Note To Dkos Readers: If you are just joining me for this series of diaries on, please read the introduction in the first diary (http://www.dailykos.com/...). I also recommend reading the ensuing diaries. It will help explain the essence of both the adventure and the social politics behind same.
Despite The Loss And Setback: After Lodore Canyon's whitewater wake-up call to the men, including the camp fire conflagration, the expedition continued down river and prepared itself to face whatever toil or pleasures the remainder of the trip had in store for the men. Mostly, they counted on the major acquiring replacements at the Uinta Indian Agency where such supplies and gears could be had for free (see below).
On June 18, the truly tried and tested expedition had reached the junction of the Green and the Yampa Rivers, which at the time was called the Bear River. This was an important benchmark in the journey. The previous year Major Powell, along with some of the men in the first expedition’s crew, had explored some stretches of the canyon cut by the Yampa. For them to have reached almost-familiar territory again seemed like a good omen. For one thing, the cliffs were lower, and as the walls of the canyon fell away, the men’s spirits rose. Major Powell surmised they had now successfully run the last of Lodore Canyon. He, along with the others, could only wonder what canyons were still ahead. But it was a sure bet they hoped the worst of the whitewater was now behind them. True to Bradley’s private skepticism he mentioned in his June 18th entry how the rapid was the worst they had encountered thus far and predicted it would be the worst they would ever meet. Nothing could have been further from the truth, however.
In contrast, Oramel Howland felt he was safe on shore for the time being and didn’t agree with the major’s disgust about the chapter of disaster and toil the major had mentioned in his private journal (intended for future newspaper editorials). Oramel wrote another letter to the News on July 1, or else it was written on June 18. He and the others were camped at the mouth of the Unita and near the White River. He spoke about how severe the trip had been up to that time. Yet the excursion was still exciting. He, like most of the others, felt the best part of the excursion was running the rapids. Oramel equated the experience with the excitement of being victorious in battle. The way he told it you could almost feel the waves crashing over the boat and the men laughing and enjoying every bit of it.
Oramel also contrasted the excitement in that report with the ennui of having to row the lumbering boats through calm water. One gets the sense it was just too boring for him and the others. He said something about danger is our life and that’s pretty much what he and the others expected from that wild river they were on. As long as the rapids showed up, which he referred to a white foam, the men were cheerful and all was well with the lot of them.
Apparently, this date saw Oramel in high spirits, in spite of his near death, as well as the loss of most of the No Name’s cargo and personal supplies, at Disaster Falls.
(Continues after the fold.)
About the most taxing thing the men did in this region was to scrawl their names on a place called Echo Rock, which is today called Steamboat Rock due to its vague resemblance to a steamship run aground in the desert. Afterward, it was time to push on and the men were on the river again. Before long the river had sawed its way through a narrow canyon that was filled with whirlpools. This got all of the men’s attention in a hurry. The place where this happened was also a new hazard for the men and posed any number of places where the boats might end up smashed to pieces on the rocks. The walls were also high again and the canyon had narrowed considerably.
Echo Rock (photo by Beaman):
Today's photo of Steamboat Rock:
Up until this point, the men might have felt like mice trapped in endless rocky hallways. Now they were in another hallway, only the river flowed wall-to-wall and rushed them through the middle with scores of whirlpools that could easily swamp their boats. This kind of canyon setting was new to the men and meant they had no other choice other than to continue downstream. By now, the Yampa had contributed its spring runoff to the Green River and added to its volume and had increased the c.f.s. The river therefore moved at a greater velocity and the boats wildly spun through the abyss that had engulfed the men. It was cause, as Major Powell noted, for great alarm, for the boats were as out of control as tiny logs caught in a rushing stream.
