Butte in Grand Gulch.
A tributary of the San Juan.
Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.
Repairing Boat Near Mouth of Frémont River on the Colorado River, 1872.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
Major Powell in the Field, 1872.
We camped one night near them, and then went on, arriving finally, after a great deal of trouble at the Unknown Mountains, since called the Henry Mountains, having taken a wrong trail. At one place we were obliged to take the whole packtrain up a cliff fifteen hundred feet high, making a trail as we went. On the top were some water-pockets. We watered the stock at one of these the next morning, when we were obliged fairly to lift the horses out of the gulch by putting our shoulders to their haunches. At last, however, we got to the mountains, and though it was now the 17th of June water froze one half inch thick in the kettles in our camp about fifteen hundred feet up the slopes. Thompson climbed one of the mountains, and I started up another, but my companion gave out. We crossed through a pass, and on the 22d, after pursuing a winding and difficult road through canyons, succeeded in getting the whole train down to the Colorado a short distance below the mouth of the Dirty Devil. The Colorado was high, and swept along majestically. We found it had been up as far as the Cañonita, and had almost washed away one of the oars. We soon ran her down to our camp, and there put her in order for the journey, which from here to the Paria could be nothing more than a pleasure trip. Thompson, Dodds, and Andy left the rest of us and returned on the trail towards Kanab. Those left for the boat’s crew besides myself were Hillers, Fennemore, the photographer, and W. D. Johnson. The latter was from Kanab, and was a Mormon, as was also the photographer, and both were fine fellows. The river was at flood and we had an easy time of it so far as travelling was concerned. Our investigations and photographing sometimes consumed half a day, but in the other half we made good progress, eight or nine miles without trying. The rations were limited in variety, but were abundant of their kind, being almost entirely bread and black coffee. When we tried, we made great runs, one day easily accomplishing about forty miles. The San Juan was now a powerful stream, as we saw on passing. At the Music Temple we camped, and I cut Hillers’s and my name on the rocks. Fennemore made a picture of the place, given on page 215. On the 13th of July, we reached the Paria, where we expected to find several of our party, but they were not there. We discovered that someone had come in here since our last visit, and built a house. It proved to be John D. Lee, of Mountain Meadow Massacre notoriety, who had established a home here for one of his two remaining wives. He called the place Lonely Dell, and it was not a misnomer. It is now known as Lee’s Ferry. Mrs. Lee proved to be an agreeable woman, and she and her husband treated us very kindly, inviting us, as we had nothing but bread and coffee, to share their table, an offer we gladly accepted. Here Johnson and Fennemore left us, going out with Lee to Kanab, and two days later we were relieved to see some of our men arrive with a large amount of supplies and mail. We then waited for the coming of Powell and Thompson with the others, when we were to cast off and run the gauntlet of the Grand Canyon.
