CHAPTER XXVIII. The Colorado River From The Mountains To The Sea
Perhaps no river in the world has so remarkable a life-history as has the Colorado. It is formed of two great streams, the Green and the Grand. Both have their rise in the far-away mountains, in banks of virgin and purest snow. Hence the waters of the Colorado at their source are pure and sweet. Yet such is the vehement force of this river, such its haste to reach the ocean, that it cuts down and carries with it millions of tons annually of sand and silt, rock debris and dirt until, when it reaches the desert, through which it flows as a lazy dragon, reddish-yellow, tawny, it is the dirtiest stream in the world. For not only does it carry the sand of its own grinding, as it passes through the hundred miles of canyon of its waterway, but it accepts the sweepings of vast areas made by its tributaries. Some of these extend through barren and desolate areas,—great stretches of the most forsaken desert lands, where the rains occasionally pour down with deluge-like force. Cloudbursts and floods are common; for the whole country is high in altitude, with rising peaks, where electric storms play and rage, and the clouds drop, with a sudden sweep, their whole burden of water to the earth beneath. At other times, the waters are allowed to pour down in torrential rains which quickly deluge the land, and as there are no barriers to hinder or detain, they sweep down the inhospitable slopes to the stream beds, carrying with them all the sand, silt, rock debris, vegetable mould and animal matter that have accumulated since the last storm. So that while at its source it is the purest river in the world, at its mouth it is the dirtiest and most repulsive. The Mississippi, with many more miles of length, the Nile, the Amazon, the Yangste-Kiang, the Hoang-Ho, are all far cleaner at their mouths than is this insatiable dragon of the Canyon.
Carrying Power of the River. This suggests another singularity in which it doubtless reigns supreme. Probably no river in the world, of its length, has anything like the carrying power of the Colorado within its waters. Notice that I say "within its waters." It is useless for carrying anything on its bosom. No ships use its waters for beneficent commerce. Its only carrying power is in the amount of sand and other material it holds in solution, and carries within itself.
Its Incredible Descent. For it is doubtful whether any river in the world has so rapid a descent from towering mountain heights to its receiving ocean, as has the Colorado. It falls over four thousand two hundred feet from its source to its mouth, and in less than five hundred miles of its distance it contains five hundred and twenty rapids, falls and cataracts. A fall or a rapid or a cataract for every mile, and a few over for good measure. Who can conceive the peril of journeying through such a river? And until the facts were known, how hopeless to attempt to ascend such a river, as did Alarcon, Ives and Wheeler!
Useless for Commerce. As already stated, it is the most useless of the large rivers of the world as a carrier of ships of commerce. No boat, carrying produce of field, mill or mart, has ever passed up or down its course. No whitewinged schooner or other merchantman has enlivened its course by proudly gliding on its bosom to waiting port, where cargoes are discharged and received. No thrilling fleet of battleships ever has seen its banks, or ever will, for it is useless, absolutely, irretrievably, God-ordainedly useless for all purposes of commerce, traffic, or communication.
Dangerous and Destructive. Read the accounts of Powell's trips down its dangerous course; of Alarcon's struggles to ascend its headlong tides; of Ives's and Wheeler's attempts to explore a portion of it; of Cardenas's efforts even to reach its waters from one of its banks, and of the ruthless manner in which it has destroyed the lives of those unfortunate enough to come within its reach. Then you will see how absolutely useless a river it is. In this regard the Colorado River is unique. Most rivers carry beneficent life all along their journey. They distribute fructifying waters, from their rise to their end in the sea. Thriving towns and villages line their banks, all surrounded by a fertile farming country. But not so the Colorado! It has cut its way through the rocks so fiercely that it is buried a thousand, two thousand, three thousand and even five thousand and more feet below the surrounding country. It and its tributaries drain away even the water that falls in gentle showers, before it has time to benefit the thirsty land. Only by the expensive construction of cemented cisterns and occasional dams can the rancher, stockman and miner of the region hoard for his scantest needs enough of this precious fluid. Even the hotels that are placed upon its brink to afford stopping-places for the curious travelers who wish to see this river and its unique waterway are compelled to haul their trains of water-cars nearly a hundred miles to supply themselves with the water which the Colorado River drains from their very dooryards and empties in reckless neglect into the Gulf of California.
Yields No Electrical Power. Other rivers throughout California and the West are yielding millions of volts annually of electrical energy, for the lighting and heating of cities, the turning of mill-wheels, and the running of electric cars; but the Colorado, though possessed of a potential energy greater than any ten or twenty of these rivers combined, so far has refused to yield up a single volt. Again and again engineers have estimated and suggested, but the great facts remain that it is so uncertain, so wild, so impetuous, so sure to rise when unexpected, so sure to fall when relied upon, that, as yet, no one has been found venturesome enough to try to tame and harness its fierce energy.