Photo by J. K. Hillers, who also added his photography to the expedition:
Next, the familiar and reverberating sound of an approaching rapid filled the anxious ears of the men. The oarsmen pulled hard against the whirling current and didn’t know what to expect around the next bend. Luckily, they were able to thwart their down river progress by pulling out of the main current and clinging to the walls. For a while they were safe from the approaching danger. Still, they could not hold on for too much longer, other than to try to figure out a plan of what they still could not see, but only heard splashing off the walls of the canyon. Cautiously, they edged closer toward cracks in the rock, where one of the boatmen scrabbled up to it, while the others flung him a rope, then tied up the boat. Eventually, the major found his way up the nearly perpendicular wall, and had climbed to a rock shelf that provided a thin catwalk. From there, it was a matter of following the shelf back downstream to a position that was even with the rapid. The Maid Of The Canyon soon joined his boat, the Emma Dean, while the Kitty Clyde’s Sister was across the way, although it was the only boat that was on the correct side of the river. Still, it was hidden in an alcove and was farthest away from the rapid. The major finally signaled the crew of the ‘Sister’ what had to be done and soon all three boats were just above the rapid. From there, they portaged and lined the boats down the rapid, and took something like four hours of hard work.
That event happened on June 21, the twenty-ninth day of the excursion. The following day, although beset with a few hardships, the men were able to shoot the rapids without too much, if any, difficulty. Gradually, the canyon walls were lower and the men were soon into the outskirts of another splendid park setting. It was a comely valley full of small, grassy islands that were tree-covered. As Bradley noted in his journal that day, the new setting was more or less a sight for sore eyes. Like the others, Bradley was glad to be out of the dark canyons and their sheer, high walls that must have felt like a prison to all of them.
On this date they had entered northwestern Colorado and northeastern Utah, and now known as Dinosaur National Monument. Summer wrote in his June 22nd entry they were 26 miles from the Bear River. They were actually 11 miles from this benchmark. But he didn’t particularly care too much for the country they were in. Actually, he thought it was worthless, though to the artist, or even the geologist, Sumner felt the setting may have had some appeal. At the very least, it was wide open country and he certainly didn’t complain about this fact in his journal.
Major Powell went even farther with his embellished (later) description of the topography that had definitely been the liking to him and all the others. On this date, June 23, the entire crew enjoyed their first day out of the most recent canyon and it was time to patch up the leaking boats and get some well-earned rest. The other good news was Hawkins finally brought down a deer, a fat buck that delighted the men and filled their stomachs with fresh game. Major Powell was even pleased, as he named the spot, Mount Hawkins, which was where the deer was slain. For one thing, by providing the men with fresh meat it also demonstrated just how sick and tired they were of eating bacon and rice and the usual drab fare that was served on a daily basis. They were also losing rations due to spoiling and there simply wasn’t enough fresh game to be seen anywhere along the riparian corridor they had traveled for the past thirty days. (As a matter of fact, when such game was found, the few marksmen who were in the party missed the mark by inches or miles. No one knew just how far the bullets missed. However, Bradley wasn’t reticent about jotting down his thoughts about how the hunters went about their paid-for talents that often came up empty handed.)
A constancy of whirlpools in Whirlpool Canyon:
With Whirlpool Canyon behind them, which was another setting Major Powell had aptly named, the men camped in a quieter and wide-opened setting that was at the other end. The major named it, Island Park. Soon the familiar hope of thinking the worst danger was now finally behind them boosted the men’s morale. However, they were soon on their way to prove or disprove this hope. Their next milestone to reach was the junction of the Uinta River and the Green, where the major had planned to stop for several days. It was also territory most of the men knew from previous expeditions into the Uinta Valley. Mainly, the Uinta Indian Agency wasn’t too far from the mouth of the river. It consisted of a couple of wooden huts and a handful of employees. Yet for Major Powell and his men the agency was an anticipated oasis in the middle of nowhere. For one thing, they had not seen another human being since their departure from Green River Station. For another, the agency offered a promise of a link with the outside world, especially to send and receive mail. It was also an important locale where Major Powell might recoup some of the supplies they had lost, or else were spoiled. All of the men longed to read letters from home; some of them also intended to mail what they already had written, if only to send it to their loved ones for safe keeping until the expedition was finally over.
