A Canyon Voyage

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

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[Illustration: Navajo Mountain from near Kaiparowits Peak.

Photograph by J. K. Hillers, 1872.]

All the next morning, Monday, June 10th, we rode through a delightful
region of rolling meadows, beautiful groves of pines and aspens, and
cool, clear creeks. Near noon we descended into a fertile valley where
we crossed two superb torrential streams and camped at the second under
a giant pine. Fennemore felt very sick, which prevented further progress
this day, and we put in the afternoon exploring as far as we could the
neighbourhood. More lakes were found and as they were in a cup-like
depression we called them the "Hidden Lakes." Jack made some fine
negatives of several of these pretty bodies of water, two of which I
have added to the illustrations of this volume. Not far from our camp
two more splendid creeks came together to form one, which Dodds said he
thought was that named by them Big Boulder, where it joined the main
stream down below. The next morning, Tuesday, we began our day's work by
soon crossing Cataract and Cascade creeks before they united to form the
Big Boulder, rushing down with an impetuosity that was forbidding. The
two forming creeks were much alike, but we could see back in the
distance a beautiful cascade of fully 1000 feet in which the second
stream originated, and we distinguished it by that name. All day we
travelled over a rancher's paradise, meeting no Indians and seeing no
recent signs of any except in some filmy smoke mounting mysteriously
from canyons in the tangled sandstone labyrinth below. Who were they,
how many, and what might be their temper? were questions that came to us
as we reflected on the presence there of unknown human beings, and
furthermore would we meet them, and if so when? As on the preceding day
we crossed many fine brooks which in the dry season probably would not
make so vigorous a showing. Late in the afternoon, having travelled
fifteen miles, we reached the point where the end of the Wasatch or
Aquarius Plateau, the high slope of which we were using as a bridge from
Potato Valley to the Unknown Mountains, broke back to the north, cutting
us off once more from our objective, for a wide stretch, twenty-five
miles in an airline, of ragged desert apparently impassable still
intervened. We camped there at a convenient little spring. In the
morning I was sent with Johnson for my companion in one direction down
the mountain to look for some old trail, while Prof. with Dodds went in
another. Scarcely had I gone half a mile when I found tolerably fresh
Indian sign, and a mile or two farther on we struck a recently travelled
trail. The horses that had gone over it were unshod and there were
moccasin tracks indicating Indians without a doubt, but what kind of
course the track did not reveal. The trail led towards the Dirty Devil
Mountains, and we followed it three or four miles to ascertain with
certainty its general course. There was a possibility of our stumbling
upon the Indians in camp at some bend, and as this was not desirable for
only two of us we turned back as soon as we felt sure of the direction.
Prof. had seen no trail at all, and he said we would take the one I had
found and follow it. That night was disagreeable and rainy with
numberless mosquitoes, but worst of all one of our new men always snored
till the ground shook, and owing to the rain we could not get away from
him, for we had to remain in the improvised tent to keep dry.

The morning light never was more welcome and we were all up early. The
day was fair. We were soon off and made our way down from the grassy
heights to the trail, tracing its wearisome twists and turns, sometimes
thinking it was not going our way at all when the next turn would be
exactly right. In general its course was about east. The land was
desolate and dry, and exactly as the region appeared from above, a
complete labyrinth of variously coloured cliffs and canyons. Besides
being very crooked on account of the nature of the topography, the trail
at times was indistinct because of the barren rocks, smooth as a floor,
with nothing to take an imprint. In these places we were obliged to make
the best guess we could. We came to a place where a valley lay about
1800 feet below us, with the descent to it over bare, smooth, white
sandstone almost as steep as a horse could stand on. We travelled a mile
and a half over this and then found ourselves in a better looking region
where, after a few miles, we discovered a beautiful creek flowing
rapidly. There was plenty of good grass and we made our camp beneath
some cottonwood trees, having accomplished twenty miles the way we came.
Smoke of an Indian fire was rolling up about three miles below us, but
we paid little attention to it. Every man delayed putting down his
blankets till the champion snorer had selected the site of his bed, and
then we all got as far away as the locality would permit. Having slept
little the night before, we hardly stirred till morning, and in
gratitude we called the stream Pleasant Creek without an attempt at
originality.

