Ellis Wynne - "The Sleeping Bard"

John Fiske - "The War of Independence"

Leonard Woolsey Bacon - "A History of American Christianity"

Henrik Ibsen - "La kolonoj de la socio"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

A Canyon Voyage

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




Setting out on the current again we passed two beautiful creeks entering
from the right, and they were immediately named respectively, Compass
and Kettle creeks, to commemorate the loss of these articles in the
capsize. At the mouth of Kettle Creek, about a mile and a half below the
capsize rapid, we stopped for dinner. Then running several small drops,
we arrived at a long descent that compelled careful action. We always
landed, where possible, to make an examination and learn the trend of
the main current. Our not being able to do this above was the cause of
the _Nell's_ trouble. We now saw that we had here landed on the wrong
side and would have to make a somewhat hazardous crossing to the
opposite, or right bank. Our boat tried it first. In spite of vigorous
pulling we were carried faster down towards the rapid than to the
objective landing. When we reached water about waist deep we all sprang
overboard, and I got to shore with the line as quickly as I could. We
were able to turn and catch the _Nell_ as she came in, but the
_Canonita_ following ran too far down. We all dashed into the stream
almost at the head of the rapid, and there caught her in time. The load
was taken out of our boat and she was let down by lines over the worst
part. Loading again we lowered to another bad place where we went into
camp on the same spot where the Major had camped two years before. We
unloaded the other boats and got them down before dark, but we ate
supper by firelight. The river averaged about 250 feet wide, with a
current of not less than six miles an hour and waves in the rapids over
five feet in vertical height. These waves broke up stream as waves do in
a swift current, and as the boats cut into them at a high velocity we
shipped quantities of water and were constantly drenched, especially the
bow-oarsmen. The cliffs on each side, wonderfully picturesque, soon ran
up to 1200 or 1500 feet, and steadily increased their altitude. Owing to
the dip of the strata across the east and west trend of the canyon the
walls on the north were steeper than those on the south, but they seldom
rose vertically from the river. Masses of talus, and often alluvial
stretches with rocks and trees, were strung along their base, usually
offering numerous excellent landings and camping places. We were able to
stop about as we wished and had no trouble as to camps, though they were
frequently not just what we would have preferred. There was always
smooth sand to sleep on, and often plenty of willows to cut and lay in
rows for a mattress. It must not be imagined that these great canyons
are dark and gloomy in the daytime. They are no more so than an ordinary
city street flanked with very high buildings. Some lateral canyons are
narrow and so deep that the sun enters them but briefly, but even these
are only shady, not dark.

[Illustration: Red Canyon.

Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]

We remained on the Major's old camp ground a day so that Jones and Cap.
could climb to the top of the cliff to get the topography. The next
morning though it was Sunday was not to be one of rest. We began by
lowering the boats about forty rods farther and there pulled out into
the stream and were dashed along by a fierce current with rapid
following rapid closely. The descent was nearly continuous with greater
declivities thrown in here and there. As usual we took in a good deal of
water and were saturated. We were growing accustomed to this, and the
boats being built to float even when the open parts were full, we did
not mind sitting with our legs in cold water till opportunity came to
bail out with the camp kettle left in each open space for the purpose.
One rapid where Theodore Hook, of Cheyenne, was drowned in 1869, while
attempting to follow the first party, gave us no trouble. We sailed
through it easily. Hook had declared that if Powell could descend the
river he could too, and he headed a party to follow.[6] The motive I
believe was prospecting. I do not know how far they expected to go but
this was as far as they got. Their abandoned boats, flat-bottomed and
inadequate, still lay half buried in sand on the left-hand bank, and not
far off on a sandy knoll was the grave of the unfortunate leader marked
by a pine board set up, with his name painted on it. Old sacks, ropes,
oars, etc., emphasised the completeness of the disaster.

