A Canyon Voyage

F >> Frederick S. Dellenbaugh >> A Canyon Voyage

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[Illustration: A. Map by the U. S. War Department--1868.

Supplied by the courtesy of General Mackenzie, U. S. A., showing the
knowledge of the Colorado River basin just before Major Powell began
operations. The topography above the junction of the Green and Grand is
largely pictorial and approximate. The white space from the San Rafael
to the mouth of the Virgin is the unknown country referred to in this
volume, which was investigated in 1871-72-73. Preliminary Maps B, C, and
D, at pages 244, 246, and 207, respectively, partly give the results of
the work which filled in this area.]

Through this valley passed the famous trail from Santa Fe to Los
Angeles, laid out in 1830 by that splendid pioneer, William Wolfskill.
The reason he came so far north was because there was no place to cross
the canyons below that was known.[13] This path was occasionally
travelled for years, and became celebrated as the "Old Spanish Trail."
Here it was that Captain Gunnison of our army in his notable
explorations crossed in 1853 on his westward journey, which a few days
later proved fatal to him, as he was killed by the Gosi-Utes. Before
leaving he established the latitude and longitude of this crossing,
which ever after bore his name.[14] Together with the mouth of the
Uinta, the mouth of Henry's Fork, and the mouth of Diamond Creek, this
made four points astronomically fixed before the Major came between the
Union Pacific crossing and the end of the Grand Canyon. Diamond Creek
mouth was determined accurately by Ives in 1858. The trappers and fur
hunters between 1824 and 1840, men like Jim Bridger and Kit Carson, had
roamed more or less over the region we had come through, and
occasionally they had tried to see the river in the canyons. The aridity
of the country generally held them back. Ashley, as already noted, had
made the passage of Red Canyon, and the trapper Meek with several
companions had gone through Lodore and Whirlpool one winter on the ice.
Fremont, Simpson, Berthoud, Selden, and some other scientific explorers
had passed here and there reconnoitring, and Macomb in 1859 had made a
reconnaissance to the south and south-west of Gunnison Crossing, so that
a general idea of the character of the region had been obtained and a
kind of approximate topography had been tentatively thrown in, yet it
was mainly an unknown wilderness so far as record went, particularly
contiguous to the river. But south from the San Rafael to the Paria and
west to the High Plateaus forming the southward continuation of the
Wasatch Range, an area of at least 10,000 square miles, there was still
a completely unknown country. Indeed, even from the Paria on down to the
Grand Wash the region on the right was hardly better understood, though
there were several Mormon settlements on the headwaters of the Virgin,
and recently the settlement of Kanab had been made farther east. On the
south of the Grand Canyon Ives had reconnoitred to some extent, reaching
the river at the mouth of Diamond Creek, but at no other point above
that did he come to the river nor get anywhere near its canyon above the
tributary Habasu (Cataract).

In the entire stretch from Gunnison Crossing to the end of the Grand
Canyon, a distance of 587-1/2 miles, but two points were known where
the river could be crossed, the Crossing of the Fathers (El Vado de los
Padres), about latitude 37, and the mouth of the Paria, only thirty-five
miles lower down. This latter place had been discovered by Jacob
Hamblin, or "Old Jacob," as he was familiarly called, and he was the
first white man to cross there, which he did in October, 1869. He was a
well-known Mormon scout and pioneer of those days. He forded at El Vado
his first time in 1858, possibly the first white man after Escalante,
though the ford was known to at least Richard Campbell, the trapper, in
1840 or earlier. In 1862 Jacob circumtoured the Grand and Marble
canyons, going from St. George by way of the Grand Wash to the Moki
Towns and returning by way of El Vado. Thus the region below us to the
left or east had been reconnoitred in a general way by Macomb, while
that to the right or west had not had even bird's-eye exploration. Until
the Major's unrivalled first descent in 1869 the river was equally
unknown. Even above Gunnison Crossing, despite the spasmodic efforts at
exploration referred to, the river had remained a geographical enigma,
and to the Major belongs the sole credit for solving this great problem
throughout its length from the Union Pacific crossing in Wyoming to the
mouth of the Virgin River--the last problem of this kind within the
United States. Hampered as the first party was by loss of provisions and
instruments, they nevertheless made a plat of the immediate course of
the stream, portions of which were lost with the men who were killed by
the Shewits on leaving the party near the end of the Grand Canyon. So
far we had not been bothered in the least by lack of provisions,
instruments, time, health, or strength, and we had been able to make an
accurate meander of the river, note the topography and geology as we
went along, climb out frequently to examine the surrounding country, and
in every way carry forward the scientific work as planned. It was now a
question whether or not we would get our supplies at the next appointed
station, the mouth of the Dirty Devil River, or whether we would be
obliged to weigh out what we had, and by limiting ourselves to strict
rations put the work through anyhow. By September 5th we would probably
have information on this point, that being the limit set for our
waiting. Should the Major not arrive by that time, it would mean that
we were to go on as best we could with the supplies on hand.

