A Canyon Voyage

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

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The Navajos were found to be a very jolly set of fellows, ready to take
or give any amount of chaff, and perfectly honest. They were taking
blankets of their manufacture to trade for horses and sheep. Their
spirits ran high, they sang their wild songs for us, and we had the
liveliest evening we had seen in many a month. Finally we joined in a
circle with them, dancing and singing around the smouldering fire, while
the chief Koneco, a noble-looking fellow, sitting at one side, with a
patriarchal expression, monotonously drummed an accompaniment with a
willow root on the bottom of one of the camp-kettles. When any of us
would stumble on a stick they were all convulsed with laughter. The
blankets they had were beautiful, and Jacob possessed one valued at $40,
which had taken seventy days to make. After the Navajos had gone to rest
we listened to some Mormon songs by Jacob's party. They left us the next
morning, Sunday, October 29th, Prof. obtaining from Jacob some red
Mexican beans to eke out our supplies; also a description of the trail.
I traded a cap I happened to have to one of the Navajos for his feather
plume, and a pair of shoes to one of the white men for some Mishongnuvi
moccasins. Monday we took the _Dean_ across the river, and some distance
down we hauled her by means of ropes up high above the water under a
large rock, where we concealed her well. Then we made five caches near
camp of goods not needed till next year, covering our traces by fires
and other devices. Jones was so much improved that he managed to hobble
about on a pair of crutches I had made for him out of strong willow
sticks, and we felt much encouraged as to his ability to stand riding
when the time came to start for Kanab.

On Tuesday we built a shelter back of camp for the _Nell_ and housed
her there. The next day was the first of November and we thought surely
the pack-train would come, but the sun went down behind the cliffs and
no one arrived. Prof. could not understand what the trouble was, but he
went on with his observations. The next morning, as we were about to eat
our bean breakfast beside the fire, we were astonished by the extremely
cautious appearance through the willows, without a word of announcement,
of a single, ragged, woebegone, silent old man on as skinny and
tottering a pony as ever I saw. The old man was apparently much
surprised to find himself here, and with the exclamation, "My God! I
have found you!" he dropped to the ground. When at last he spoke he said
his name was Mangum of Kanab, and that he had been employed to guide our
pack-train, of which Riley, one of the prospectors we had met at El
Vado, was leader. "Well, where is the train?" we asked, for if he were
all that remained of it we wanted to know it soon. "Several miles back
on the trail," he said. Not having eaten a mouthful since the morning
before it was no wonder he was weak and silent. We gave him the best
breakfast we could command from our meagre stock and then like a spectre
he vanished on his scrawny steed up the Paria Canyon. All the day long
we watched and waited for his triumphal return with the longed-for
supplies at his back, but the sun departed without his approach and the
twilight died into that mystery which leaves the world formless against
the night. And still we had faith in the stranger's story. Early the
next morning Prof., Clem, and I started on his track thinking we would
soon meet the train. It led us up the valley of the Paria, between the
great cliffs about three miles, and then we had another surprise, for it
swung sharply to the right and climbed a steep sandy slope towards the
only apparent place where the two-thousand-foot cliffs could possibly be
scaled with horses. We saw that he had followed a very old Indian trail.
When we had mounted to the base of the vertical rocks we travelled
zig-zagging back and forth across the face of the precipice till
presently the trail passed through a notch out upon the plateau. From an
eminence we now scanned the whole visible area without discovering
anything that apparently had not been there for several thousand years.
Save the coming and going tracks of our strange visitor there was
nothing to show that any living animal had trod this place in centuries.
We could see to where Prof. and I previously climbed to this same
plateau, and to-day was like yesterday and yesterday like the year
before last. Time and the years were as little grains of drifting sand.