It was Friday, May 14th, and our long cavalcade proceeded in the usual
single file down along the creek in the direction of the Indian smoke.
Scarcely had we gone three miles when suddenly we heard a yell and the
bark of a dog. Then we discovered two squaws on the other side who had
been gathering seeds, and who were now giving the alarm, for we were
close upon an Indian camp set on the edge of a low hill on the opposite
side of the creek. Our outfit presented rather a formidable appearance,
especially as we were an unexpected apparition, and we could see them
all running to hide, though I thought for a moment we might have a
battle. Without a halt, Prof. led the way across the creek to the foot
of the hill, and as we reached the place one poor old man left as a
sacrifice came tottering down, so overcome by fear that he could barely
articulate, "Hah-ro-ro-roo, towich-a-tick-a-boo," meaning very friendly
he was, and extending his trembling hand. Doubtless he expected to be
shot on the instant. With a laugh we each shook his hand in turn saying
"towich-a-tick-a-boo, old man," and rode up the hill into the camp,
where we found all the wickiups with everything lying about just as they
had been using it at the moment of receiving the alarm. We dismounted
and inducing the terrified old man to sit down in one of the wickiups,
Prof. sat with him and we rolled cigarettes, giving him one, and when
all were smoking, except Prof. who never used tobacco, we urged him in
English and Pai Ute and by signs to call the others back. I walked a few
yards out on the hill and just then, with a rush and a clatter of
language I could not understand, except "Impoo immy pshakai?" (What do
you want?) the two squaws who had been up the creek arrived. The
foremost one, frothing at the mouth with excitement and effort, dashed
at me with an uplifted butcher knife as if she would enjoy sending it
into me, but I laughed at her and she halted immediately in front of me.
She broke into a maniacal laugh then and shouted something to the hidden
refugees. We persuaded the old man also to call them, and he stepped out
from the cedars which grew on the point and spoke a loud sentence. At
last they began to appear silently and one by one. There were eight of
the men, all well dressed in buckskin, and a number of women and
children. When they became confident that we really meant to be friendly
they relaxed their vigilance. With the hope of securing a guide and also
to study them a little we went into camp in the creek bottom under the
hill where they came to visit us. Their language and appearance showed
them to be Utes.

When Prof. got back to Kanab he heard that a party of Red Lake Utes had
killed a white boy near the Sevier settlements, and he concluded this
band must have been the one. They probably thought we were pursuing them
into their secret lair to punish them. Their great anxiety to trade for
powder indicated their lack of that article and partly explained the
precipitousness of their retreat. They had numbers of well dressed
buckskins and a very small amount of powder would buy one, but as we had
only metallic cartridges we could do little in the line of exchange. To
satisfy one of them that we had no loose powder I removed the spring
from the magazine of my Winchester and poured the sixteen cartridges
out. He had never seen such a gun before and was greatly astonished,
though he hardly understood how it worked. Prof. tried his best to
persuade one to go with us as a guide, for the labyrinth ahead was a
puzzle, but whether through fear or disinclination to leave friends not
one would go. The chief gave us a minute description of the trail to the
Unknown or Dirty Devil Mountains as well as he could by signs and words,
some of which we could not understand, and long afterwards we learned
that his information was exactly correct, though at the time through
misunderstanding we were not able to follow it. They also told us there
was a trail to the big river beyond the mountains.

There was a little canyon in the creek nearby and the water rushed down
over a bed of bare rock at an angle of about twenty degrees. We were
surprised to discover hundreds of fish six to nine inches long wriggling
up the stream along one edge where the water was very shallow. They
formed a line from top to bottom.

Unable to secure the guide, we left at six o'clock in the morning,
Saturday, June 15th, with all our relations cordial, the Utes going away
before we did, and struck out on the trail which led south-eastward from
this camp. Travelling twelve miles, we passed through a narrow canyon
into a larger one, believing that we were following the chief's
direction. Recent heavy rains had washed out the trail, and not knowing
its course it was impossible to keep even its general direction. Going
up a left-hand branch of the canyon--that is, to the north--we found no
exit, so we came down and followed a trail up the right-hand branch till
it disappeared, then going back once more to the entrance we again went
up the left-hand branch till we came to a vertical wall one thousand
feet high, which turned us around. The right-hand one was entered
another time, and towards its head where the cliffs could not be climbed
we made camp, with an abundance of water which was so strongly alkaline
we could not use it and had to keep the stock from it also. Our kegs
were full and we did not suffer except by limitation. In the morning we
continued up the same canyon till it ended in vertical cliffs, beneath
which there was a large pool of pure cool water, with ferns clinging
above it to the rocks and rank vegetation all around. This was an
immense relief, and we found it hard to turn our backs on so attractive
a spot and go down the gorge once more to a point not far below our last
camp. Here the walls were about a thousand feet and very precipitous,
though somewhat broken. Prof., Jack, Dodds, and I climbed out on the
north and hunted for water in different directions on the top. I kept on
and on down a dry wash, persisting against the objection of Dodds, who
thought it useless, and was at last rewarded by discovering a pocket
among the rocks containing several barrels of water, with another that
was larger a short distance below in a crevice on a rock-shelf at the
brink of a canyon.