Waters to be Diverted by a Dam. Yet in spite of these serious charges I make against the Colorado, it is peculiar in that it is the most useful of the large rivers of the world in another domain. The United States Reclamation Service has spent millions of the people's money in making it of use. At Laguna, a few miles above Yuma, it has built a huge dam larger than any similar dam in the world—that diverts these once turbulent waters into irrigating ditches to convey their life-giving power to thousands upon thousands of acres of desert land. The Blythe Estate is doing the same thing a hundred or more miles higher up, near Parker, on the Santa Fe, and already towns and settlements are springing up on those desert wastes. The California Development Company began this work, four miles below Yuma, in 1900, and in four years had converted that great sink of the Colorado Desert into the richly fertile domain now known as the Imperial Valley, where today are many growing towns.
Opportunities for Swimming. Though the current of the Colorado is so strong, there are times and places where it affords one who is not over-fastidious as to the color of the water, an opportunity for an excellent swim. But care must be exercised. At the foot of Bass Trail, there are two or three rocky recesses where one may go in and swim, within the arms of the protecting rocks, without danger. It is not well to swim in the earlier months of the year, when the water is excessively cold. Several times in January and February I have been overcome with temptation, and have jumped in "merely for the plunge." The sensation is one of being skinned alive, and one plunge is all that one cares for. Yet on emerging and dressing, how fine one feels after it. The great melting time of the snows on the mountains is the end of May, June and early July. It grows warmer in July, and from then on to December one may enjoy it. In September and October it is generally deliciously warm, and I have gone in half a dozen times a day. A good swimmer can cross the stream, if he does not lose his head, for the current is powerful, and one is borne down far faster than he imagines, and it is much further across than it seems to be. Several times, when I have wanted to cross, and there was no boat, I have swam across to the other side, wearing my shirt and trousers and carrying my boots slung around my neck. But it is, hard work and scarcely worth the risk.
An Exciting Swim. Last year at the foot of the Red Canyon Trail, I had two most delightful swims—one on the night of the arrival of our party, the other by starlight next morning. Though there is an ugly rapid at this place, one may go up stream far enough to get away from danger, for a half-moon-shaped mass of rock affords safe shelter, and deep enough water for swimming. The night swim was so refreshing that I could not resist the allurement to take another in the morning, before we left camp. The order had been given for an early start, which meant breakfast at earliest dawn, so that I had to go down to the river while the stars were yet shining. The water was quite warm, and as soon as I felt myself in its soothing embrace a half-dreamy mood came over me, and, throwing myself upon my back, I yielded to it, quietly pushing myself, as I thought, against the stream, but heading for the other side. Though conscious of the enjoyment of the exercise, and the delicious sensation of the water around my body, my thoughts ran away with me, and I suddenly awoke to myself and the full significance of my surroundings by finding myself more than half-way across the river, in the swiftest part of the current, which was rapidly carrying me down to the rapids. For a few moments I was dreadfully alarmed. My heart stood still, and the surprise of it almost paralysed me. I remember distinctly my thoughts and reasoning. They were somewhat as follows: "The current on the south side is far less strong than on this side. Therefore it will be much easier to go back than to try to reach the north shore, which seems to be and is so much the nearer. If, however, you can't make it, what then? You'll go into the rapids. If you are dashed headlong or sideways against any of the five hundred and one waiting rocks, that will doubtless be the end of you; but there is a good chance that you may get through without hitting anything. A minute, or two minutes at the most, will see you through the rapids to calm current beyond. You can hold your breath that length of time, so that the spray and wildly tossing waves of the rapids, the froth and spume, will not get up your nose and choke you."
In the meantime, I had fixed my eye on an immense square block of rock, that rested just above the dangerous rapids, and close to the southern shore. I knew if I could reach the shore inside that rock I was safe, so striking out vigorously, and aiming for a point far above it, I swam as strongly as I knew how, making every stroke tell, refusing to be alarmed or confused by the terrifying roar of the rapids, which now seemed but a step away. I did not have to test my method of going through the rapids. I reached the shore in safety, walked back to camp, had a good breakfast, made all the more appetizing by my swim and the consequent danger, and in half an hour the ride up the trail and my companions were absorbing all my attention. To all of them, save one, this recital of my morning's adventure will be new.
Dangerous Unless Known Well. That the river is more dangerous than most people imagine, the bleaching bones of many a poor wretch who has been drowned in its treacherous waters fully attest. More than one prospector, cattleman, or even cattle and horse "rustler" (as in Arizona parlance a cattle and horse-thief is known), with too great self-confidence, has attempted to cross on a log, in a leaky skiff, or in a canvas boat, and ere he was aware of his danger, the current had swept him out of reach of all help. It is a river to know ere you risk yourself upon or in it.
