A Canyon Voyage

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

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[Illustration: Split Mountain Canyon.

Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871]

Wet and weary we welcomed the order to camp, about five o'clock, and
made ourselves comfortable with dry clothes from our rubber bags, the
wet ones being spread, as was our custom, on rocks to dry. At high water
many of these rapids would be rendered much easier. A quarter of a mile
below camp was a small cave thirty or forty feet deep, very picturesque,
with the river dashing into it, and in the water in front a rock twenty
feet high, which had dropped down from somewhere above. Beaman got a
very good picture here.

The river was falling fast and as the water lowered rocks more and more
showed themselves in the rapids. Low water increases the labour but it
increases the safety as well, for the velocity is less and the boats are
more easily controlled.

The next day, July 10th, we did not start on down the river till one
o'clock. Then we lowered the boats past two rapids and ran six, of which
four were very bad on account of numerous rocks. Occasionally a boat
would strike but none was injured seriously. The sun was directly in our
faces blinding us, and a high wind was blowing which added to the
difficulties. The walls were often vertical for a thousand feet or more,
and the river was wide and shallow. There was a scorching hot sun, the
temperature being near 100 in the shade. The rocks and even the sand
became so hot that they were uncomfortable to the touch, but there was
one advantage in this dry heat--our clothes were soon dry. During this
day we landed on the wrong side to examine one rapid and had to run it
from there. Both boats got through with only slight raps and we went on
a short distance to camp at the head of a bad descent which was not
runable at this stage of water. In the morning a line-portage was easily
accomplished and we ran down a short distance farther when we stopped
for dinner on a sandy beach. The sand scorched my feet for I had been
without shoes for several days. All our shoes were giving out and mine
were the first to go completely. Fortunately Beaman had an extra pair of
army brogans which he lent me till we should reach Uinta. I had ordered,
by advice in Chicago, two pairs of fine shoes at thirteen dollars a
pair, but I now discovered that I ought to have bought shoes at two
dollars instead for such work as this. We hoped to be able to get some
new shoes from Salt Lake when we reached the Uinta River and again would
be in touch, even though a very long touch, with the outside world. Our
soap was all gone too, and supplies of every kind were getting low.

In the afternoon three more rapids were run and at a fourth we were
compelled to make a line-portage. Then we saw the strata begin to curve
over and down and finally drop into the river just as they had come out
of it at the beginning. The crevices were filled with ferns and in
places clear water was dripping from these little green cliff gardens.
As we ran along the foot of the left wall we saw a peculiar and
beautiful spring which had carved out a dainty basin where a multitude
of ferns and kindred plants were thriving, a silvery rill dropping down
from them. We emerged from the canyon as abruptly as we had entered it,
and saw a broad valley stretching before us. Running a quarter of a mile
on a smooth river camp was made on the right on a level floor carpeted
with grass and surrounded by thickets of oak. We were in the beginning
of what is now called Wonsits (Antelope) Valley, about eighty-seven
miles long, the only large valley on the river above the end of Black
Canyon. Split-Mountain Canyon eight miles long has one of the greatest
declivities on the river, coming next to Lodore, though it differs from
the latter in that the descent is more continuous and not broken into
short, violent stretches. There would be plain sailing now to the head
of the Canyon of Desolation.

CHAPTER VI

A Lookout for Redskins--The River a Sluggard--A
Gunshot!--Someone Comes!--The Tale of a Mysterious Light--How,
How! from Douglas Boy--At the Mouth of the Uinta--A Tramp to
Goblin City and a Trip down White River on a Raft--A
Waggon-load of Supplies from Salt Lake by Way of Uinta
Agency--The Major Goes Out to Find a Way In.