On June 25, the men rowed into, what is now called, Split Mountain. They successfully ran some of the rapids and portaged a couple of others. Before long, they were out of the canyon and the Uinta Valley spread out before them for as far as the eye could see. But the water that lined the way was mostly flat, whereas before it was all too generous in the rapids that the river offered. By June 27, the scenery was still comely, just as the pesky mosquitoes were more common. Still, the men had covered some 258 miles since the start of their journey. After the stop at the Uinta River, the next milestone they had to look forward to was the juncture of where the Green and Grand rivers came together, where the Colorado River would take over and the Green River left off.
(In time, the State of Colorado had perversely changed the name of the Grand to the Colorado River. That attempt was in 1921. Ostensibly, the maneuver was to try to control most of the river’s assets by way of having prior claim to its precious resource. Major Powell had already concluded the year before the Grand River was the true source of the Colorado River, not the Green. Thus that part of the canyon country was the logical place to begin his river expeditions. (Years later, however, he decided it was the Green River that was rightfully the true source of the Colorado. Besides, the Green River is some four hundred miles longer than the Grand, and drains an area nearly twice as large.) Nevertheless, the rules of geographical nomenclature aside, a bee had buzzed in the bonnets of some of Colorado’s political bigwigs. That is when they declared their state’s river, the Grand, was the true main stream. Therefore, the Grand River was renamed the Colorado River, after their beloved home state, for the express purpose of trying to control its liquid assets. However, their ploy was bound to fail, for other states that comprised the West and Southwest had other thoughts about this. The litigation began and eventually the Colorado River was controlled by many interests beyond the sole control of the State of Colorado.)
At this next and much anticipated landmark, there was still a long way to go before the end of the journey was in sight. In view of this, each man pretty much kept tabs on the more immediate milestones to look forward to, starting with the Uinta River. They accomplished this feat on June 28, where they camped beneath a large cottonwood tree on the Green River’s west bank.
Shock And Surprise At The Indian Agency: Andy Hall, Major Powell, Oramel Howland, and Sumner wrote personal letters, as well as personal accounts of the trip to send to newspapers. Bradley continued to write secretly in his journal. The major’s correspondence was gushing in the way of what he felt about the passing scenery along the way. His laconic and somewhat illegible notes were also seasoned with the hardships he and the others had faced, especially in light of what happened to the No Name and some of their gear and rations. He reported all the men were in good spirits and still had high hopes of success. He assumed this, of course, since he hardly ever mentioned anything about the men with respect to the psychology of the situation each man faced. More about this point later on.
Rare photo of Andy Hall:
Interestingly enough, while the men were preparing their letters for mailing from the Indian Agency, it had already been reported the Powell exploring expedition was lost in the rapids, with the exception of one man, who made it back to Green River City. This announcement was made on June 28, as published by the St. Louis Democrat. None of this news was known by Major Powell or the others in his charge. History would later reveal, however, a mishap did take place. The incident involved Theodore Hook and by some accounts his name was given as H. M. Hook. It was Hook, himself, who had perished in a rapid in a chasm that Major Powell had named, Red Canyon. Here his expedition had collapsed and the rest of his party scrambled for home. He foolishly thought what a one-armed tenderfoot from the East could do, he could do better. Word of the drowning instantly spread soon after the men had made it back to civilization. Somehow, a true story about a prospecting party led by someone named Hook involved Major Powell and his men. Two years later, another expedition found the evidence of the mishap that took place in Red Canyon.
Meanwhile, some of the damage had already been done. The story that was told about Powell’s men all drowning quickly took bizarre twists, as such fables are prone to do. The newspapers were desperate to get the facts of the story. Some of the facts were false reports and came from a trapper and Indian fighter by the name of William Riley. He claimed he heard the story from the lone survivor of the Powell expedition, one John Sumner, whom he met at Fort Bridger, in Wyoming. There was also another liar, one John A. Risdon, who helped himself to dubious fame by falsifying the truth. Whoever this ‘other’ John Sumner was, he certainly made his rounds and had influenced others, like Risdon, to carry on the lies and seemingly credible hyperbole to other newspapers in other parts of the country. Naturally, the country was stunned to hear of the loss, just as the story continued to spread and turn even more fantastic with respect to the so-called facts.
