhere, so that in two days they had the pleasure of pulling out of this Split Mountain Canyon into the Wonsits Valley, the longest opening in the whole line of canyons. Thus far, no Amerinds had been seen, not even signs of them, but here they found some tipi poles and the dead embers of a camp-fire, showing that other human beings besides themselves had traversed the lands now about them. Pushing ahead over the sluggish waters of the river in this valley, they were not long in arriving at the mouth of the Uinta River, where Powell and two others walked out to the Ute Agency, about forty miles distant up the Uinta. One of the crew of the wrecked No-Name, Frank Goodman, here decided that he had seen all the canyons his education required and took his departure. This was not unwelcome to Powell, for the boats were still heavily loaded and the three men who had composed the crew of the wrecked boat were no longer actually required. Starting again, they arrived, not far below the mouth of the Uinta, at an island where a small crop had been planted by a “squaw-man,”[[2]] who had visited Powell’s camp the previous winter. On that occasion he had disclosed his intention of tilling this place and invited Powell to help himself when he passed there in his boats. The man was not at the farm, and nothing was ripe, but Hall suggested that potato-tops make good “greens.” A quantity was therefore secured, and, at the noon stop, cooked and eaten, with the obvious result that all were violently sick. Luckily, the sickness was brief, and they were able to proceed by the middle of the afternoon. Often, the longing, by men living on bacon and beans, for something fresh in the vegetable line, leads to foolish experiments.
[2] A white man married to a squaw, and living with the tribe.
The Canyon of Desolation—Sumner’s Amphitheatre.
Walls about 1200 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
This Wonsits Valley soon came to an end and once more the rocks closed in, forming a canyon lacking the vegetation that had accompanied the cliffs along the river above. Because of this general barren appearance the gorge was called the Canyon of Desolation. On July 11th, they approached a rapid which seemed at first glance no more difficult to run than many they had successfully dashed through. The leading boat by Powell’s direction pulled, into it, but this move was no sooner made than he perceived that at the bottom the river turned sharply to the left and the waters were piled against the foot of the cliff in an alarming manner. An effort was made to land, but as they had shortly before broken one oar and lost another, the two remaining were not sufficient to propel the boat with force enough to reach the desired point. At the same time, a huge wave striking the boat turned it instantly upside down and cast Powell some distance away. He succeeded in reaching her side, and there found Sumner and Dunn clinging. When quiet water was again entered they attempted to right the craft, and in doing this Dunn lost his hold and went under, though at the critical moment, as he came up, Sumner succeeded in grasping him and drawing him to the boat. By this time, they had drifted a long way down and saw another rapid approaching. By swimming desperately, they avoided being carried into this in their awkward plight, and, towing the boat after them, landed none too soon on a pile of driftwood on the bank. A gun, some barometers, and other articles that were in the open compartment, were lost, though one roll of blankets had been caught and saved by Powell as it drifted by. Building a large fire on the shore, they dried their clothing, while out of one of the logs they manufactured much-needed oars.
The Canyon of Desolation—Low Water.
Cliffs about 2700 feet. Note boat with men on rocks, middle distance, making a let-down.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
Fortified by these, they ran several bad rapids the following day. In one, Bradley was knocked overboard, but, his foot catching under the seat, he was dragged head down through the water till the worst of the fall was passed, when one of the other men managed to haul him in. Just below this, they emerged again into an expansion of the walls, leaving the ninety-seven miles of Desolation behind. But another mile brought the rocks back once more, and the thirty-six miles of Gray Canyon must be passed before they came to Gunnison Valley. Beyond this, walls of sandstone about one thousand feet high hemmed the river in for some sixty miles, but the stream was not dangerous and the party moved on quickly, though the absence of rapids and swift water made rowing obligatory. At the foot of this gorge, called from its winding character, Labyrinth Canyon, there was a brief expansion before the next walls closed upon them. These were closer than any seen above, but the river, though swift, had no dangerous element, so that progress was safe and easy, and in a trifle over forty miles they came to the mouth of a river almost as large as the Green, flowing in a canyon of similar depth and character. This was Grand River. At last they had reached the place where these two streams unite, thirteen hundred feet below the surrounding country; the mysterious Junction which, so far as the records go, Macomb and all white men before had failed to find. Therefore when Powell and his band floated down till the waters of the Green mingled with those of the Grand they were perhaps the first white men ever to arrive at the spot. The Colorado proper was now before them. It was the mystery of mysteries.