Getting Animals across the River. Who could begin to recount the fun and frolic, and at the same time the worry and vexation we have experienced in taking horses, mules and burros across this surly river. We have crossed at all times of the year, at high water and low, when the water was cold enough to give one cramps merely to look at it, and when it was comfortably warm. Sometimes we had no trouble; then we felt how smart we were, and it made us happy; at other times the animals seemed to be "possessed." Sometimes it is the horses that are afraid; at others it is the mules; and sometimes the burros; generally all three together. The modus is to put your strongest rower in the boat, and then a man with plenty of nerve in the stern to handle the rope and the animal to which it is attached,—when you get the latter into the water. As many persons as then can be assembled get behind the animal to persuade it to enter the water. The boat is ready to go as soon as the animal is "in," but yet it prefers to be "out." Yellings, shoutings, pushings are of little or no avail, and the gentle pleadings of the man with the rope are as effective as Mrs. Partington's sweeping back of the Atlantic with a broom. Vigorous measures must be used, so a concerted movement is projected. At a given signal the boat is to be pushed off, the oarsman ply his oars with power, the man in the stern is to pull with energy, and a man at each flank of the animal is to push, while every other being is to do his or her part by a shout or a boost. One man swings a riata to help scare the animal in, and the boat pulls out into the current. We all stand and watch. What is the fool horse doing? Scared at first of going into the water, he now is making desperate efforts to climb into the boat. His rope is held as tightly as possible, but the beast swims frantically from one side to the other, endeavoring to climb aboard. His knees thump the boat, and his chin occasionally rests on the gunwale, but active interference thrusts him back. In the meantime, the current is taking the boat well down the river, but we are not alarmed, for we have a good half-mile stretch, with convenient sandy places on the north side, on which to land. Now the horse settles down to steady hard work, and at last, catching sight of the tiny beach, he breaks away from the boat and strikes out for himself, reaching shore before the rower.
Back they come for another. Now we try two burros. Firmly they brace themselves, and refuse to be pushed into the tawny flood. Then they dodge and run and tangle each other up with their neck ropes, patiently strangling each other with desperate insistence. At length they are pushed in, and off they go. After a good ducking, they come up with a snort and a bounce, a look of martyr-like meekness in their eyes, as they settle down to the inevitable. No animal on earth can teach man more than a burro in this regard. He accepts what can't be helped, makes the best of it, and gains happiness out of every patch of thistles and grass he can push his nose into. So, as we look into the eyes of these burros, as they rapidly "paw" the current, we can see a look of expectation and content which plainly says "Cheer up, brother, this will soon be over, and on the north side we'll get better feed than we've been having lately."
A mule's desperate plunges to escape generally aid us to get him into the water, for he loses his balance and is easily pushed in. But his look of dazed surprise is comical when, after such a plunge, in which he sinks below his head, he arises, snorts, blows the water out of his nostrils, and begins to look about him. The burro part of his nature, however, soon settles him down, and he pulls out for the shore, glad to rejoin his companions.
Once in a while an animal breaks loose, gets halfway across, becomes confused, and not knowing which way to go, is carried down to the rapids and dashed to death.
CHAPTER XXIX. Climate And Weather At The Grand Canyon
Difference between Rim and Canyon. The climate at the Grand Canyon refuses to be defined in a paragraph. What is true of the country along the rim is not true of the banks of the river itself. The midway region, half-way down the trail, likewise has a climate all its own. For as you go down in summer, the thermometer goes up; and as you come up, in winter, the thermometer goes down. The difference of nearly a mile in altitude between the surface of the Colorado River and the rim of the Canyon is equivalent to going hundreds of miles north and south on the level. Hence it is that when it is winter on the rim, it is like spring down in the depths; when it is spring on the top of the world, the heat below is tropical.
Weather not Extreme. Bear in mind, though, that neither the cold of winter nor the heat of summer, in northern Arizona, are as frigid or as torrid as the readings of the thermometer may seem to indicate. The cold or heat is not felt to such an extreme as in the East. A minimum of humidity is the basic reason for this wide difference between, for example, the July or January climate of New York, and the July or January climate of the Grand Canyon. Extremes that in New York drive people to the cool seashore or To California's winter warmth, here bring no discomfort. You don't feel the weather changes so much, just because the air is so much dryer.
Mild in Summer and in Winter. Again, the altitude of the Grand Canyon rim—in places nearly a mile and a half above sea-level—makes the summers cooler than the latitude would indicate. It is ten degrees cooler, in July, at Flagstaff, Arizona, than at Salt Lake City, three hundred miles north in Utah. In turn, the southerly location of this titanic wonderland causes the winters to be milder than in Colorado, Utah and Montana.
Average Condition. Visitors should bear in mind that the Grand Canyon is an all-the-year-round resort. Unlike the Yellowstone and many other far west scenic playgrounds, one may visit there with comfort any time of the year. While certain periods are more favorable than others for outdoor life, each season has its distinctive joys.
As a rule, this part of Arizona is a true land of sunshine. Sunny days are largely in evidence.
As a rule, the air is dry. Even the rains don't soak it through.
As a rule, except on the edge of the rim, the wind velocity is under the average.
As a rule, one may ride, walk or loaf outdoors, without fear of overexertion. The air is like wine, it builds one anew.
Yet the weather is not perfect. You may strike a small sandstorm in midsummer. You may hit a blizzard in midwinter. A torrential shower may drench you. A fervent sun may unduly tan you. But these deviations from Paradise come only occasionally; they are the bitter that makes the sweet more sweet.
I can safely promise you, nine times out of ten, pleasanter weather than you would find if at home. And that is the best test.