Our thoughts now were mainly directed to pushing on to the mouth of the
Uinta River and picking up our advance party, which by this time must
have gotten in touch with the Uinta Agency. We felt gratified that
another of the long line of canyons was a thing of the past and that for
a brief time we would have easy water, so far as rapids were concerned.
We were reminded that this was Indian country by discovering on a smooth
face of rock wall not far from camp a lot of drawings pecked into the
stone. They represented figures of natives, bison, elk, deer, mountain
sheep, grizzly tracks, etc., and as they were the first pictographs I
had ever seen I was particularly interested. The bison pictures
indicated the former presence here in this valley of that fine animal.
Numbers indeed once ranged these hills and valleys, but they had all
disappeared many years before our voyage. We were on the lookout for
Indians. As long as we were encompassed by the mighty walls of the
canyons there was little probability of our meeting with any of the
original people of this soil, but the valley now opening wide before us
was their favourite haunt. Two divisions of Utes roamed the surrounding
region. On the west it was the Uinta Utes who, we knew, were peaceable,
and on the east it was the White River Utes, whose status as to peace
and war was at that period somewhat vague and uncertain. We expected no
trouble with any of them, yet the possibility of running at any moment
on a band gave added interest and colour to the voyage. This was
intensified by the feeling that we had suddenly been thrown out of
doors, unprotected, as the huge, dominating precipices broke so suddenly
back on both sides, leaving us hardly a rock with which, in case of
necessity, to emulate the example of Roderick Dhu. Probably if we had
travelled here on horseback in the open there would not have been this
sense of having left our fortification behind.

July 12th the boats proceeded down a river so sluggish that the term
"down" seemed a misnomer, and we actually had to row; had to work at the
oars to make the boats go; these same boats which so recently had
behaved like wild horses. This was not to our taste at all, the weather
being extremely hot. But there was no help for it. The boats fairly went
to sleep and we tugged away at their dull, heavy weight, putting the
miles behind and recalling the express-train manner of their recent
action. On each side of us there were occasional groves of cottonwoods
and wide bottoms bounded by low hills. After about ten miles of steady
pulling we discovered that we were only 2-1/2 miles from our starting
place in a straight line. Here there was a superb cottonwood grove,
massive trees with huge trunks like oaks, on the left. We found the
remains of a camp-fire and decided that our advance party had come this
far from Island Park the first day. They had accomplished a phenomenal
run, but it showed what might be done with light boats and a full crew.
As Steward desired to make some geological examinations at this point,
Prof. announced that we would stay till morning. Another cause for
stopping was a gale which blew with great force, making rowing
exceedingly hard work, and it was hard enough anyhow with no good
current to help.

Steward wished to go across the river, and I went with him. We tramped
with our Winchesters on our shoulders for several hours, examining rocks
and fossils. On our return we found that Andy was occupied in boiling a
goose which Prof.'s sure aim had bestowed on the larder, and we had the
bird for supper. If it was not one of the fossils it certainly was one
of the "oldest inhabitants," which are found in every locality, and
though a steady diet of bacon enthused us with an ambition to masticate
this noble morsel, it had to be relegated to the impossibilities. We had
a good deal of entertainment out of it, and while so engaged every ear
caught the sound of a faint, distant gunshot. This was proof that we
were no longer alone, and the question was, "How many Indians are
there?" We simply waited developments. Night came on and the fierce wind
died away completely as the sun went down. We gave no more thought to
the shot, but all went to bed without even leaving a watch, so confident
was Prof. that there was no enemy, and no danger of a surprise. He was
always "level-headed" and never went off on a tangent doing wild or
unwarranted things. He was a man of unusually sound judgment.

In the absence of Cap. the duty of reading barometer had fallen to me,
and sometimes, when waiting for the hour to arrive, I had to sit alone
for a time when the others already had turned in. It was that way on
this night, and I waited with some impatience for nine o'clock to come.
For the purpose of reading the scale we used a small bull's-eye lantern
belonging to a transit instrument, and it threw out a long beam of
light. I entertained myself by flashing this beam of light in various
directions to the distress of one member lying near not asleep, who was
somewhat nervous as to the character of the Indians responsible for the
shot.

"Confound it," he growled, "you'll have the whole Ute tribe down on us!
You know they are not far off!"