We returned to camp with this news, where Prof. and Jack soon joined us.
They had found no pockets, but had seen the divide between the waters of
the Colorado and the Dirty Devil, which we could follow to the mountains
if we could scale the cliffs. Prof. had selected a point where he
thought we could mount. With a liberal use of axe, shovel, and pick we
succeeded in gaining the summit in an hour and a half. With all the
cliff-climbing we had done with horses this seemed to me our paramount
achievement. The day was ending by this time, and I led the way with
some trepidation towards the pocket I had found, for in my haste to get
back I had not carefully noted the topography. The cedars and pinons all
looked alike in the twilight shades, and as I went on and on the men
behind began to lose faith and made joking remarks about my mental
status. I felt certain I was right, yet the distance seemed so much
greater in the dusk than when I had traversed it on foot that I was a
little disturbed. By the time we at last got to the pocket darkness was
upon us, though nobody cared for anything but water, and there it was
fresh and pure. The animals and ourselves (Andy filling the kettles
first) consumed the entire amount, but it gave each a full drink, and we
held the second pool in reserve.

[Illustration: Tantalus Creek.

Tributary of Fremont River.

Photograph by J. K. Hillers.]

[Illustration: D. Preliminary map of a portion of the northern part of
the unknown country indicated by the blank space on Map A at page 95,
showing the course of part of Glen Canyon, the mouth of the Fremont
(Dirty Devil) River, the Henry (Unknown) Mountains, and the trail of the
first known party of white men to cross this area. The Escalante River,
which was mistaken for the Dirty Devil, enters the Colorado just above
the first letter "o" of Colorado at the bottom of the map. The Dirty
Devil enters from the north at the upper right-hand side.]

When morning came we engineered a way for the animals down to the shelf
where the other pocket was, twenty or thirty feet below, by pulling
rocks away in places and piling them up in others. The shelf was perhaps
fifty or sixty feet wide, with a sheer plunge of one thousand feet at
the outer end into the first canyon we had followed. The animals could
not get to the water, but we dipped it out for them in the camp kettles.
The way up from the shelf was so very steep that at one point two of us
had to put our shoulders to the haunches of some of the horses to
"boost" them, while other men pulled on a strong halter from above, and
in this way we soon had them all watered and ready for pack and saddle.
Keeping along the divide we had comparatively easy going, with the
Unknown Mountains ever looming nearer, till their blue mystery vanished
and we could discern ordinary rocks and trees composing their slopes.
About noon we arrived at the edge of an intervening valley, with the
wind blowing so fierce a gale that we could barely see. Crossing this
depression we reached a small creek at the foot of the second mountain
from the north (now Mt. Pennell), and climbed its slope seventeen
hundred feet to a beautiful spring, where we camped, with plenty of fine
grass for the famished horses. We had at last traversed the unknown to
the unknown, and felt well satisfied with our success. If it had ever
been done before by white men there was no knowledge of it.

The temperature was so low that water froze in the camp kettles, and
next morning, June 18th, the thermometer stood at 28 deg. F., with the water
of the little brook running from the spring at 37 deg. F. After breakfast
Prof., Jack, and Dodds climbed the mountain on which we were camped,
running their aneroid out, while with Johnson I went down the slope
north, crossed the pass, and climbed the first mountain (now Mt. Ellen,
after Mrs. Thompson). A severe snow-storm set in, and when we had
finally attained a point where our aneroid indicated 11,200 feet above
sea-level, we were obliged to turn back because of the lateness of the
hour and having no coats, no food, or water. When we reached camp on the
other mountain night had come. Andy had been trying to cook some beans,
but the high altitude prevented the water from getting hot enough and
the operation was incomplete.[30] I foolishly ate some of the beans,
being very hungry, with the result that I was sick for the first time on
the expedition, suffering a horrible stomach-ache. Though not disabled I
was extremely uncomfortable. In the morning we started to go around
north through the pass to the east side of the mountain, and I ran in
the trail as usual, mounting and dismounting many times, till I was
extremely glad after eight miles when we came to the head of a little
creek and stopped to enable Prof. to climb the third peak (Mt. Hillers)
for observations. While he was gone I was content to lie still in the
shade of a bush, and finally lost my pain in sleep. Prof. got back so
late that we camped where we were, much to my satisfaction. The view
from our camp was extensive and magnificent, the whole Dirty Devil
region lying open, like a book, below us.