Rest-cure. Those who visit the Canyon oftenest and stay longest find the least fault with its weather. For myself, I never complain; rather I always look forward with great joy to an outing here. For besides being an unparalleled scenic spectacle, the Grand Canyon is the greatest of rest-cures. I know of nothing better for tired nerves and worn-out bodies than to summer or winter along its rim, and down below where the river runs.
Because the weather one year never is like the year before or after, I cannot accurately forecast what you will find of heat or cold, wet or dry, when you visit the Canyon. Even the "weather man" is not infallible in his predictions. I only can outline a reasonable average, resting upon observations made during a score of years.
Winter Months. From late in November to the end of April, snow may be expected at any time on the rim, though many of the most delightful days of the year occur in these months. Snow usually does not fall until after Christmas. Some years the winter is almost snowless; other years there is enough snow to make fine sleighing. June and July are the warm summer months, with August hot; but the heat is likely to be tempered by the rain. From the middle of July to about the end of October, rains may be looked for at any time, and the days after the rains are generally cool, delicious and altogether desirable. Now and again, both before and after a rain, the air will be moist and sultry, somewhat as it is in the East, but this condition is so rare as to cause surprise. Generally the air is dry, and the sun shines warmly, so that "catching cold" is infrequent.
Late Fall Most Pleasant. In my varied experience at the Canyon, I have found the months of September, October, and November most agreeable in spite of an occasional hot day in September. January and March are often perfect months, and while there may be a little (or much) snow on the rim, I regard the winter as the most delightful time for trips into the Canyon. The snow may make the trail slippery and disagreeable for the first mile or so, then one reaches the dry and snowless region where, practically, snow never falls, yet where the heat from radiating rock walls is tempered and subdued by the coolness from the snow above.
May Good for Visitors. May also is a good month for visitors, with more possibilities of agreeable days than February or April, though the warm days begin to come on apace soon after the middle of the month.
Fog in the Canyon. Upon rare occasions, fog banks sink into the Canyon deeps, and even now and again completely hide it from view. Do not let such a sight disappoint you. The fact is, you are being highly favored. If you will but exercise patience, you will see many marvels when the sun begins to work upon the fog. Slowly the great mass begins to show signs of uneasiness; large and small masses become broken off, and struggle as if to ascend; then, stretching apart as one stretches a mass of white cotton-batting, they are speedily dissipated into mist, and disappear. Below, in the deeper reaches, the fog rolls and tosses as if sleeping uneasily in its rocky bed. Great detached masses of rock that the eye had not been able to discern before are now made clear, the white fog behind them revealing their outlines in startling clearness. Indeed a fog may be called "the great revealer of the inner mysteries of the Canyon." It certainly shows forth more of the separating walls and canyons, and the detached buttes, than the most observant can discover in a month, without its presence.
Clouds and Rain. There are times, in August and September, when rain is to be expected, that the whole heavens are patched over with clouds. The sun shines on and through them, and the atmosphere becomes murky and sultry to unpleasantness. Then, suddenly, there is a change in the temperature of the upper air, the moisture is condensed, and refreshing rain falls to cool and cheer the earth that before was parched and thirsty.
A Battle Royal. One morning I watched a battle of the clouds over the Canyon. The wind had been blowing hard all night. About five o'clock I arose, attracted to the rim of the Canyon by a great black cloud that seemed banked up and resting on the north rim, covering, as with a blanket of blackest smoke, the long, visible stretch of the Kaibab Plateau. By and by the sun shot piercing beams of golden glory underneath the cloud, yet, strong and powerful though they were, they could not penetrate the cloud itself. There was the great wall of the Canyon; fierce, fiery, crimson-golden rays shooting in thin streaks above, banked over and pressed down upon by a towering mass of angry clouds. The wind blew strongly and fiercely from the east, bringing fleecy-edged clouds with it. Down in the Canyon the effects were wonderful. The walls reflected the anger of the clouds, and the fire of the sun. Here and there a wall, a tower, or a pinnacle would be lit up with a golden glory, but all around was smoky and forbidding. It even seemed as if a grayish black smoke was ascending from the depths beneath, through which the sun—invisible behind the cloud above—shot lancelike beams, which silvered the smoke and made it a little more gray. On the far western walls, rich purples and reds appeared. Then, suddenly, a soft and fleecy cloud appeared in the clear blue of the morning sky, floating towards me. It was awe-inspiring and yet startling, for it came like a giant battleship, resistlessly and silently shouldering its way along. Entranced I watched it, almost inclined to run, so as to give it free course, for it was low down and apparently very near, and moving with more than ordinary speed. Suddenly another cloud appeared, travelling after the first. As it came, the earlier one veered to the north, and began to cross the Canyon, losing some of its serenity and calmness of manner as it did so; for now, either as the result of conflict from within, or silent influence from without, it began to writhe and change its shape. Ugly angles were thrust out from its hitherto smooth sides, and sent waving and tossing aloft. While this was occurring, the second cloud veered, and when I gazed again, after withdrawing my attention for a few moments, the two were one, the subtle yet powerful forces in the air having wedded them. Together they slowly floated north and east. In the meantime, other clouds had been coming from the east. They sailed along serenely until they came within what appeared to be a few hundred yards of me, and then suddenly they veered to the north, crossed the Canyon, and joined the vast army of clouds that lay in solemn quietude, waiting for the decisive battle of the day. I went away from the rim for an hour or so, and when I returned not a trace of a cloud was to be seen.