In time, the public learned the true facts and the doomed men, the Powell expedition, were found out to be alive and well. The charlatans then vanished and could gain no more profit from the rumors they usually sold for publicity, booze, and a meal; even a free hotel room here and there. The so-called last survivor of the tragedy, John A. Risdon, alias Miller, alias Clark, soon stepped out of the limelight he had borrowed for his fifteen minutes of fame, and then ended up serving time in an Illinois jail. His payoff finally caught up with him after Major Powell and some of his men showed up at the Indian Agency, and then mailed their letters and reports. All was put right again.
Nevertheless, the shocking publicity of their drowning would continue to be a nag in one way, at least, and possibly would have something to do with the three men who later abandoned the party near the end of the line.
The Trek To The Indian Agency: Five men had set off to the Indian Agency, located near present-day Whiterocks, Utah. The other five remained in camp. Walter Powell and Andy Hall were the first to leave for the agency. It was a hearty twenty-five or so mile trek on foot across the desert scrub country. Meanwhile, Major Powell spent two days in camp pinning down the latitude and longitude, and then headed for the agency, along with Goodman and Hawkins.
The interlude at the mouth of the Uinta took place between June 29 and July 5. The way to the agency wasn’t tough by any stretch of the imagination, except the five men who stayed behind (Bradley, Sumner, Dunn, and the Howland Brothers) were not pleased to remain encamped by the river. For one thing, they waged countless lost battles against a relentless army of mosquitoes. For another, there was little or nothing for them to do except wait for the major to return and find out what supplies he obtained from the agency. Although Major Powell’s reports to the outside world, especially to the Chicago Times, were favorable and told of the expedition’s successes, he was still very much annoyed that the crew of the No Name simply did not see his signal, and therefore had ended up wrecking the boat. He still couldn’t accept Howland’s word that the No Name was simply filled with too much water and that its ill-design was the culprit—and not the men who manned it.
At least the mail was delivered and the expedition would continue, once the major returned with his men; all, that is, with the exception of Frank Goodman. He had had enough of the river, and perhaps was through with the kind of adventure he had been seeking up until the time he found Major Powell. Eventually, he would stop roaming in search of another adventure and settle in Vernal, Utah, then marry and raise lots of children with his wife. About the only notoriety he obtained was his share of the expedition that took him to the mouth of the Uinta River, but no farther.
When the Major finally returned with three hundred pounds of flour in trade for some of the expeditions extra supplies, it turned out the agency was poorly stocked. The Indian Agent, Pardon Dodds was away purchasing the very supplies Powell and his men needed. Not only did Major Powell come up way short on supplies, but he also brought back no mail for himself or any of his men. Mail would have been deemed more important by some of the men than the major acquiring fresh supplies. It was also the last place Major Powell could count on for replenishing his lost stores, that is, as far as another agency or Army Post that was located anywhere near the corridor of the river’s path.
The flour he purchased was bartered with some of the expedition's coffee and tobacco. Bradley made note of what the major procured in his journal but didn’t make too much fuss about it one way or the other. Sumner, however, had something sarcastic to say in his journal that day. He said the major had been gone all that time, yet brought back only a shirt-tail full of supplies, not to mention the fact there was no mail for any of the men.
Sumner’s remark was clearly an all-out complaint and mirrored the tone of some of the men the major had left behind to fend off the hoards of mosquitoes, as well as try and deal with the boredom each man felt waiting for the major to return.