Monday was devoted to overhauling the boats, while Prof. took
observations. During a rest he also read aloud to us from Tennyson,

"A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,
Slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;
And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke,
Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.
They saw the gleaming river seaward flow
From the inner land; far off three mountain-tops,
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,
Stood sunset-flushed; and, dew'd with showery drops,
Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the copse."

He was an excellent reader and we enjoyed his various selections. They
gave variety and new drift to our thought which was refreshing and
beneficial. When the boats were completed they were returned to the
river, but for the time being the rations and other things forming their
cargoes were permitted to remain on shore covered by the paulins. The
boats swung gracefully at their lines and Jack was tempted to get out
his fishing tackle in the early evening and seat himself on one of the
cabins to wait patiently for a bite. Softly the river rippled by with an
innocent murmur as if it had never been guilty of anything but the
calmest and best-behaved motion such as now reflected the great pinnacle
across the way standing 1200 feet clear cut against the glowing sky. The
air was balmy, no wind blew, and a universal quiet prevailed when
suddenly Jack uttered several exclamations not entirely in harmony with
the moment. He thought his precious hook was caught on a snag. Pulling
gently in order not to break his line the snag lifted with it and
presently he was astounded to see, not the branch of a tree or a
water-logged stick, but the head of an enormous fish appear above the
surface. Had there been some splashing he would have been prepared for
the extraordinary sight but the monster came with barely a wriggle as if
he did not know what it was to be caught. He was successfully landed in
the middle cabin of the boat, which was empty except for some water, and
lay there unhurt as if it were the natural place for him. Casting again
another of the same kind came forth and then a third. The longest
appeared to be the length of the cabin, as he floated in the water, and
that was four feet. He was at least thirty or thirty-six inches with a
circumference of fifteen inches. The others were considerably shorter
but nevertheless very large fish. The big one was killed for food and
Steward noted that the heart after removal kept up pulsations of twenty
beats to the minute for half an hour. These fish are now called Colorado
River salmon. The flesh was white and they seemed to us good eating.

[Illustration: Colorado River White Salmon.

Photograph by the Denver, Colorado Canyon, and Pacific Railway Survey
under Robert Brewster Stanton, 1889.]

On Tuesday, August 29th, the third day of our waiting, as we were about
to return to various occupations after dinner three rapid shots broke
suddenly on the quiet air from down the valley. It was our signal. "The
Major" cried all in a breath, and a reply signal was instantly fired.
Clem and I were sent immediately to the end of the island, carrying our
rifles, of course, for while we had little doubt as to who it was, there
might be a surprise. We hurried down while the others watched the bank
beyond. As soon as we cleared the bushes and could see the western shore
we distinguished the Major and a stranger by his side, with horses. We
shouted to them directions for reaching our camp and they rode up till
they came opposite to it whence they were ferried over while Jones took
the horses down to their camp about four miles below. The Major reported
an absolute failure in the attempt to find a way to the mouth of the
Dirty Devil River and he had not himself been able to do anything about
it. The first trial was eastward from Glencove, a Mormon settlement on
the Sevier. It failed because the Indian guides refused to proceed
beyond fifty miles and it was not practicable to go on without them. A
second party was then sent in a little later under Old Jacob
north-eastward from Kanab. They reached a river flowing to the Colorado
at about the right place and for many miles followed it with extreme
difficulty and hazard even at the low stage of water prevailing, down
through a deep, narrow canyon. Sometimes they were compelled to swim
their horses where the rapid stream filled the chasm from wall to wall,
and continual crossing and re-crossing were necessary from one footing
to another. This perilous effort was also abandoned. The Major had gone
to Salt Lake and from there, being informed of these results, down to a
village called Manti whence he made his way across country to our
present position, with several pack animals bringing three hundred
pounds of flour, a quantity of jerked beef, and twenty pounds of sugar.
This was not exactly adequate to the circumstances but he probably
thought it was all he could get through with to the meeting place
appointed in the time alloted. While he and Fred Hamblin, the man
accompanying him, were eating their dinner, we packed the boats, and
when all was ready took them on board, the Major in his old place in the
armchair on our boat, and Hamblin on the middle deck of another. In the
run down to the camp Hamblin was very uncomfortable for he was not
accustomed to boats, especially to boats that ran so fast. There were
two little rapids, some swift chutes, and in several places the river
shoaled and we grated slightly on the gravel.