Of course I desisted in my "signalling," but Prof., not yet asleep,
spoke up saying he did not believe any Indians would bother us.
Finishing the observations I put out the lantern, and settled in my
blankets. At that instant there was the flash of a light through the
trees and then it glowed steadily for a moment and went out. My nervous
neighbour saw it too. "There," he cried, "an answer to your confounded
signal!" Several saw it. "The evening star setting beyond the hill,"
they declared, derisively, but we two maintained that it was nothing
less than a light near by. Then sleep ruled the camp. In the middle of
the night there was a sudden terrific cracking, rending, and crashing,
starting all to their feet except Clem, who was not wakened by it. What
had happened? We perceived in a second. One of the enormous limbs,
weakened by the wind, had broken off and dropped to the ground in the
middle of the camp. Luckily no one was under it and no harm was done,
but for a moment, in connection with the light episode and the gunshot,
it gave us a shock. Every one laughed, and soon the camp was still
again. The sun was well up before we awoke. Immediately the discussion
of the strange light came up, and it formed a lively and amusing topic,
not only then, but ever after for months. Breakfast became a stirring
debating scene, when plump into the midst of our hilarity, as if to
emphasise the declarations of the nervous member, there came a sharp
call from beyond a line of bushes. Almost on the instant appeared an
Indian mounted on a dark bay horse trotting towards us exclaiming, "How,
how!" and holding out his hand in token of friendship. His long black
hair hung behind in two tails braided with red and black cotton cloth.
The scalp at the part was painted vermilion, and around each eye was a
ring of the same bright colour. His shirt was of the kind called
hickory, and his leggins were of red woollen stuff. Altogether he was a
good looking specimen of his race, and about twenty-five years old. How
many more might be behind we could not tell.

He dismounted and Clem grasped him warmly by the hand, exclaiming with
his most cordial smile, "Well, how are all the folks at home?" to which
the visitor of course made no answer. Not one of our party understood
Ute, and I had never seen a "wild" Indian at such close quarters before.
The man motioned for something to eat, so Andy gave him a plate of
breakfast, but there was a twinkle in Andy's blue eye, for the breakfast
consisted largely of the rejected goose. When the red man's vision
rested on the goose he gave a grunt of disgust and made no effort to
even taste it, though he relished the other things and a cup of hot
coffee. I have noticed that all Indians are very fond of coffee. We
gleaned that he was alone with his squaw, and had a wickiup down the
river a short distance. Doubtless he had examined our camp the previous
night. The barometer hanging to a tree-branch caught his eye, and I
tried by signs to explain it to him with no success except to convulse
the whole crew. At length with the exclamation "Squaw," he rode away and
came back with his fair partner riding behind. By this time we were
packed up and we pushed off, the pair watching us with deep interest.
About a mile and a half below by the river, we came on them again at
their camp, they having easily beaten us by a short cut. Here was his
wickiup made of a few cottonwood boughs, and in front of it the ashes of
a fire. Our side immediately claimed this was the light we had seen, and
the discussion of this point continued until another night put an end to
it. In the bough shelter sat the blooming bride of "Douglas Boy," as he
called himself, Douglas being the chief of the White River Utes. She was
dressed well in a neat suit of navy-blue flannel and was lavishly
adorned with ornaments. Her dress was bound at the waist by a heavy belt
of leather, four inches wide, profusely decorated with brass discs and
fastened by a brass buckle. She was young and quite pretty, and they
were a handsome couple. He intimated that he would be grateful to be
ferried across the river, here almost half a mile wide, so his blankets,
saddles, and whole paraphernalia were piled on the boats, while the two
horses were driven into the water and pelted with stones till they made
up their minds that the farther shore offered greater hospitality, and
swam for it. Then the squaw and the brave were taken on separate boats.
She hesitated long before finally trusting herself, and was exceedingly
coy about it. She had probably never seen a boat before. At last,
overcoming her fear she stepped tremblingly on board and in a few
minutes we had them landed on the other side, where we said farewell and
went on.