The Changing Moral Disposition Of The Expedition: On July 6, the forty-fourth day of the excursion, the men were underway and soon passed the White River. Bradley noted in his journal entry how relieved they all were to leave that haven of mosquitoes and utter boredom. He also didn’t care too much for any layovers.
From the tone of his entry we can infer all of the men were glad to be underway and some were affected by wanderlust and restlessness. After all, there was still a long way to go, and there was the matter of facing the aptly named, Great Unknown, that lay beyond the beauty and the boredom that had already affected most of the men in various ways. They were now nine explorers. Ever since the wreck of the No Name Oramel rode on the Kitty Clyde’s Sister with Hall and Hawkins, while Seneca rode aboard the Maid of the Canyon. There were no other personnel changes aboard the Emma Dean, although Goodman had hitched a ride for two weeks on either of the two fright boats.
Down river from the Uinta were more canyons to explore and navigate through. Specifically, Desolation, Gray, Labyrinth, and Stillwater canyons. They ran most of the whitewater in these places, using the technique of read-and-run to find a safe passage through the more difficult stretches. They were also forced to line the boats in some places, but always finding ways to improvise on the technique and therefore diminish the hard labor that came with the work. By that time, the pre-monsoon July weather was unbearably hot at times, adding to the drama the men faced during this period of the expedition. By the time the men reached the Labyrinth and Stillwater sectors the river’s gradient flattened to something like three feet per mile. The slow, flat water forced the men to row downstream for every foot they gained. But the scenery had greatly improved, if not a setting that often looked like the dark side of the moon, only fully illuminated in bright, hot sunlight.
Typical Green River flat water scenery (historical photo):
The mapping and exploration continued, as did the remarks in each of the river diaries, the journals, three of the men were faithful to keep up to date. However, Major Powell’s notes took on a different tone with respect to what he wrote prior to July 6. For reasons no one today understands, he began his ‘true’ journal here, below the Uinta, on July 6. These new entries meant the camp number system he used prior to this date ignored all camps upstream of the Uinta confluence. What he jotted down in his scribbling was still journal number one. However, after his July 6 entry he made no further entries until July 20. Instead, he began his new second journal entries and recorded only his notes and thoughts on geology.
Well into another suitably named canyon, Desolation, there was a rather droll incident that Bradley recorded on July 8, and involved himself and the major. Actually, it’s the funniest episodes of the entire journey. He and the major climbed high above the river that morning to take observations and Powell ended up stranded on a ledge. Bradley, meanwhile, had found a way to get higher and realized the major wasn’t able to reach out or step down without a serious mishap, possibly even fatal. Bradley was able to save the major, however, and used his longjohns to hoist the major up to safety.
Historic photo above Desolation Canyon:
One has to imagine the major climbing in places most people wouldn’t dare climb with two good arms. Then, here was Bradley standing on a narrow ledge above him, and was about to do the seemingly impossible. Thus he removed his long underwear and lowered them to the major, so that the major could grab hold onto the makeshift lifeline and pulled up to where Bradley was hoping and trusting his wool underwear would hold up. Which, of course, they did. When he got back to camp and set the incident down on paper, Bradley wrote more about the hilarious incident. He also described the desolation and beauty of the scenery, although he didn’t come right out and say the backdrop was beautiful. Nevertheless, the way he described the view from 1,500 feet above the river said as much and it must have been a stunning view to see so far from that vantage. He also noted they were about half way through the canyon and there were more nasty rapids ahead of them.
Painting portrayal of Bradley's rescue of Major Powell:
Bradley could have composed volumes on that one silly incident involving the longjohns, but didn’t. He was more apt to write other concerns and observations he sometimes worried over. Mainly, he was one of the men who was all for running most of the rapids, even though the major opted to line or portage about one hundred of the total number of rapids the men encountered from the start to the finish. He griped about this point a couple of times in his writings. Of course, what Major Powell took to be a prudent course in negotiating some of the whitewater, most of his men considered overcautious to a fault. Hence, the internal conflict among some of the men and the major continued to build, although Major Powell pretty much kept a lid on things; at least to the point the men’s tempers did not get the best of them. Nevertheless, the constant toil and diminishing food supplies and canyon heat took its toll on some of the crew’s attitudes. The repercussions would eventually come to a head and a showdown would result. But not during this tepid and wind-blown month, July. These canyons and surreal scenery they passed through was par for the course the men had faithfully signed up to explore and wanted to get behind them. It was strictly one day at a time, based on the hope the situation would eventually improve, especially by way of favorable weather and better rations.