Stretching away westward from Gunnison Butte we saw an exquisitely
modelled line of cliffs, some portions being a clear azure blue. At
first it was proposed to name them Henry Cliffs, but they were finally
called from their colour, Azure. Presently we arrived at the camp where
we found another man, Lyman Hamblin, a son of Jacob and nephew of Fred.
They were both Mormons from Kanab near the Arizona line in southern
Utah. They had a large amount of mail for us and every one fell to
reading letters and papers. August 30th and 31st were spent here getting
our work in shape, making sketches and observations, as well as writing
letters and helping the Hamblins prepare for their trip back through the
wild country. They had met with no Indians on the way in and they hoped
to be equally fortunate going back having no desire to see any. In this,
as they told me afterwards, they were not successful. They mounted their
horses, Friday, September 1st, about four in the afternoon when the west
was taking on a rich evening glow and turning in that direction
vanished, with a wave of the hand and a good-bye, into the mystery of
colour, bearing our letters, the geographic data, the geologic notes,
and all the other material which we had collected since leaving the
mouth of the Uinta, and which it was thought advisable to send out both
for safety and to relieve our crowded cabins. They said that the next
evening before they realised it they found themselves so near a large
encampment of Indians that there was no getting away, and they did the
only thing they could sensibly do, rode boldly on straight into the
midst of the strangers with the hope that the band belonged where they
were on the west side of the river, in which case they were surely
peaceful. Both men spoke Ute well and they had had long experience. The
Indians proved to be entirely friendly, and the Hamblins camped with
them for the night; not because they wanted to but because they thought
it inexpedient to do otherwise. When they left us we felt that they were
old friends for they were fine men and most agreeable. Besides, with the
exception of Basor who had driven the team down from Salt Lake to the
Uinta with our rations, they were the only white men which those of us
who had not visited the Uinta Agency had seen since the Harrells in
Brown's Park, nearly three months before. An hour after their departure
we pushed off and ran down about half a mile, passing one little rapid,
to the old crossing where we stopped on the left for the night. Beaman
and I were commissioned to go back to our Camp Gunnison to get a saw
which had been forgotten there; we could not afford to lose so valuable
an implement. A well-beaten Indian trail leading up the river gave us
easy going and we made good time. The effects of light and colour all
around us playing over the mountains and valley gave the surroundings a
weird interest. The day was ending. Long shadows stole across the
strange topography while the lights on the variegated buttes became
kaleidoscopic. As for us, we appeared ridiculously inadequate. We ought
to have been at least twenty feet high to fit the hour and the scene.
Gradually the lights faded, the shadows faded, then both began to merge
till a soft grey-blue dropped over all blending into the sky everywhere
except west where the burnish of sunset remained. Before dark the old
camp was reached; we found the saw by the last dying rays and then
picked our backward path by starlight following the trail as we had
come. Silence and the night were one as in the countless years that had
carved the dim buttes from the rocks of the world primeval when man was
not. Beautiful is the wilderness at all times, at all times lovely, but
under the spell of the twilight it seems to enfold one in a tender
embrace, pushing back the sordid, the commonplace, and obliterating
those magnified nothings that form the weary burden of civilised man.
With keen appreciation we tramped steadily on till at last we perceived
through the night gloom the cheerful flicker of our camp-fire, a sight
always welcome, for the camp-fire to the explorer is home.