Not far below this we made what we called a "line portage," that is, the
boats were worked along the edge of the rapid, one at a time, in and out
among the boulders with three or four men clinging to them to fend them
off the rocks and several more holding on to the hundred-foot hawser, so
that there was no possibility of one getting loose and smashing up, or
leaving us altogether. It was then noon and a camp was made for the
remainder of the day on the left bank in a very comfortable spot. We had
accomplished three and a half miles, with four distinct rapids run and
one "let-down." I went up from the camp along a sandy stretch and was
surprised to discover what I took to be the fresh print of the bare
foot of a man. Mentioning this when I returned, my companions laughed
and warned me to be cautious and give this strange man a wide berth
unless I had my rifle and plenty of ammunition. It was the track of a
grizzly bear. I saw many tracks on this expedition and on others
afterwards but I have never seen a bear yet, except in captivity. The
grizzly seemed to shun me; but I believe they will not often attack a
man unprovoked, and will lie perfectly still while one may pass within a
few feet of their hiding-place.

Three or four deer were seen but with no opportunity to get a shot. All
through these upper canyons there was then a great abundance of game of
every description, and had our object been to kill for sport, we
undoubtedly could have made a pile of carcasses. One or two deer would
have been welcome but we had no time to pursue them. Steward came in
towards night from his geologising with a splendid bouquet of wild
flowers which was greatly admired. Prof. and the Major climbed west of
camp to a height of 1200 feet where they obtained a wide outlook and
secured valuable notes on the topography. The view was superb as it is
anywhere from a high point in this region. When they came back, the
Major entertained us by reading aloud _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_,
thus delightfully closing a beautiful Sunday which every man had
enjoyed.

In the morning soon after leaving this camp a dull roar ahead told of
our approach to Ashley Falls, for which we were on the lookout. The left
bank was immediately hugged as closely as possible and we dropped
cautiously down to the head of the descent. An immense rock stuck up in
the middle of the river and the water divided on this and shot down on
each side in a sharp fall of about eight feet. Each was a clear chute
and not dangerous to look at, but the effect of so sudden a plunge on
one of our loaded boats was too much of a problem for trial. A portage
was decided on. The left bank where we were was a mass of enormous
broken rocks where it seemed next to impossible to haul a boat. A foot
trail was first built which led up some fifty feet above the river, and
over, under and around huge boulders to a place down below where it was
proposed to carry the boats on skids. The cargoes were first taken over
on our backs and when this was done we were about tired out. Our united
strength was required to work the _Dean_ down to the selected haven
without injury. This was such extremely hard work that the Major and
Prof. concluded to shoot the _Canonita_ through, light, with no men in
her, but controlled by one of our hundred-foot hawsers attached to each
end. She was started down and went through well enough, but filling with
water and knocking on hidden rocks. Prudence condemned this method and
we resorted to sliding and carrying the _Nell_ over the rocks as we had
done with the _Dean_, certain that sleep and food would wipe out our
weariness, but not injury to the boats which must be avoided by all
means in our power. By the time we had placed the _Nell_ beside the
other boats at the bottom it was sunset and too late to do anything but
make a camp. Just above the head of the fall was a rather level place in
a clump of pines at the very edge of the river forming as picturesque a
camp-ground as I have ever seen. A brilliant moon hung over the canyon,
lighting up the foam of the water in strong contrast to the red fire
crackling its accompaniment to the roar of the rapid. A lunar rainbow
danced fairy-like in the mists rising from the turmoil of the river. The
night air was calm and mild. Prof. read aloud from _Hiawatha_ and it
seemed to fit the time and place admirably. We had few books with us;
poems of Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson, and Scott, are all I remember,
except a Bible my mother had given me. I suppose Cap. had a Bible also,
as he was very religious.

The huge boulders which dammed the river had fallen from the cliffs on
the left within a comparatively recent time, transforming an ordinary
rapid into the fall; actually damming the water till it is smooth for
half a mile above. The largest block of stone is the one in the middle.
It is about twenty five feet square. The only white men on record to
reach this place except the Major's other party, was General Ashley, the
distinguished fur trader with a number of trappers. In his search for
fresh beaver grounds he led his party in rude buffalo-skin boats through
this canyon in 1825. They had a hard time and nearly starved to death as
they depended for food on finding beaver and other game, in which they
were disappointed. On one of my trips over the rocks with cargo I made a
slight detour on the return to see the boulder where the Major had
discovered Ashley's name with a date. The letters were in black, just
under a slight projection and were surprisingly distinct considering the
forty-six years of exposure. The "2" was illegible and looked like a
"3." None of our party seemed to know that it could have been only a "2"
for by the year 1835 Ashley had sold out and had given up the fur
business in the mountains. Considering his ability, his prominence, his
high character, and his identification with the early history of the
West, there ought to be greater recognition of him than there has been.