We were striking for the creek up which Prof. and Cap. had come the year
before from the river, for we knew that from its mouth we could easily
get to where our _Canonita_ was cached. The next day, June 20th, we
continued down Trachyte Creek, as Prof. called it, till four o'clock,
passing many old camps and grazing grounds, when we halted for Prof. to
climb to a height. The outlook there showed him that this was not the
stream whose canyon below we wanted to descend to the river, so the
following morning he took Dodds and reconnoitred, the latter after a
while returning with orders for us to come on eastward to another
canyon. We left Trachyte Creek and reached Prof. at two o'clock. He had
prospected a trail, or rather a way, to descend into the canyon over the
smooth bare sandstone across which we wound back and forth for a mile,
constantly going down into the strange, weird depths till at last we
reached the creek bed, where a short distance below we went into camp in
a beautiful green cottonwood grove, with enormous pockets of good water
close by. By seven o'clock in the morning of the 22d we were going on
down the deep, narrow canyon, and arrived at the Colorado at half-past
ten. The river was at least fifteen feet higher than last year, and
rushed by with a majestic power that was impressive. Our first unusual
incident was when Prof.'s horse, in trying to drink from a soft bank,
dropped down into the swift current and gave us half an hour's difficult
work to get him out. When we had eaten dinner we all went up to the
mouth of the Dirty Devil, where we had stored the _Canonita_, and
rejoiced to find her lying just as we left her, except that the water
had risen to that level and washed away one of the oars. We caulked the
boat temporarily, launched her once more on the sweeping tide, and in
two minutes were at our camp, where we hauled her out for the repairs
necessary to make her sound for the run to the Paria.

Sunday was the next day, June 23d, and while the others rested I plotted
in the trail by which we had crossed to this place so that Prof. could
take it out with him, as he decided that Jack, Johnson, Fennemore, and I
were to take the boat down, while he, Andy, and Dodds would go back
overland to meet Jones and George Adair at the foot of Potato Valley. At
five o'clock they left us, going up the same canyon we had come down and
which we called Lost Creek Canyon, now Crescent Creek. The next day we
recaulked and painted the boat, and I put the name _Canonita_ in red
letters on the stern and a red star on each side of the bow. By
Wednesday the 26th she was all ready and we put her in the water and ran
down four miles to the large Shinumo house. Jack rowed the stern oars,
Johnson the bow, I steered, while Fennemore sat on the middle deck. The
high water completely obliterated the aggravating shoals which had
bothered us the year before, and we had no work at all except to steer
or to land, the current carrying us along at a good pace. We stopped
occasionally for pictures and notes and got about everything that Jack
and Fennemore wanted in the line of photographs. The Fourth of July we
celebrated by firing fourteen rounds, and I made a lemon cake and a
peach-pie for dinner. On Sunday the 8th we passed the mouth of the
stream that had been mistaken for the Dirty Devil, and which Prof. had
named Escalante River. It was narrow and shallow and would not be taken
at its mouth for so important a tributary. The next day we passed the
San Juan which was running a very large stream, and camped at the Music
Temple, where I cut Jack's name and mine under those of the Howlands and
Dunn. The rapid below was dashing but easy and we ran it without
stopping to examine. On Friday the 12th we came to El Vado and dug up a
cache we had made there the year before. Our rations for some time were
nothing but bread and coffee, and we were glad to see the Echo Peaks and
then run in at the mouth of the Paria on Saturday, July 13th, with the
expectation of finding men and supplies. The _Dean_ was lying high and
dry on the bank and we wondered who had taken her from her
hiding-place. Firing our signal shots and receiving no answer, Jack and
I went up the Paria, crossing it on a log, and saw a cabin and a farm on
the west side. This we knew must be Lee's. He was ploughing in a field,
and when he first sighted us he seemed a little startled, doubtless
thinking we might be officers to arrest him. One of his wives, Rachel,
went into the cabin not far off and peered out at us. She was a fine
shot as I afterwards learned. Lee received us pleasantly and invited us
to take our meals at his house till our party came. As we had nothing
but bread and coffee and not much of these we accepted. The fresh
vegetables out of the garden, which his other wife, Mrs. Lee
XVIII., served nicely cooked, seemed the most delicious food
that could be prepared. Mrs. Lee XVIII. was a stout, comely
young woman of about twenty-five, with two small children, and seemed to
be entirely happy in the situation. The other wife, whose number I did
not learn, left before dark for a house they had at Jacob's Pool and I
never saw her again.

