Quickly unlashing
our boats, we prepared for strenuous work. Friday the 13th proved to
be a lucky day; thirteen large rapids and thirteen small ones were
placed behind us before we camped at Rock Creek--a splashing, laughing
mountain stream, no doubt containing trout.
The following morning we found there was a little ranch house below
us, but, though we called from our boats, no one came out. We wondered
how any one could reach this out-of-the-way place, as a road would be
almost an impossibility. Later we found a well-constructed trail on
the right-hand side all the way through the canyon. We saw a great
many cattle travelling this trail. Some were drinking at the river
when we swept into view. Our boats filled them with alarm, and they
scrambled for the hillsides, looking after us with frightened
expressions as we left them to the rear.
We put in a full day at running rapids, one after another, until
fifteen large ones were passed, no count being kept of the smaller
ones. Some of these rapids resembled dams from six to twelve feet
high, with the water falling abruptly over a steep slope. Others were
long and rough, with swift water in places. Above one of these we had
landed, then found we could get a much better view from the opposite
shore. Emery crossed and landed, I followed. We had been having heavy
winds all day. When crossing here I was caught by a sudden gust of
wind and carried to the head of the rapid.
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