[Illustration: Red Canyon.

Ashley Falls from Below.

Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]

Below Ashley Falls the declivity of the river was very great with a
correspondingly swift current, in one rapid reaching a velocity of at
least fifteen miles an hour, and with waves that tossed our heavy boats
like feathers. These were the most violent rapids we had yet met, not
excepting the ones we had portaged. The cliffs, about 2500 feet high, of
red sandstone, were often almost perpendicular on both sides, or at
least they impressed us so at the time. There was much vegetation, pine,
spruce, willow-leaved cottonwood, aspens, alder, etc., which added to
the beauty and picturesqueness of the wild scenery. Beaman stopped each
day where possible and desirable to take photographs, and at these times
the others investigated the surroundings and climbed up side canyons
when they existed. Late in the afternoon we came out suddenly into a
small valley or park formerly called Little Brown's Hole, a noted
rendezvous for trappers, and which we rechristened Red Canyon Park. This
was a beautiful place bounded by round mountains, into which our great
cliffs had temporarily resolved themselves, particularly on the right,
the left side remaining pretty steep. Our camp was pitched under two
large pine trees and every one was prepared, in the intervals of other
duties, to take advantage of this respite to patch up clothing, shoes,
etc., as well as to do what laundering was necessary. The river ran so
quietly that we felt oppressed after the constant roaring since we had
entered Red Canyon. I remember climbing up at evening with one of my
companions, to a high altitude where the silence was deathlike and
overpowering. Prof. and some of the others climbed to greater heights
for topographical purposes, easily reaching an altitude of about 4000
feet above the river in an air-line distance of about five miles. Here
they obtained a magnificent panorama in all directions, limited on the
west by the snowy chain of the Wasatch, and on the north by the Wind
River Range like white clouds on the horizon 200 miles away, and they
could trace the deep gorges of the river as they cleave the mountains
from distance to distance.

Here we saw signs of abundant game, elk, deer, bear, etc., but we had no
time to go hunting as a business and the game refused to come to us.
Each man had his work to accomplish so that we could get on. It was
impracticable to go wandering over the mountains for game, much as we
would have enjoyed a change from our bacon and beans. One day, only, was
spent here for all purposes, geologising, topographic climbing, and
working out the notes from up the river, making repairs and all the
other needful things that crowded upon us. Here it was that I did my
first tailoring and performed a feat of which I have ever since been
proud; namely, transferring some coattails, from where they were of no
use, to the knees and seat of my trousers where they were invaluable.

On June 8th, we left this "Camp Number 13" regretfully and plunged in
between the cliffs again for about eight miles, running five rapids,
when we emerged into a large valley known as Brown's Hole, where our
cliffs fell back for two or three miles on each side and became mountain
ranges. Pulling along for a couple of miles on a quiet river we were
surprised to discover on the left a white man's camp. Quickly landing we
learned that it was some cattlemen's temporary headquarters (Harrell
Brothers), and some of the men had been to Green River Station since our
departure from that place, the distance by trail not being half that by
river. They were expecting us and had brought some mail which was a glad
sight for our eyes. These men had wintered about 2000 head of Texas
cattle in this valley, noted for the salubrity of its winter climate
since the days of the fur-hunters, and were on their way to the Pacific
coast. We made a camp near by, with a cottonwood of a peculiar "Y"
shape, more stump than tree, to give what shade-comfort it could, and
enjoyed the relaxation which came with the feeling that we had put
twenty-five miles of hard canyon behind, and were again in touch, though
so briefly and at long range, with the outer world. As some of these men
were to go out to the railway the following Sunday and offered to carry
mail for us, we began to write letters to let our friends know how we
were faring on our peculiar voyage. This "Brown's Hole" was the place
selected by a man who pretended to have been with the former party, for
the scene of that party's destruction which he reported to the
newspapers. He thought as it was called a "hole" it must be one of the
worst places on this raging river, not knowing that in the old trapper
days when a man found a snug valley and dwelt there for a time it became
known as his "hole" in the nomenclature of the mountains. The Major did
not think this a satisfactory name and he changed it to "Brown's Park"
which it now bears. I met an "old timer" on a western train several
years afterward, who was greatly irritated because of this liberty which
the Major took with the cherished designation of the early days. Fort
Davy Crockett of the fur-trading period was located somewhere in this
valley.