[Illustration: Example of Lakes on the Aquarius Plateau.

Photograph by J. K. Hillers.]

Lee had worked hard since his arrival early in the year and now had his
farm in fairly good order with crops growing, well irrigated by the
water he took out of the Paria. He called the place Lonely Dell, and it
was not a misnomer. Johnson made arrangements to go to Kanab the next
day, as he concluded that his health would not permit him to go through
the Grand Canyon with us, so this was our last night with him. Lee gave
me his own version of the Mountain Meadows Massacre claiming that he
really had nothing to do with it and had tried to stop it, and when he
could not do so he went to his house and cried. The Pai Utes ever after
called him Naguts or Crybaby.[31]

In the morning, Sunday, July 14th, Johnson departed with Lee and we
expected someone to arrive to bring us news of the Major and Prof., but
the sun went down once more without any message. We felt sure that Prof.
got out of the Dirty Devil country without accident, but we wanted some
definite information of it and we also desired to know when we would
resume the canyon voyage. On Monday having nothing else to do we took
some hoes and worked in Lee's garden till near noon, when we heard yells
which proved to come from Andy and Clem with a waggon needing some help
over bad places. We soon had the waggon in a good spot under some
willows and there speedily ransacked it for mail, spending the rest of
the day reading letters and newspapers. Andy told us that Prof. had
reached Kanab with no trouble of any kind. Mrs. Lee XVIII., or
Sister Emma, as she would in Utah properly be called, invited us to
dinner and supper, and the next day we worked in the garden again,
repaired the irrigating ditch, and helped about the place in a general
way, glad enough to have some occupation even though the sun was burning
hot and the thermometer stood at 110 deg. in the shade. Almost every day we
did some work in the garden and we also repaired the irrigating dam.

Our camp was across the Paria down by the Colorado, and when Brother Lee
came back the following Sunday he called to give us a lengthy
dissertation on the faith of the Latter-Day Saints (Mormons), while
Andy, always up to mischief, in his quiet way, delighted to get behind
him and cock a rifle. At the sound of the ominous click Lee would wheel
like a flash to see what was up. We had no intention of capturing him,
of course, but it amused Andy to act in a way that kept Lee on the _qui
vive_. We got the _Nell_ out of her shed and found her in very bad
condition, while the _Dean_ was about as we had left her. Andy and Jack
went to work on the _Dean_ and in a few days had her in excellent trim.
On July 24th, which is the day the Mormons celebrate for the settlement
of Salt Lake Valley, Lee invited us to dinner and supper, which gave us
a very pleasant time. So far as our intercourse with Lee was concerned
we had no cause for complaint. He was genial, courteous, and generous.

A copy of DeForrest's _Overland_ was in camp and I whiled away some
hours reading it, but time began to hang heavily upon us and we daily
longed for the appearance of the rest of the party so that we might push
out on the great red flood that moved irresistibly down into the maw of
Marble Canyon, and end the uncertainty that lay before us. August the
first came and still no message. Fennemore now felt so sick that Jack
took him to Lee's with rations in order that he might have vegetables
with his meals with the hope that he would recover, but he grew worse,
and on August 4th he decided that he would return to his home in Salt
Lake. We concluded that one of us must go to Kanab to inform Prof. of
the state of affairs, and Clem in his big-hearted way offered to do
this, but we knew that his sense of locality was defective and that he
might get lost. Consequently we played on him an innocent trick which I
may now tell as he long ago went "across the range." I planned with Andy
that we three were to draw cuts for the honour of the ride and that Andy
was to let me draw the fatal one. Clem was greatly disappointed. Jack
went on a chase after Nig and ran him down about sunset, for Nig was the
most diplomatic mule that ever lived. Having no saddle I borrowed one
from Lee who let me have it dubiously as he feared we might be laying
some trap. I gave him my word that while I had his saddle no man of ours
would molest him, and furthermore that they would befriend him. I rode
away while he remarked that in the rocks he could defy an army, with
regret still in his eyes, though he accepted my pledge. I got out a few
miles before dark and slept by the roadside, with the distant murmur of
rapids speaking to me of the turmoil we were soon to pass through. By
noon of the next day I was at Jacob's Pool, by half-past three at House
Rock Spring, and at night in Summit Valley where I camped. The day was
so hot that I could hardly bear my hand on my rifle barrel as it lay
across my saddle. My lunch of jerked beef and bread I ate as I rode
along thus losing no time.

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