A Beautiful Fog Effect. Another morning I saw the Grand Canyon as one hears an exquisite poem, a soft strain of music on violin, 'cello or oboe, or sung by the human voice. It was no longer terrifying and awe-inspiring; it affected one as beautiful flowers do, as the blessing of an old man or woman, as the half unconscious caress of a sleepy child whom you love. It was poetry personified; the spirit of beauty revealed; the inner glory of an artistic mystery unveiled.
There had been rain nearly all night, preceded by considerable wind. The clouds had massed together across the Canyon on the Kaibab. Winds had seemed to blow from every direction, but mainly from the southeast, and there were a few "sunshiny showers" in the late afternoon. The rain began after the sun had gone down, and it descended easily but steadily nearly all night. At six o'clock in the morning, not a glimpse of the Canyon could be had. It was completely buried, wrapped, enveloped in clouds. About nine o'clock these began to move. The rain ceased, tiny patches of blue shone through the clouds overhead, though east, west, north, south they were still black and lowering. It was cold almost to chilliness after the warmth of the preceding days, so there was no haste, no hurry, in the dispersion of the cloud blankets that covered the rocky walls and plateaus below. Slowly they began to rise, then to stretch out and become attenuated. Tiny gusts of wind played with them, and tossed them hither and thither. Banks of smoky gray lay over certain portions, but there was no regularity, no evenness, either in the clouds themselves, or in their disposition. East and west thick masses hid all vision; immediately at our feet the clouds filled the lower canyons below the plateaus, with a glorious, fleecy, silvery white, that tempted one to walk upon it into the realms of fairyland and wonder. Fleeces of irregular shape, but a mile long and two miles wide, slowly lifted themselves from a horizontal position to a vertical one, thus converting themselves from blankets into curtains. Yet behind and through them,—as a coy beauty half reveals, half conceals, her charms,—so the walls and buttes, the pinnacles and buttresses, took on a new and delicate beauty, a subtleness of charm and refinement that only such a veiling could produce. Every moment the panorama changed. This was veiled completely, that entirely uncovered, while other features were dimly discernible, or so softened by the fleecy, attenuated clouds that they seemed the airy fabrics of a child's dream of oriental splendor. Now as filmy steam, then as densest vapor boiling up from a world-deep cauldron of unearthly beauty, the moisture moved, here catching rapidly ascending currents of air, there lazily floating with serenest ease. It was hard to tear oneself away, and the mind still lingers and will often again recur to it, as one of the many never to be forgotten experiences of this most wonderful place.
CHAPTER XXX.The Grand Canyon For Pleasure, Rest And Recuperation
Unchanging Value of the Canyon. Many people think of the Grand Canyon as a show place, which, once seen, does not need to be revisited. Never was there a greater mistake, for its resources are inexhaustible, even though one visit it annually for a lifetime. The business man invests in stocks and bonds. A panic may wipe out their values and ruin follow in a night-time. But a visit to the Grand Canyon is an investment that yields interest manifold and compounded, as long as the faculty of memory remains. Better still, there is no middleman in the deal. The ticker does not reel off the changing values. You yourself are the banker, and the joys of beholding and possessing are permanent.
Its Mental and Spiritual Influence. The first impressions, maybe, are productive of physical and mental excitement. But when the traveler comes into complete harmony with the Grand Canyon's sublime features, bodily rest and mental tranquillity are sure to follow. Of course, we get out of Nature what we bring to her mentally and spiritually, but of no other place can it be truly said that the play of external forces has so sure a charm, so direct an influence. A man big mentally cannot be satisfied (when away from his work) with a place inferior to that with which he is habitually acquainted. Thus many a man, wise and thoughtful in all the other relations of his life, will go to some inferior place for his holiday, and return home dissatisfied. He has chosen unwisely. He has associated with that which is beneath him. Man's scenic environment and its influence over him are as much a matter of scientific knowledge, as the influence of his heredity or his food. A wise man, therefore, puts himself, at vacation time, in relationship with that scenic environment which will best minister to his welfare. Nature is God's provision for supplying man with his needed rest and recuperation.
Its Restful and Strengthening Qualities. Some prefer the forests, others the mountains, others the sea, others the plains, others the solitudes of the desert. Among them all in power to recuperate man's exhausted energies, the Grand Canyon stands supreme. "I come here again and again, because nowhere else do I find such rest and strength," said one of the leading men of California to me, in the rendezvous of El Tovar, only a short time ago. My own life and experience is a proof of this statement. For nearly twenty years I have been visiting the Canyon annually, and for many years there were few conveniences, such as railway and hotels. Now these are provided. One may leave his office in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Chicago or Kansas City, and in a Pullman car ride direct to the Canyon, where a few steps will lead him into one of the most perfectly equipped, yet homelike hotels in America. And there, without effort or fatigue, he comes face to face with this rest-giving, strength-producing Canyon. As soon as a man or woman learns this, you can scarcely get him, or her, to wait the coming of the regular holiday period. The appeal of the Canyon is as strong as the "call of the wild," and that man or woman needing quiet is wisest who yields to the call, and yields often, going to the Canyon in perfect faith that it has within itself recuperative powers which it is ready to give in full measure to those who are in need.