[Illustration: In Red Canyon Park.

Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]

The next morning after reaching Harrell's camp we were told that, as
Frank did not seem able to stand the voyage he was to leave us here, to
go over the mountains back to the railway, whence he would go home. We
were all sorry to hear this and doubly sorry when on Sunday the 11th he
mounted a mule and regretfully rode away with Mr. Harrell. The latter
was to telegraph to Salt Lake to Mrs. Powell, to send our mail back to
Green River Station so that it could be brought out to us on Mr.
Harrell's return. Meanwhile we dropped down the river, now tranquil as a
pond, with low banks covered with cottonwood groves. There were two
small canyons the first of which we called "Little" about one-half mile
long, and the second "Swallow," about two miles long. The cliffs were
red sandstone about three hundred feet high, often vertical on both
sides. Thousands of swallows swarmed there, and we did not resist giving
it an obvious name. Below this the water spread out more and was full of
islands. The current was sluggish, two miles an hour perhaps, and we
indulged in the novelty of rowing the boats, though we did not try to
make speed, for we had to wait for Mr. Harrell's return anyhow. The
boats had been lightened by trading to Harrell some of our flour, of
which we had an over abundance when it came to portages, for fresh beef,
of which we were very much in need. At a convenient place we landed
where there was a fine cottonwood grove and remained while Prof. made a
climb and to jerk the beef. It was cut into thin strips and hung on a
willow framework in the sun with a slow fire beneath. As the thermometer
now stood at ninety-nine in the shade the beef was fairly well cured by
the 13th and we went on, seeing one of the cattlemen and a Mexican boy
on the left bank. In this neighbourhood we passed from Utah into
Colorado. The river was six hundred feet broad and about six feet deep.
We had no trouble from shoals, and finally lashed the three boats side
by side and let them drift along in the slow current. The Major sitting
in his arm-chair on the middle boat read aloud selections from _The Lady
of the Lake_ which seemed to fit the scene well. Steward and Andy amused
themselves by swimming along with the boats and occasionally diving
under them.

From our noon camp in a grove of cottonwoods opposite the mouth of
Vermilion River, we could plainly see the great portal a mile or two
away, the Gate of Lodore, where all this tranquillity would end, for the
river cuts straight into the heart of the mountains forming one of the
finest canyons of the series where the water comes down as Southey
described it at Lodore, and the Major gave it that name. Before night we
were at the very entrance and made our camp there in a grove of
box-elders. Every man was looking forward to this canyon with some dread
and before losing ourselves within its depths we expected to enjoy the
letters from home which Mr. Harrell was to bring back from the railway
for us. Myriads of mosquitoes gave us something else to think of, for
they were exceedingly ferocious and persistent, driving us to a high
bluff where a smudge was built to fight them off. We were nearly
devoured. I fared best, a friend having given me a net for my head, and
this, with buckskin gloves on my hands enabled me to exist with some
comfort. The mountains rose abruptly just beyond our camp, and the river
cleaved the solid mass at one stroke, forming the extraordinary and
magnificent portal we named the "Gate of Lodore," one of the most
striking entrances of a river into mountains to be found in all the
world. It is visible for miles. Prof. climbed the left side of the Gate
and also took observations for time.

I was sent back to the valley to make some sketches and also to
accompany Steward on a geological tramp. We had an uncomfortable
experience because of the excessive heat and aridity. I learned several
things about mountaineering that I never forgot, one of which was to
always thoroughly note and mark a place where anything is left to be
picked up on a return, for, leaving our haversack under a cedar it
eluded all search till the next day, and meanwhile we were compelled to
go to the river two or three miles away for water. We had a rubber
poncho and a blanket. Using the rubber for a mattress and the blanket
for a covering we passed the night, starting early for the mountains,
where at last we found our food bag. After eating a biscuit we went back
to the river and made tea and toasted some beef on the end of a ramrod,
when we struck for the main camp, arriving at dinner-time.