At eight the next morning our business was resumed with the Major happy
in his accustomed place. We made a nice run of eighteen miles on a
smooth, shallow river, with broken, picturesque low cliffs and isolated
buttes everywhere. The valley was wide and filled with these rocky
hills. For a quarter of a mile on each side of the river there were
cottonwood groves offering fine spots for camping, before and after
crossing. There seemed to be several places where crossing was
accomplished. At one of these we discovered where some Indians had been
in camp a few hours before. The placidity of the river permitted the
lashing together of the boats once more for a time and while we drifted
this way down with the easy current the Major and Prof. took turns at
reading aloud from Whittier. _Mogg Megone_ was one selection that was
quite in harmony with the surroundings while other poems offered a
delightful contrast. There were songs, too, and I specially identify
with this particular locality that old college favourite, _Dear Evelina,
Sweet Evelina_ which everybody sang, and which the Major often sang
alone as he peered ahead into the vista unfolding.

Before night the valley narrowed, the banks looked more like low canyon
walls, and the current stiffened. A clump of small cottonwoods suggested
a camp as the sun ran down and there we halted. Nor did we go on the
next day as the Major desired to go out to a ridge lying to the west,
which he had seen from his horse on his way to us across country. Jones
went with him and they came back with a fine collection of Cretaceous
fossils. Steward and Cap. also went collecting and were successful. Our
surroundings were now even more peculiar than heretofore. In many places
the region was absolutely barren of all vegetation; thousands of acres
at a time had upon them hardly a living plant of any description, being
simply bare and barren rock, as devoid of soil as the deck of a ship.
Prof. took observations for latitude and longitude and the rest of us
were busy at our usual affairs. We had very little time to spare when
the various necessary duties had been regularly attended to.

[Illustration: Dellenbaugh Butte.

Near Mouth of San Rafael.

Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]

As we went on the next morning the desolation of the surroundings
increased, if that were possible, and it was easy to read in this one
cause of the tardiness of its exploration. The acreage of bare rock grew
wider and broader. The buttes now often turned to walls about 150 feet
high, all much broken, but indicating the approach to another closing in
of the rocks upon us. Many of these buttes were beautiful in their
castellated form as well as because of a picturesque banded character,
and opposite our dinner-camp, which was on a ledge of rock, was one
surprisingly symmetrical, resembling an artificial structure. I thought
it looked like an art gallery, and the Major said it ought to be named
after the artist, so he called it "Dellenbaugh's Butte" then and there.
Another singular feature of this day was a number of alkaline springs
discovered bubbling up from the bottom of a sort of bayou or branch of
the river. There were at least seventy-five of them, one throwing a
column six or eight inches above the surface of the water here about two
feet deep. We thought the place worth a name, and called it Undine
Springs. Three or four miles below the butte named after me we arrived
at the mouth of a river, twenty-five feet wide and eight or ten inches
deep, coming in from the right. This was the San Rafael. Our camp was
made near some cottonwoods between its left bank and the Green. As soon
as we landed we perceived that the ground was strewn with flaked chips
of chalcedony, jasper, and similar stones. It was plain that here was a
favourite workshop of the native arrowhead maker, an artisan now
vanished forever. Numerous well-finished beautiful arrow-heads of stone
were found, all being placed in the general collection for the
Smithsonian Institution. Our Camp 54 was elevated considerably above the
river, and the surroundings being open, we had views in all directions.
Towards the east we could see the Sierra La Sal, two clusters of rounded
peaks, forty or fifty miles away, forming a majestic picture. The place
was easy of access, and had been a favourite resort for natives, several
acres of camp remains being found. In the morning Prof. began a series
of observations to fix the position of the mouth of the San Rafael,
while the Major and Jones, with rations, blankets, etc., on their backs
for a two days' trip, started early up the tributary stream to see what
kind of a country it flowed through. Steward feeling somewhat under the
weather did not attempt to do anything, while the photographer and the
others busied themselves in their respective lines. The following day
the Major and Jones returned as planned, having traced the San Rafael
for twenty-five miles. Before they arrived Cap. and Clem went across the
Green to travel eastward to some high red buttes, one of which they
intended to climb for topographical purposes. These buttes loomed up in
a striking way, and appeared to be no more than six miles off even to
Cap.'s experienced eye. The Major described the drainage basin of the
San Rafael as wofully barren and desolate, like the rest of our
surroundings. They had seen mountains lying beyond the Dirty Devil
River, which were the range we then called the Unknown Mountains, there
being no record of any one ever having seen them before the Major on his
first trip.