Ways in Which to Recuperate. To those who recuperate best by contact with Nature out-of-doors, the suggestions contained in the chapters devoted to the various outing trips will be useful. Those who wish to lounge and rest, surrounded without by all the sublimity of this unequalled scene, and within by all the comforts and luxuries of a modern hotel, will find that the Grand Canyon absolutely satisfies their most exacting demands. Easy and gentle drives, with perfect equipment; over forest roads, in the restfully stimulating atmosphere of Arizona, at an elevation of nearly seven thousand feet, soothe tired brain and nerves. More vigorous horseback exercises, taken through the park-like glades and reaches of the Coconino Forest, produce perfect digestion and the restfulness of dreamless sleep. The sun tans you. You breathe a pure, thin air, laden with scent of pine and cedar. Your lungs expand, your muscles harden. Soon you are "fit for a king."
The Mecca of the Traveling World. There are many canyons, but the Grand Canyon of Arizona is the Mecca of the traveling world; and El Tovar always has the housing of the choice spirits who have run the gamut of tourist delights in other lands. This home-like inn shelters men of letters, scientists, geologists, artists and business men. Any night, in the year, on the rim of this wonderful abyss, there will be found a miniature city, with its life and sparkle, its fellowships and social converse, its bustle and abandon, and, best of all, the simon-pure democracy inherent among traveled men and women.
In magical contrast with this human centre, is the near by solitude, for one may in a moment step from the companionship of men to the isolation of the desert or mountain—at will you may be one of the crowd or a hermit.
CHAPTER XXXI. The Story Of A Boat
The Utah. Near the rim of the Canyon, at El Tovar Hotel, is a steel boat, sixteen feet long, scarred and battered, showing signs of the roughest usage, named the Utah. Here is its story:
Loper Plans to Explore the Canyon. For ten years after Galloway's first trip was made, no one was found venturesome enough to risk the dangers of the Canyon journey until the man who built the Utah and his two companions resolved to "dare and do." These men were Charles S. Russell, of Prescott, Arizona, Edward R. Monett, of Goldfield, Nevada, and Albert Loper, of Louisiana, Missouri. Russell was thirty-one years of age, Monett twenty-three, and Loper thirty-eight years.
The plan originated in the mind of Loper, in a mine in Cripple Creek, in 1899. Six years later, Loper had been attracted to the San Juan River, a tributary of the Colorado in Southeastern Utah, by the excitement created by the discovery of placer mining there. He confided to Russell his belief that the Colorado River offered much greater chances of richer placer mining.
Difficulty in Finding Companions. The men planned to make their start in the spring of 1905. But they presently discovered that the undertaking they had faced so lightly presented almost insurmountable difficulties. At the outset, the men found it was necessary to have at least one more companion if they were to accomplish their undertaking, and four men were preferable to three. But the most daring of the men they met in the mines refused to consider such a trip.
Plans Begin to Materialize. It was consequently not until April of 1908 that their long-laid plans began to materialize. Loper met Monett, a boy in appearance, seemingly not strong, and unusually quiet, as he did his day's work in the Mohawk mine in Goldfield. But that Monett was not a boy—in courage at least—and not as weak as a casual glance suggested, was presently evidenced. Loper notified Russell, then foreman of the mine near Prescott, that the third man had been found. A meeting was arranged at Green River early in September.
Boats Are Made. Three boats were made, with stout wooden frames, covered with hulls of steel plates. Each boat was decked over, fore and aft, with sheet steel covers, bolted down by means of a row of small bolts along each gunwale. Covers, on decks, reached from each end to the bulkhead placed near the center of the boats, thus leaving an open compartment, three and a half feet long, for the oarsman. All the loads were placed under cover, and securely lashed to prevent shifting. The boats were also provided with air-tight compartments in each end, and under the seat, containing sufficient air to float both boat and load, should all the other compartments be full of water. The boats were named the Arizona, the Utah, and the Nevada. Each was equipped with provisions for three months.
The Start. The start was made down the Green River, September 20. Four days later, the trio had reached the junction of the Green and Grand Rivers, the beginning of the Colorado, having covered a distance of one hundred and twenty miles. From this point to Hite, a small town near the Arizona line, the first bad water was encountered in the forty-one miles of Cataract Canyon. Loper's boat met with disasters here dashing on a rock and tearing a long rent in its side—and giving warning of the inferiority of these thin metal boats to the stout oak craft used by the Powell party. The party managed to reach Hite, however, towing the damaged boat, and there made the necessary repairs.
Loper Stays at Hite. Loper had acted as photographer of the expedition, and had the camera and the plates in his boat, when it was filled with water. Examination showed that the plates were ruined, and the camera shutter badly rusted. It was decided that Loper should remain behind at Hite, and await the arrival of a new shutter for which he had written. It was agreed that he need not be thus delayed more than two weeks, and should be able to rejoin his companions at Lee's Ferry, a Mormon settlement of three families, one hundred and forty miles below Hite, within twenty-one days.