Leaving Clem as a sentinel on our observation point Prof. followed the
out track and told me to follow the in till three o'clock. It was now
high noon. I walked on and on through an arid, wonderful maze of sand,
rocks, and cacti, feeling that the old horseman was no more than a
phantom, when in half an hour I almost fell upon our lost pack-train
meandering slowly and silently through a depression. I fired our signal
shots and Prof. soon joined us. The situation was precarious. The
animals were nearly dead from thirst, one had been abandoned, and Riley
was in a state of pent-up rage that was dangerous for the spectre guide,
who had nearly been the destruction of the whole outfit, for he did not
know the trail and was himself lost. Of course he blamed Riley--it was
his only defence. Riley broke loose in a string of fiery oaths,
declaring he would shoot "the old fool," then and there. But receiving
no encouragement from Prof. or me he didn't. There was a third member of
the party, Joe Hamblin, a son of Jacob, a very sturdy young fellow. He
said afterwards that he thought often that Riley would "sure let
daylight through the old man." Our next care was to successfully
manoeuvre the pack-animals down the difficult trail across the face of
the cliff, which had not seen a horse for many a year and probably never
had been traversed by animals with packs on their backs. We had to watch
that they did not crowd each other off, but with all our exertions one
fell and rolled down a few feet. He was not injured and we continued the
descent, finally reaching the bottom without so much as a scratch of any
consequence. There, at the Paria, the horses enjoyed the first full
drink for several days and we followed it down to camp. Riley had
started from Kanab October 23d and had been twelve days making a journey
that required at most only four or five by the regular trail. Mangum had
not known the way, had led toward El Vado, and his finding the Indian
trail to the mouth of the Paria was an accident.

Provisions were now plenty again, and by the light of a big fire we
overhauled the mail, finding letters, newspapers and magazines enough to
satisfy any party. Word was received from the Major to move to a place
called House Rock Spring, and Prof. said we would leave Camp 86 on
November 5th, which gave us a day intervening in which to pack up. About
noon of this packing day we were not surprised when two horsemen, Haight
and Riggs, galloped into camp at full speed leading a lightly laden
pack-mule. They had come through in two and one half days, at top speed,
by direction of Jacob, who on reaching Kanab with the Navajos learned
that our pack-train had left long before, and he had seen nothing of
it. On the pack-mule were fifty pounds of flour and several rolls of
butter; the first time we had seen any of this latter article since the
final breakfast at Field's on May 22d. They were greatly relieved to
know that the train was found and that all was well. They brought news
of the burning of Chicago about a month before. In the evening Isaac
Haight favoured us with some Mormon songs and recited examples of the
marvellous curative effects of the Mormon "laying on of hands." Heavy
clouds had settled along the face of the cliffs and the air grew wintry.
We felt the chill keenly, as we were not clad for cold weather. In the
morning snow began to drop gently out of the leaden sky and continued
all day, preventing any one from starting. Soon the cliffs and Echo
Peaks were white and we knew that now autumn was gone. Toward evening
the sun flared across the rocky landscape, turning everything to gold,
and we believed the next day would be fair. We were not disappointed.
Monday the 6th of November came sharp and cold. Haight, Riggs, Mangum,
and Joe Hamblin left early and we got under way as soon as we could.
With two very sick men and a new method of travel it was not easy. We
had to learn the art of packing on mules and horses from Riley, who was
an expert in this line and who could "sling the diamond hitch" with
great skill. He was just as handy with a lasso and seldom missed if he
wished to catch an animal, but Prof. did not approve of the lasso
method, for it makes stock wild and unmanageable. His way was the quiet
one and he was right, for we soon had the entire herd so that there was
no rumpus at starting-time. With a free use of the lasso preparations to
start partake of the activity of a tornado.

Steward by this time was able to walk slowly. Andy was well enough to
travel on his feet, but Jones could not move at all without crutches. We
did not have extra horses for all to ride, so Steward and Andy changed
off, while the rest of us had to walk. Jones we lifted as gently as
possible, though it was pain even to be touched in his condition, upon
Riley's special horse called Doc, a well-trained, docile animal, who
walked off with him. It was after noon before the start was
accomplished, and meanwhile I went back on the incoming trail of the
lost pack-train to the foot of the steep precipice for Riley's canteen,
which had been forgotten there, and when I returned all were gone but
Steward, Clem, and Beaman, who had remained behind to round up a young
steer which had been driven in with the train for us to convert into
beef at a convenient opportunity. As the advance party travelled very
slowly we soon caught them, the steer being gentle as a kitten. The
trail followed south along the foot of the cliffs which emerged from
Paria Canyon, and to which the Major had given the name of Vermilion on
account of their rich red colour. We wound in and out of deep alcoves,
around the heads of impassable lateral canyons running to the Colorado,
and past enormous rocks balanced in every conceivable position on
extremely slender pedestals. After about eight miles we arrived at a
diminutive spring, which gave enough water for Andy to make bread and
coffee with, but none for the stock. There we camped. A few armfuls of
scraggy sage-brush furnished wood for a fire, but it was not enough to
make our invalids comfortable, and the night was cold and raw. We did
all we could for them and they did not grumble.