In the meantime, down the river they rowed and waited for a break in the weather and rapids that lined the way. Then, on July 11, another mishap. This time, the major got baptized in the warm, fast water when the Emma Dean capsized. The crew lost all of their bedding, one barometer, and two rifles. As Bradley wrote in his journal that day they couldn’t afford to lose what the river had claimed. They were now down to just seven rifles and he worried about what might happen if they encountered Indians. But he also intimated should a fight begin the Indians would have to work hard to defeat the excursion party.
We also hear from Bradley that Major Powell was thrown out of his boat and had to swim for shore. With only one good arm to work with we gather it must have been quite a feat for Powell to do it. Because they were low on oars the men would have to fashion new ones. The men would therefore stay off the river for a day which happened to be a Sunday. Bradley was absolutely delighted and may have felt smug about laying over.
Bradley’s remark about Sunday and the major being forced to keep to his demanding schedule tells us about one of Bradley’s favorite pet peeves. All along, he was miffed that the major and the others didn’t seem to care about this day of the week, while Bradley did. Whether he was sensitive or respectful about keeping the Sabbath was a moot point (for Bradley). He thought the crew needed to rest and observe this day of the week, but the major felt differently. Now, however, the major was forced to do it, along with the others. One thing was for certain with respect to Bradley’s entry: it was a hellish day and there were more losses to contend with—losses of food, equipment, and personal gear the men could ill-afford to part with. But they would make do, just as they were forced to endure ever since the odyssey began.
They managed to get through Desolation Canyon and enter another canyon the major called Coal Canyon. Today it is known as Gray Canyon (and sometimes the two are dubbed Deso-Gray canyons). There were more rapids to run and the men were hemmed in by high cliffs, with the river flowing from wall-to-wall. In places, there was no footing for the men to portage around the rapids, much less line the boats. On July 12, a new plan was called for, which was where the men lined the boats in stages. It meant keeping the three boats close together, first lining one of them down the channel, then the next, and finally the third boat, only to repeat the process until all three boats were safely through the rapid. The reason they were forced to move the boats this way was because the men could not get back up the rapid, since there was no footing and they could obviously not swim upstream in the rapid. It was strictly a one-way passage for the men and the boats. Somehow, they managed to pull it off without losing a boat or injuring a man. The leapfrog technique worked and would add to the on the job training and experience all the men learned, regardless what each thought about the painstaking work and the time it took to traverse any rapid by any means.
After forty-nine days on the river the crew’s morale was fast becoming a problem, especially in light of the weather conditions and the difficulty of getting through the rapids with new techniques, such as staging. The optimism and enthusiasm some of the men used to buoy their spirits was diminishing every day. They were tired of the food, desirous of a break in the weather, especially the heat and wind they were forced to endure, and of course the gritty conditions of having to sleep in sand that would fly in the wind and sting flesh, like minuscule bullets. Both hunger and anxiety were nearly chronic. Some of the men worried about what they headed toward somewhere down around the next bend of the river, or was lurking behind some towering cliff that prevented them from seeing what their ears detected, or their intuitions sometimes grasped.