In the afternoon we discovered a number of natives on the right bank and
landed to see what they were. Nothing more terrible than several badly
frightened squaws and children occupied the place, the men being away.
We thought this call on the ladies would suffice, and presenting them
with a quantity of tobacco for their absent lords, we pulled away,
leaving them still almost paralysed with fright and astonishment at our
sudden and unexpected appearance and disappearance. The valley was now
very wide, and the river spread to a great width also, giving conditions
totally different from any we had found above. Rowing was real labour
here, but Prof. was eager to arrive at the mouth of the Uinta the next
day so it was row, row, with a strong, steady, monotonous stroke, hour
after hour till we had put twenty miles behind when we stopped for the
night. Next morning the same programme was continued from seven o'clock
on, with a brief halt for dinner. About four a storm came up, compelling
us to wait an hour, when on we pulled, with a temperature something like
100 deg.F., in the shade, till sunset, when about forty miles from our
starting point, we arrived at the mouth of a river on the right, which
we thought must be the Uinta. But finally as there was no sign of our
advance party we concluded there must be a mistake. There was so little
current in the tributary we thought it might be something besides a
river, the mouth of a lake perhaps, and that the Uinta was farther on.
About a mile down in the dim light there appeared to be a river mouth,
but on reaching the place there was nothing of the kind. Several signal
shots were fired. They fell dead on the dull stillness of the night
which was dropping fast upon us. We took to the oars once more and
pulled down nearly another mile till the dark grew so thick it was not
prudent to proceed, and Prof. ordered a landing on the left where we
made a hasty cup of coffee to refresh the inner man, and turned in, much
puzzled and troubled by the absence of any kind of a signal from the
advance party. Some one suggested that they had all been killed, but
Prof. met this with scornful ridicule and went to sleep. When daylight
came a river was discovered less than half a mile below our camp coming
in from the east. Prof. knew this to be White River from the map, the
mouths of White and Uinta rivers having long been quite accurately
established. The mouth of the Uinta must therefore be where we had been
the night before, and Prof. walked back till he came opposite to it. We
then got the boats back by rowing and towing, and landed on the right or
west bank about a quarter of a mile above the mouth of the Uinta, where
the old time crossing had been, and which we had passed unnoticed in the
evening light. Here were the ashes of a camp-fire, and after much
searching a tin can was found with a note in it from the Major, saying
they had all gone out to the Agency, and that we were to wait here.

A large cottonwood tree stood on the low bank where travellers before
had camped, not in going up and down the river, but on their way across
country. It was a very old tree and its bark presented many marks,
names, and dates, and I regret now that I did not copy them for
reference. This was one of the known crossings for a long period, in
fact, it was through this valley that Escalante, the first white man to
cross Green River, travelled in 1776, and it is possible that he may
have camped under this very tree.[10] We settled there to wait, harassed
by multitudes of voracious mosquitoes. All day we remained, expecting
the absentees, but the sun went down and still there was no word. About
seven o'clock while we were eating supper, some shots and yells from the
west took us to the top of the bank, and we saw two horsemen galloping
towards our position. We soon made them out to be Cap. and Jones. They
brought a large mail, a portion of it the same we had tried to stop at
Salt Lake, and have returned to us at the Gate of Lodore, and they
reported that the Major had gone out to Salt Lake. We built up a good
fire, and by its light everyone was quickly lost in letters from home.

The next morning we got the _Dean_ out of the bushes where she had been
well hidden, and moved across the river with the whole outfit, to a
place in front of a half-finished log cabin called Fort Robideau, after
the trapper of that name, who years before had roamed this country. A
road crossing here from Golden to Provo, 413 miles long, was laid out in
1861 by Berthoud and Bridger for the Overland Stage Company, but the
Civil War and the building of the Union Pacific had prevented its
realisation.[11] The cabin had no windows or doors, but for summer that
was not a defect. The mud roof was intact, and we used the cabin for
headquarters, though we preferred to sleep out on the ground. Back of
the building a wide level plain spread away and deer and antelope ranged
there in large numbers. Any short walk would start up antelope, but we
had other matters on our mind, and made no special effort to shoot any.
It would have been easy for a trained hunter to get all he wanted, or
even for one of us to do it had we dropped other things and given our
minds to the work.

The following Monday, July 17th, Prof. and Beaman left for the Agency,
and on Friday of the same week Jack returned accompanied by a man named
Basor, driving a large four-horse waggon loaded with supplies for us. We
were in need of them. We had been completely out of soap for two weeks
or more, and a box of that essential article was broken open the first
thing. Jack also brought from the Agency garden some lettuce, new
potatoes, and turnips. Not having tasted any vegetables for two months,
these were a great treat. The same afternoon Basor went away taking
letters from us with him to be sent to Salt Lake. One of the special
things he had brought was three long, narrow pieces of flat iron made by
the Agency blacksmith from old wagon tires, for the keels of the boats,
which were badly worn by scraping on shoals and rocks in our portaging
and letting-down operations.