In the morning a pair of bronchos--that is, recently broken wild
horses--made the camp lively for a time, but they were subdued and the
caravan again got under way. Our next camp was to be Jacob's Pools, so
called from the fact that Jacob was the first white man to camp there.
We had gone only a mile or so when we crossed in a small canyon a little
stream already enjoying two names, Clear and Spring (now called Badger)
Creek, and a little farther on another called Soap Creek, still holding
that name.[25] When first travellers enter a country they naturally
bestow names on important objects, and two or three parties of white men
who had passed this way had named these two creeks. After this we had no
more water, and we pushed slowly ahead, looking for the Pools. Snow
began to fall again in widely scattered, reluctant flakes, but melted on
touching the ground. Late in the afternoon the trail turned the corner
of the cliffs, which here broke to the west, and we saw a wide, desolate
open plain stretching away to the foot of a distant table-land, which we
knew to be the Kaibab Plateau or Buckskin Mountain. None of the party
had been over the trail before, but it was easy to follow, especially
for a man of Riley's experience. It was an old Navajo trail, and was
here fairly well worn. The sun went down as we plodded on, the light
faded from the west, and still we saw no Jacob's Pools. The air was
biting, and with our thin, worn garments we felt it keenly and wished
for a fire. At last just as the darkness began to thicken a patch of
reeds on the right between some low hills was discovered, where it
seemed there might be water, and we could not well go farther. The
ground was moist, and by digging a hole we secured red, muddy liquid
enough for Andy to make a little bread and a cup apiece of very poor
coffee. The men and animals came straggling in out of the darkness. We
gathered a lot of sage-brush and made a fire, and as soon as Jones came
we lifted him off and put him as near the warmth as possible, for he was
chilled through. There was no water for the stock, but the grass was wet
and they did not suffer. Everything was damp and uncomfortable, and the
fire was too small to dry anything out, so all turned in to the limited
blankets and passed a cold, half-sleepless, uncomfortable night.

Morning was a relief, though the thermometer stood at 11 F. There was
water enough in the holes for breakfast, and as soon as this meal was
over the pack-train was on the move towards Jacob's Pools, which we
found not two miles farther on. There were two of them, each seven or
eight feet long, supplied by fine clear water oozing out of a hill-side.
The lower one we turned over to the animals, reserving the upper for
ourselves. We approached the plateau all day, and late in the afternoon
we were within three or four miles of it, when the right-hand cliffs
turned sharply to the north in a line parallel with the plateau, forming
a long narrow valley. Cedars and pinons now grew about us, so that we
were assured of a good fire. About sunset we passed two large boulders
which had fallen together, forming a rude shelter, under which Riggs or
some one else had slept, and then had jocosely printed above with
charcoal the words "Rock House Hotel." Afterward this had served as
identification, and Jacob and the others had spoken of "House Rock"
Spring and House Rock Valley. We called it the same, and finally it went
on the maps and is now permanent. A few yards beyond the House Rock the
trail led into a gulch, at the head of which was a good spring. Plenty
of cedars and pinons grew about, and we soon had a fire that compensated
for the meagre ones of the preceding nights. The sick men became warm
and dry, and we all felt much better. The whole outfit halted two days,
and on the second the poor little steer, gazing sadly at us, was shot
and cut up. In an hour the quarters were swinging from a tree and some
of the beef was in the pan. Necessity is a sauce that makes every grist
palatable. We were hungry, and nothing could have tasted better than
that fresh beefsteak. The entrails and refuse were left on the ground in
the neighbouring gulley where we had killed the steer, and next morning
the place was about cleaned up by the lurking wolves.