Russell and Monett Start. Accordingly, Russell and Monett pushed ahead, and put in many days prospecting along the shores of Glen Canyon. After forty-three days of waiting at Lee's Ferry, Russell and Monett decided that if they were to complete the trip before their now rapidly decreasing supply of provisions was exhausted, they must start on without Loper, for whom they had waited more than twice the time agreed on. Friday, December 13, had no terrors for the intrepid pair, and on the morning of that day they started on down the river, with the sixty-six miles of Marble Canyon in front of them, an introduction to the two hundred and seventeen miles of the Grand Canyon below.
Their Remarkable Nerve. In telling of this stage of the journey, Russell seemed to lose sight entirely of the remarkable nerve both men showed in starting down through what is admittedly the wildest stretch of continuous bad water in the whole river. And that, too, without the third companion, who at the outset had been considered absolutely indispensable to the success of the party. Instead, he emphasized rather his belief that Loper had elected to face no more dangers, and had voluntarily remained behind at Hite.
First Seven Days Passed in Safety. In seven days they had passed the length of the roaring stream, in its descent through perpendicular walls of marble, reaching up to an average height of two thousand five hundred feet, and had come through the worst rapids to that point, without damage to either boat. At one stage there are fifty-seven falls of from sixteen to twenty feet in a distance of nineteen miles, according to Stanton's records, in which was kept an accurate count of all the rapids in the river.
Enter the Grand Canyon. They entered the Grand Canyon December 20. For the first fifteen miles below the entrance of the Little Colorado, and the beginning of the big Canyon, they found comparatively quiet water. But from this point, on to the beginning of the first granite gorge, their way was threatened with the worst falls they had met thus far. The good luck which had attended them from the start, however, still prevailed, and they managed to shoot their way safely down over the almost continuous cataracts for five long days. Christmas found them only fifteen miles above Bright Angel. In describing the manner of their celebration, Russell remarked casually that they certainly "hung their stockings"—to dry. From beginning to end of their journey, the adventurers were obliged to depend entirely for fuel on such driftwood as they could find lodged in eddies and on the rocky shores. More than one night they spent in clothes soaked through with the icy water of the Colorado, with no fire to warm them. Their Christmas camp, however, was on a narrow strip of sand, with a greater supply of driftwood at hand than they had found at any point along the river.
Dangerous Rapids. Beginning immediately below this camping place, and continuing for ten miles, the river dashes madly through that stretch of foaming water called by Stanton the "Sockdologer." To make matters worse, Russell found it impossible to follow his usual custom of "picking a trail" through the rapids. Ordinarily the elder man climbed along the precipitous sides of the Canyon beside each cataract, leaving Monett above the rough water in charge of the two boats. From his vantage point, Russell could pick out the most dangerous places, and chart a course through the rapids accordingly. But throughout these ten miles of granite, the walls are sheer and smooth for the first fifteen hundred feet of their rise. Russell could find no foothold, and the men for the first time faced the necessity of "shooting" unknown waters.
Russell's Method of Shooting Rapids. As always, Russell led the way in his boat, swinging it into the boiling current stern first—his own method of taking each cataract making the frail craft respond to his will, when possible, by a forward pull on one or the other of his oars. For half an hour the men were hurled down the seemingly neverending length of tossing waters. After the first minute, the cockpit in which each man sat was filled to the gunwales with icy water, in which the oarsmen worked, covered to the armpits. Hundreds of times great waves totally submerged them, the little boats each time staggering out from under the weight of water, only to plunge into more.
Russell Gets Safely Through. With less than a quarter of a mile still to be covered, before the less turbulent water below was reached, and just as Russell was sweeping around the last great curve beyond which he could see the placid water, he heard his companion in the rear cry out in alarm. Before he could turn to see the cause of the cry, he was driven round the curve. Mooring his boat to the bank as quickly as possible, Russell half climbed, half waded along the shore of the river, and made his way back up the side of the rapids.
Monett in Danger. Monett, his boat wedged tight between two jagged rocks, a foot below the surface of the sweeping water, was hanging desperately to the gunwale of the little craft, his body straightened out horizontal by the rush of the water about him. The boat was completely wrecked. But Russell, when he threw a rope to his companion, was astounded to see the boy work his way slowly nearer the boat, and begin to tie its contents securely with the line intended for his own salvation.
Rescued with Difficulty. Against the roar of the rapids, it was useless for Russell to call to his companion to let the provisions go and save himself. Four times the lad let Russell drag sides of bacon and sacks of beans through the thirty feet of roaring water between him and the shore, before he finally caught the rope and was dragged to safety. He had been in the water for more than twenty minutes, and was nearly exhausted when Russell lifted him to his feet.
Loss of Boat. The loss of the boat seemed at first to mark the end of their attempt to equal the record of their predecessors. But Monett insisted that they try his plan of straddling the stern of the remaining boat. "If we strike too rough water, I can always swing overboard," he urged. "And we've needed a drag that wouldn't get fouled on the rocks all along."
