For ten years previous to this time we had lived at the Grand Canyon
of Arizona, following the work of scenic photography. In a general way
we had covered much of the country adjacent to our home, following our
pack animals over ancient and little-used trails, climbing the walls
of tributary canyons, dropping over the ledges with ropes when
necessary, always in search of the interesting and unusual.
After ten years of such work many of our plans in connection with a
pictorial exploration of the Grand Canyon were crowned with success.
Yet all the while our real ambition remained unsatisfied.
We wanted to make the "Big Trip"--as we called it; in other words, we
wanted a pictorial record of the entire series of canyons on the Green
and Colorado rivers.
The time had come at last, after years of hoping, after long months of
active preparation.
We stood at the freight window of the station at Green River City
asking for news of our boats. They had arrived and could be seen in
their crates shoved away in a corner. It was too late to do anything
with them that day; so we let them remain where they were, and went
out to look over the town.
Green River City proved to be a busy little place noisy with switch
engines, crowded with cattle-men and cowboys, and with hunting parties
outfitting for the Jackson Hole country. A thoroughly Western town of
the better sort, with all the picturesqueness of people and
surroundings that the name implies.
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