Prof. decided to go on across the Kaibab to Kanab with the two very sick
men, and leave Cap., Clem, Andy, and me here at House Rock Spring until
the plan for the winter's campaign had been better formulated. Steward
concluded that his condition was too precarious to risk further
exposure, and said he would now leave the expedition permanently, which
we learned with deep regret, but it was plainly imperative. Jones
thought that a week or two of warmth and rest, accompanied by a change
of diet, would make him whole again and enable him to stay till the end
of our special task. On Saturday, November 11th, the party started, with
the invalids riding the gentlest and easiest horses, though Steward
found it less painful at times to walk. I accompanied them to the summit
of the Kaibab to bring back one of the horses we called Thunderbolt, on
which Jones was to be carried to the top and there change to Doc. After
I left them I halted many times to look out into the wonderful land to
the west and north. When I got back to the spring, our Camp 3 of the
land operations, we immediately set up a stout 6 by 8 tent that was in
the outfit brought from Kanab, and it made a very snug sleeping-place
for the four of us. Around the fire we rolled big stones for seats, and
soon had the gulch in a homelike condition. There was an abundance of
dead, fat pinon, which burned like a candle, and we could easily extend
our reading into the evenings.

From all around us there arose the frequent bay and bark of the wolves.
They were of different kinds, numerous and rather bold. At night they
came in and cleared up what was left of the entrails of the steer, also
securing a fine, large piece of beef which Cap. had hung in a tree, but
not high enough to escape their efforts. We took turns bringing the four
horses left with us to water, and in that way kept ourselves informed
about them. During these trips, especially in the late afternoon, the
wolves were apt to trot along near by, and on one occasion Clem was
obliged to drive one out of the trail with stones, not having his rifle.
One morning, as I was riding along not far from camp, a huge whitish
fellow followed behind like a dog about twenty yards back, licking his
chaps. At first I thought he might be the dog of some Indian camped
near, but remembering that there were none in the valley, and also that
an Indian dog, or any strange dog, would have run from me, I saw that he
was a hungry wolf unused to man. I had no rifle with me, but I took a
walk over the same ground next morning with my Winchester, hoping to see
my acquaintance again, but he discreetly kept out of sight. We had
little now to occupy us except to examine the locality, chop wood for
our fire, and read over and over the newspapers and magazines. The
nights were very cold, the spring always freezing over, but the days
were delightful. The beef had to be jerked to preserve it. We cut it up
into thin long strips, which we strung through the ends on long withes,
these in turn being hung on a framework that left the strips swinging
within two or three feet of a slow fire. One hour's neglect of this
tempting array would have seen it vanish to the four winds, so we kept a
constant watch day and night, taking turns through the dark hours.
Every article which had grease or leather about it had to be carefully
put away to prevent its disappearance. Riley had lost his spurs on the
way out from this cause, the leather on them making sweet morsels for
the watchers.

Cap. concluded to profit by this appetite, and in an adjoining gulch he
built a trap between two rocks, in which he set his Remington
six-shooter, so that a wolf picking up a scrap of beef would pull the
trigger by a string and receive the ball in his head. That night during
my watch over the beef I roasted a piece on a stick for a lunch, and as
the savory odour drifted off on the crisp winter air howl after howl of
ravenous desire rang out from many directions, followed by the bang of
the revolver in the trap. Cap. went over, but found no game, though
later he often came back with a fine large specimen, bearing a perfect
coat of fur, which Cap. always removed by the firelight at once. About
every night except Sunday, when Cap. refused to set the trap--for he
never did any work on that day that was not absolutely necessary--there
was a fatal shot, and he accumulated a lot of excellent large skins,
which he tacked on trees to preserve them. He thought he had put them up
securely high, but one morning every skin had disappeared. The wolf
relatives had carried them away to the last shred.

[Illustration: The Grand Canyon.

From Havasupai Point, South Rim, Showing Inner Gorge.

From a sketch in colour by F. S. Dellenbaugh, 1907.]