Steward, recovering his poise, walked back alone on the east bank of the
Green four miles to Dellenbaugh's Butte to examine it and the
intervening geology. He found the butte to be about four hundred feet
high and composed of stratified gypsum, thinly bedded and of fine
quality.

As evening approached we looked for the return of Cap. and Clem,
especially when the supper hour arrived, but twilight came, then
darkness, and still their footfall was not heard. The Major was greatly
disturbed over their failure to come, fearing they had gotten out of
water, missed their way, and might now be suffering or demoralised in
the arid wastes to eastward. He ordered a large fire to be built on a
high spot near camp, where it would be visible for miles in the
direction the missing men had gone. We divided into watches of two hours
each to keep the fire going, in order that the men should have a guide
if they were trying to reach the river in the night. I was called for
my turn at two in the morning, and read Whittier while feeding the
flames. The sky was mottled with clouds driving impetuously across the
zenith, the bright moon gleaming through the interstices as they rapidly
passed along. My attention was divided between the Quaker poet, the
blazing fire, the mysterious environment into which I peered from time
to time, and the flying scud playing hide-and-seek with the moon. At
three I called Andy, who had breakfast ready before five, and all hands
were up prepared to start on a search. By the time we had eaten there
was light enough for operations to begin, and the Major, accompanied by
Jack, carrying between them two days' rations and as much water as
possible, were put across the Green to strike out directly eastward. A
couple of hours later Prof. took a boat, with Steward and me to man it
and another supply of food and water, and ran down the river a mile,
where we headed back into the dry region to intersect at a distance the
route the Major was following. We had not gone far before signal shots
came to our ears, and through a glass turned in that direction we
rejoiced to see that the Major and Jack had met the lost ones and all
was well.

Prof. directed me to go back on foot to our camp with instructions for
the other boats to come down, while he, in response to further signals,
dropped his boat to a point nearer to the position of the rescue party
and easier for them to reach. Cap. had underestimated the distance to
the butte, which was twice as far as he thought. They walked eight hours
to get there only to discover that scaling it was out of the question. A
mile and a half beyond they found one they could climb, but by the time
they had completed their observations on top of this evening overtook
them and they were at least fifteen miles from camp. Having consumed
their lunch at noon and drank all their water they were in something of
a predicament, but luckily found some water-pockets in the barren rock,
recently filled by the rains, so they did not suffer for thirst, and
going hungry is not dangerous. Over the wide surfaces of bare rock they
travelled toward camp till night forced them to wait for daylight, when
they kept on till they met the Major and Jack with water and food.

No sooner had I arrived at the camp than the sky which was leaden and
low began to drop its burden upon us. Packing up could not be done till
the rain slackened, and we sheltered ourselves as well as we could. As
we waited a deep roaring sound from not far off presently fell on our
ears and we were puzzled to explain it till an examination showed a
recently dry gulch filled with a muddy torrent which leaped the low
cliff into the river, a sullen cascade. The San Rafael, too, was a
booming flood. We packed the boats as soon as we could and ran down
about two miles and a half to where the first boat was. Cliffs bordered
the river again, 50 to 100 feet high, then 200 or 300, and we saw we
were in the beginning of the next canyon called from its winding course,
Labyrinth. Over these straight walls hundreds of beautiful cascades born
of the rain were plunging into the river. They were of all sizes, all
heights, and almost all colours, chocolate, amber, and red
predominating. The rocky walls, mainly of a low purplish-red tint, were
cut into by the river till the outside curves of the bends were
perpendicular and sometimes slightly more than perpendicular, so that
some of the cascades fell clear without a break. The acres of bare rock
composing the surface of the land on both sides collected the rain as
does the roof of a house, and the rills and rivulets rapidly uniting
soon formed veritable floods of considerable proportions seeking the
bosom of the river. This seemed the most fantastic region we had yet
encountered. Buttes, pinnacles, turrets, spires, castles, gulches,
alcoves, canyons and canyons, all hewn, "as the years of eternity roll"
out of the verdureless labyrinth of solid rock, made us feel more than
ever a sense of intruding into a forbidden realm, and having permanently
parted from the world we formerly knew.

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