Reach Bright Angel. It was noon, January 6, when the trail party from the hotel on the Canyon's rim at Bright Angel, forty men and women, eating their luncheon at the river shore, saw two men swing out of the rapids two hundred yards up the river, and row leisurely toward them. In the thirty years that tourists have visited the bottom of the Canyon at this point, it is safe to assert that not one ever saw a sight like this.
Rest for Three Days. Two horses were placed at the disposal of the miners. Their clothes were torn and soaking wet, their faces covered with an undisturbed growth of beard of one hundred and ten days' accumulation. While they had planned to climb out of the Canyon at this point to mail and receive letters, they had no intention of remaining. With all their provisions now confined to the limited quarters of one boat, and with other incentives to push on with all speed possible, it was with difficulty that they were persuaded to remain at the hotel three days.
A Fresh Start. January 9 the entire community, guests and employees of the hotel, accompanied the two men to the river edge, and bade them an enthusiastic farewell. With a responding shout, the miners pushed off into midstream and headed down river. For the first time in their four months' fight against the river, the adventurers faced water too wicked-looking for them to dare. It was out of the question for both men to try to ride in the little rowboat, and the shores on each side afforded no foothold, after half the length of the rapids was passed. Russell would not leave Monett behind to shoot the rapids alone in the boat.
Attempt to Lower Boat through Rapids. Accordingly they took out all the provisions and camera (the latter obtained at El Tovar), and tried to lower the boat through the rapids by means of along rope, to which they clung from their station on the shore. The force of the current was so great, however, that to save themselves from being dragged into the water they were forced to let go the rope. The little boat shot down the whirling cataract, and the men saw it pounded against two sharp rocks below.
Boat Is Lost. To lose their boat at this point meant death. They could not climb out of the Canyon. Their only chance was to follow and overtake the boat, now floating slowly down the still water below the rapids, the forward air-tight compartment filled with water and only the stern showing. Russell made the plunge first, followed quickly by Monett. How they managed to live through these rapids is a mystery. But they struck the still water together, neither having suffered a scratch. The shores continued to be so steep they could not climb out of the water, and they kept on in their chase of the boat. When they were within one hundred yards of it, they saw it swept over the top of Boucher Rapids, and at the same time discovered a landing place on the south shore. They gave up the boat as lost, and spent the night where they were, with no matches with which to light a fire.
Boat is Recovered and Men Resume Journey. Thursday morning, as Boucher came down his trail to go to work, he found the two men, who had climbed down beside the rapids at daybreak, engaged in hauling the badly battered boat out of the water. They had found it being swept round and round in a big eddy at the foot of the cataract. Two holes in the boat's bottom amidships bore witness to its trip over the rocks. The men persuaded Boucher to go to the blacksmith shop at El Tovar, and secure the necessary material for repairs. He did so, and after everything was again on good order, the intrepid fellows pushed off again, and continued their wild and exciting ride down to tidewater. Past Bass's Trail and under his cable crossing, past the mouth of Havasu Creek, and Diamond Creek, where over forty years before, Wheeler's party had camped; down the gorge up which Wheeler had climbed with incredible labor, they finally reached the Grand Wash, and entered the placid water below Black and Diamond Canyons, soon to find themselves at the town of Needles, where they were welcomed by the cheers of practically the whole community. A banquet was tendered them, and the one remaining boat of the expedition secured as a memorial of their adventurous trip.
CHAPTER XXXII. The Grand Canyon A Forest Reserve, Game Preserve And National Monument
Made Forest Reserve in 1893. For several years prior to 1893, the author and some of his Grand Canyon friends sought to have this scenic masterpiece preserved from desecration as far as possible. In that year President Harrison issued a proclamation declaring it a Forest Reserve, and outlining the boundaries to be included.
Homesteads. It is interesting to note that, up to the time of the issuance of this proclamation, any citizen of the United States might have located a homestead on one hundred and sixty acres of land in the Grand Canyon region. The only two old-timers who had taken advantage of this provision of the law were John Hance and P. D. Berry. The former located at or near the head of the trail that bears his name, and Berry at the head of the Grand View Trail. Both men built log houses, Hance's being a somewhat rude structure, while Berry's was a substantial building. The Hance cabin was already built when I first visited him in 1889, and Berry built his in the years 1896-1898.
Game Preserve in 1906. On November 28, 1906, President Roosevelt issued a proclamation setting aside that part of the reserve north and west of the Colorado River as a Game Preserve. To further safeguard it and protect the cliff dwellings of the ancient inhabitants from the vandalism of irresponsible excavators, who ruthlessly knocked down the walls of buildings of permanent interest, President Roosevelt, on January 11, 1908, declared it a National Monument, and on June 23 of the same year, the Game Preserve was enlarged to include the whole of the Forest Reserve.
Forest Reserve Divided in 1908. Still another proclamation was issued by
President Roosevelt on July 2,1908, which divided the Grand Canyon Forest
Reserve into two parts, the section north of the Grand Canyon to be known
as the Kaibab National Forest, and that on the south as the Coconino
National Forest.
All these proclamations may be had by addressing the Chief Forester,
Department of the Interior, Washington, D. C.