The Kaibab was too far away for us to go there to hunt deer, and there
were none around the spring, though one night at supper-time, the
western sky being a broad sweep of deep orange, we saw a large wild
animal of some sort on the crest of the hill silhouetted against the
colour. I started for it with my rifle, but of course it did not wait;
no animal ever does if he can help it, unless he is carnivorous and
famished. The weather remained generally fair, though one day we had a
wild gale that nearly relieved us of the tent in the midst of thick
flurries of snow. We often climbed among the cliffs, and everywhere we
found picture-writings, poles laid up, stepping-stones, fragments of
pottery, arrowheads, and other evidences of former occupation. The poles
and stones may have been placed by the Pai Utes as well as by the old
Shinumos, who once were numerous over all this country. Cap. was by no
means well. An extreme nervousness connected with the old gunshot wound
developed, and he said he felt sure he could not continue the work in
the field during the winter, much less go through the Grand Canyon with
us the next year. Clem also felt under the weather, and besides was
growing homesick. He confided to me one day that he also had concluded
not to remain with us. As there was little the matter with him I
undertook to argue him out of his determination not to go through the
Grand Canyon, pointing out the disappointment he would feel when we had
accomplished the passage and he realised that he might as well have come
along. This produced some impression, but I was uncertain as to its
lasting result.

By November 17th we began with confidence to look for some one to come
over the mountains from Kanab, and just after sunset we heard Riley's
long shrill "ee--ii--oooooooo," which he could deliver upon the air in
such a fashion that it carried for miles. Presently Prof. and he rode
into our camp with fresh supplies and a great bundle of mail that
included papers giving the details of the burning of Chicago. Prof. with
Cap. then reconnoitred the neighbourhood, and on the 21st he returned to
Kanab, leaving us as before, except that Riley remained two days longer.
The Major had not yet arrived at Kanab from Salt Lake and our winter
work could not begin till he came. The days rolled by with occasional
rain and snow and we began to grow impatient with our inaction,
especially when November passed away. The second day of December was
fading when we distinguished in the distance the familiar Riley yell,
and in a little while he came into view with welcome news. We were to
move at once to a spring eight miles from Kanab. He also brought some
apples, native raisins and a large canteen full of fresh wine from
"Dixie" as the country along the Virgin was called. These luxuries
together with a number of letters from home made that night one of the
most cheerful we had known for a long time. Monday morning, December 4th
we left House Rock Spring behind with our pack-train, followed the trail
across the open valley, climbed two thousand feet to the top of the
Kaibab, and were soon traversing the forest on its broad summit. Riley
having been over the trail now several times we went ahead steadily, and
about sunset arrived at the farther side of a narrow longitudinal
depression of the top which Cap. immediately put down in his notes as
Summit Valley, a name that holds to-day. There we threw off our packs
and made camp for the night. Though there was no water the ground was
covered by a thin layer of snow, that made the long bunch grass
palatable to the horses and for ourselves we had sufficient water in two
small kegs and several canteens. A bright fire blazed cheerfully, the
dense cedars broke the wind, and everybody felt that it was a fine camp.
The others spent the evening playing euchre by firelight, but I
preferred to read till bedtime.

The next morning, after crossing some rough gulches, we came to the
western edge of the great plateau, and emerging from the forest of pine
and cedar we saw again the magnificent, kaleidoscopic, cliff country
lying to the north. First about twenty miles away was a line of low
chocolate-coloured cliffs, then a few miles back of this the splendid
line of the Vermilion Cliffs, the same which began at the mouth of Glen
Canyon and which we had skirted to House Rock Spring. From there the
line continued northward till it passed around the north end of the
Kaibab, when it struck southwesterly far to our left, where it turned
back to the north again, forming one of the longest and finest cliff
ranges anywhere to be seen. Above them and some miles still farther
back, rising higher, was a line of greyish cliffs following the trend of
the Vermilion, and still above these was the broken meandering face of
the Pink Cliffs, frosted with snow, whose crest marks the southeastern
limit of Fremont's "Great Basin," the end of the High Plateaus, and tops
the country at an altitude of some 11,000 feet above sea-level. A more
extraordinary, bewildering landscape, both as to form and colour, could
hardly be found in all the world. Winding our way down to the barren
valley, in itself more a high plateau than a valley, we travelled the
rest of the day in the direction of the great cliffs. The sun was just
gone when we reached the first low line, and passing through a gap
turned into a side gulch thickly studded with cedars, where we saw
before us two white-covered waggons, two or three camp-fires blazing,
and friends. We heard a hearty voice cry, "Tirtaan Aigles dis wai!" and
we sprang from our horses to grasp Jack's welcoming hand and greet all
the others, some of whom were new acquaintances. The fragrance of coffee
and frying bacon filled the sharp air, while from the summits of the
surrounding cliffs the hungry chorus of yelping wolves sent up their
wail of disappointment.

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