The Gate of Lodore seemed naturally the beginning of a new stage in our
voyage to which we turned with some anxiety, for it was in the gorge now
before us that on the first trip a boat had been irretrievably smashed.
We were now 130 miles by river from the Union Pacific Railway crossing,
and in this distance we had descended 700 feet in altitude, more than
400 feet of it in Red Canyon. Lodore was said to have an even greater
declivity.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: Three points on Green River below the Union Pacific
crossing had been determined by previous explorers, the mouth of Henry's
Fork, the mouth of the Uinta, and Gunnison Crossing.]

[Footnote 6: I do not know the number of men composing this party.]




CHAPTER IV

Locked in the Chasm of Lodore--Rapids with Railway Speed--A
Treacherous Approach to Falls of Disaster--Numerous Loadings
and Unloadings--Over the Rocks with Cargoes--Library
Increased by _Putnam's Magazine_--Triplet Falls and Hell's
Half Mile--Fire in Camp--Exit from Turmoil to Peace.


On Saturday the 17th of June, the member of the Harrell party who was to
travel overland from Green River Station with mail for us from Salt Lake
arrived with only two letters. The despatch had been too late to stop
the packet which already had been started for the Uinta Indian Agency,
whence it would reach us at the mouth of the Uinta River. It would be
another month, at least, before we could receive those longed for words
from home. There was nothing now to delay us further, and after dinner
the boats were prepared for canyon work again. Through Brown's Park we
had not been obliged to pay much attention to "ship-shape" arrangements,
but now the story was to be different. The cabins were packed with
unusual care, the life-preservers were inflated and put where they could
be quickly seized on the approach to a bad descent, and at four o'clock
we were afloat. The wide horizon vanished. The cliffs, red and majestic,
rose at one bound to a height of about 2000 feet on each side, the most
abrupt and magnificent gateway to a canyon imaginable. We entered
slowly, for the current in the beginning is not swift, and we watched
the mighty precipices while they appeared to fold themselves together
behind and shut us more than ever away from the surrounding wilderness.
For a short time the stream was quite tame. Then the murmur of distant
troubled waters reached us and we prepared for work. The first rapid was
not a bad one; we ran it without halting and ran three more in quick
succession, one of which was rather ugly.

[Illustration: The Head of the Canyon of Lodore.

Just inside the Gate.

Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]

This success caused some of us prematurely to conclude that perhaps "the
way the water comes down at Lodore," was not so terrific as had been
anticipated. The Major said nothing. He kept his eyes directed ahead.
The river ran about 300 feet wide, with a current of 10 to 15 miles an
hour in the rapids. At every bend new vistas of beauty were exhibited,
and the cliffs impressed us more and more by their increasing height and
sublimity. Landing places were numerous. Presently there came to our
ears a roar with an undertone which spoke a language now familiar, and
we kept as close to the right bank as possible, so that a stop could be
instantly made at the proper moment. When this moment arrived a landing
was effected for examination, and it revealed a furious descent, studded
with large rocks, with a possibility of safely running through it if an
exact course could be held, but the hour being now late a camp was made
at the head and further investigation deferred till the next morning.

This morning was Sunday, and the sun shone into the canyon with dazzling
brilliancy, all being tranquil except the foaming rapid. The locality
was so fascinating that we lingered to explore, finding especial
interest in a delightful grotto carved out of the red sandstone by the
waters of a small brook. The entrance was narrow, barely 20 feet, a mere
cleft in the beginning, but as one proceeded up it between walls 1500
feet high, the cleft widened, till at 15 rods it ended in an
amphitheatre 100 feet in diameter, with a domed top. Clear, cold water
trickled and dropped in thousands of diamond-like globules from
everything. Mosses and ferns filled all the crevices adding a brilliant
green to the picture, while far up overhead a little ribbon of blue sky
could be seen; and, beyond the mouth, the yellow river. It was an
exquisite scene. At the request of Steward, it's discoverer, it was
named after his little daughter, "Winnie's Grotto." So charming was it
here that we did not get off till ten o'clock, Beaman meanwhile taking
several views.

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