On the next Monday, Cap., Steward, and I with five days' rations on our
backs as well as blankets enough for the warm nights, and our rifles,
started on a journey up White River to a place called Goblin City by one
of the earlier explorers who had crossed the valley. As we were going
through some heavy willows about noon, I discovered standing still
before me and not a hundred feet away the finest stag I have ever seen.
He stood like a Landseer picture, head erect and alert with huge
branching antlers poised in the air. He was listening to my companions
who were a little distance from me. My gun being tied to my pack for
easy travelling I could not quickly extricate it and before I could
bring it to bear he dashed through the willows and a sensible shot was
impossible. I admired him so much that I was rather glad I could not
shoot. We came across a great deal of game, antelope, mountain sheep,
and deer but we never seemed to have the opportunity to stalk it
properly. When we finally came in sight of the Goblin City it was six
o'clock of the second day and we had travelled steadily. At the farther
end of a level little valley surrounded by cliffs were numerous small
buttes and square rocks, almost in rows and about the size of small
buildings, so that there was a striking suggestion of a town. We slept
near the river and spent the next morning in examining the locality.
When we had completed the observations I got dinner while Steward and
Cap. with our gun-straps and some buckskin strings made a raft from
small cottonwood logs we found on the bank. Upon this weaving affair we
all three embarked to descend the river in order to meander the course
as well as to save our legs. Steward and Cap. stood at either end with
long poles while I sat in the middle and took the compass sights as we
passed along. There were some sharp little rapids full of rocks, and
sometimes it was all we could do to stick on, for the raft being
flexible naturally would straddle a big rock and take the form of a very
steep house roof. The banks were thick with currant bushes loaded with
ripe fruit and we kept a supply of branches on the raft to pick off the
currants as we went along. Everywhere there were many fresh tracks of
bears for they are fond of this fruit, but if they saw us we failed to
see them, though some of the tracks appeared to have been made not more
than a few minutes before. As we drifted between high banks there was a
violent crashing of bushes and a beautiful fawn, evidently pursued by
bear or wolf, plunged through and dropped into the stream. Cap. took a
shot at it from the wobbling raft but of course failed. The fawn landed
at the bottom of a mud wall ten feet high and for a moment seemed dazed,
but by some herculean effort it gained the plain and sped away to
freedom and we were not at all sorry to see it go. All the next day we
kept on down White River on the raft and at seven o'clock were still
five miles from camp in a direct course and no food left. As the stream
meandered a great deal we parted from it and went to headquarters on
foot.

We now expected hourly the return of Prof. and the Major, but another
day passed without them or any message. The next day was Saturday and it
faded away also without any event. Just after supper there was a hail
from the west bank and on going over with a boat we found there Prof.,
Beaman, and an Indian. The Major had not come because Captain Dodds,
commanding the party which was charged with the taking of rations for us
to the mouth of the Dirty Devil River, our next supply station, had sent
word that he could not find a way through the unknown region. The Major
concluded that he would have to go and try it himself. His plan was for
us to go on and he would join us again August 25th at Gunnison Crossing,
at the end of the Canyon of Desolation, the next canyon of the series.
Gunnison Crossing was an established point with a trail leading there
from east and west. We were to wait for him till September 3d in that
neighbourhood, and if he failed to arrive we were to go on and get
through as best we could on the rations remaining. Our present
intercourse with the world was now terminated by our sending the Indian
who had come with Prof. back to the Agency with our mail. Prof. had
brought in some fresh beef which was a great treat but there was little
of it and after a couple of meals we were on bacon and beans again. Had
an Indian from the Agency been hired for the purpose of hunting, we
might have had plenty of venison during our stop here. Sunday our old
acquaintance Douglas Boy came to camp and was employed to make moccasins
to save our shoes. Some new shoes had been sent in to us, but for
climbing and walking the rawhide-soled moccasins were excellent and
would save our shoes for river work. The Indian had a beaded cap pouch
which I secured from him for some vermilion and he was ready to trade,
but the next day Jack caught him trying to steal our buckskin by hiding
it in his blankets which rudely sundered our business relations. Jack
himself acquired the art of moccasin-making and he made each of us an
excellent pair in his spare time. Steward and I went back up White River
to finish our work but the raft timbers were gone and we could find no
others, so we had to do what we could on foot. When we returned I
discovered some ginger among the supplies and thinking it time for
variety in our bill of fare, and it being Cap.'s birthday, I made a
large ginger-cake which was voted prime. We ate half of it at one
sitting with an accompaniment of lime-juice "lemonade."

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