But days and attitudes can change in a blink. By July 13 the men were out of Coal Canyon (so-named at the time). When the stretch below the San Rafael River was run the men soon found themselves in the previous kind of country they were more or less resigned to explore. It was another canyon and this one Major Powell called, Labyrinth. And it was just that, a labyrinth. Powell later described its remarkable features as a strange, weird, grand region of a world hard to take in. He also wrote in that published account (Down the Colorado) a purple prose remark about ten thousand strangely carved forms in a land of naked rock and no vegetation, soil, and sand. His eloquence of description notwithstanding, some of his crew could easily counter the major’s prose and imagery. For instance, Sumner thought of the landscape as little more than barren, and not fit for anything. He thought the upland looked burned to death and was altogether worthless. Still, he thought the surreal scenery, colors, and eroded shapes of the rocks might attract the interest of a passing artist.
Whereas before they advanced down the river in meager mileage, indeed, in mere yards, the pace of the river had picked up considerably and they were able to gain as much as forty miles in a day. Next, they passed a place in the river that could easily be forded, and today is known as Green River, Utah. The crossing had long been known and formed part of the Old Spanish Trail from Santa Fe, New Mexico to California. Before long, the river had slowed to a crawl and the men were forced to row in searing heat that rained down upon them and was reflected by the barren new country they had entered. As Bradley philosophically and descriptively notes in his July 14 entry, the entirety of the country was utter desolation. He also noted he and the others had to constantly row the boats due to how calm the water was.
Historic photo overview of Green River, Utah:
Actually, some of Bradley’s best prose is found in this entry on that date. He described the loneliness of the setting and being so far from known civilization. There was hardly a bird to see, except the ill-omened raven or an occasional eagle that screamed high above the perpendicular walls of the canyon. But Bradley takes another view about how seemingly vulnerable their party might appear to someone who might have walked into their camp during the night. He wrote how every one of the crew would have demonstrated to such a person just how determined they were to persevere and get the job done, and how successful they would be doing it.
Bradley waxed melancholy and optimistic at the same time. It was as though his private writings served as his special muse to get him through the turmoil and the drudgery of the canyon country that rose above what all of the men hope to see in passing—the confluence of the Green and Grand rivers. This much anticipated locale finally happened, and on July 16 the party reached the end of Labyrinth Canyon. Almost at once they were into another canyon. Befitting of the calm water through this sector Major Powell named it Stillwater. The men thought they had to be near the Grand River, yet where was it hiding? Where would it flow into and merge with the Green?
Historic photo of Labyrinth Canyon:
All of the men were anxiously awaiting the confluence that was said to be in that very vicinity. Finally, the two rivers merged as one, and on that same day Bradley wrote in his journal “Hurra! Hurra!” His words were full of excitement, for the next important benchmark, the Grand River, was met. He also said the river was calm and more or less said it wasn’t anything like what they were prepared to see. It was 5:30 and the towering walls of the threatening canyon were replaced by a new and better scene. It was also the fifty-fourth day since they left Green River Station.
Aerial view of the confluence (and easy to tell one river from the other):
At this important confluence the expedition reaches its approximate halfway point for river mileage. They have run a lot of fierce rapids to date—the worst of which some of the men still hope are behind them. But they are wrong about this hope or assumption. They also realize they are almost down to starvation rations and that it’s imperative they supplement their stores with fresh game, at least fish and avian life that they had been lucky to get on occasion. But it was deer and goat meat the men desired the most. However, both species were not seen anywhere near the hot interior of the canyon country they had been rowing through.
The monsoons finally began in earnest. The rainfall that first doused the men when they began their expedition on the Green River had returned, only it was monsoon weather and it had rained on them on a daily basis. But the rain had only relieved the heat, while it increased the humidity and made the inner canyon feel more like a gigantic sauna. Some forty-five miles downstream from the confluence (of the Green and the Grand) was the dreaded Cataract Canyon (later in time a setting boatmen would dub the "Graveyard of the Colorado River"). This rough setting would test the stamina, patience, and determination of the men to continue through its continuous roster of loud, rushing whitewater. They were now officially rowing down the Colorado River’s muddy brown back and the ride for quite a while would prove to be both a surprise and a holy terror for the crew.
To be continued tomorrow (posting in the late afternoon). As always, your thoughtful commentaries are welcomed.
Rich
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