Some could be crossed, some could not.
Others resembled a "maze," the puzzle being how to get from one point
to another a few away. The rock was a sandstone and presented a rough
surface affording a good hold, so there was little danger of slipping.
We usually sat down and "inched" way to the edge of the cracks,
jumping across to little ledges when possible, always helping each
other.
The rock at the very edge of the main canyon overhung, in places 75 to
100 feet, and the great mass of gigantic boulders--sections of
shattered cliffs--on the steep slope near the river gave evidence of a
continual breaking away of these immense rocks.
To the north, across the canyon up which we had climbed, were a great
number of smooth formations, from one hundred to four hundred feet
high, rounded on top in domes, reminding one of Bagdad and tales from
the Arabian Nights. "The Land of Standing Rocks," the Utes call it.
The rock on which we stood was light gray or nearly white; the river
walls at the base for a thousand feet above the river were dark red or
chocolate-brown; while the tops of the formations above this level
were a beautiful light red tint.
But there were other wonders. On the south side of the Colorado's
gorge, miles away, were great spires, pointing heavenward, singly and
in groups, looking like a city of churches. Beyond the spires were the
Blue Mountains, to the east the hazy LaSalle range, and nearest of all
on the west just north of the Colorado lay the snow-covered peaks of
the Henry Mountains.
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