Added to this,
it took me some time to get over my scare, and I could see all kinds
of danger, in rapids, where Emery could see none. I insisted on
untying the photographic cases from the boats, and carrying them
around a number of rapids before we ran them. It is hardly necessary
to say that no upset occurred in these rapids.
Then came a cold day, with a raw wind sweeping up the river. A coating
of ice covered the boats and the oars. We had turned directly to the
north along the base of Powell's plateau, and were nearing the end of
a second granite gorge, with violent rapids and jagged rocks. Emery
made the remark that he had not had a swim for some time. In a
half-hour we came to a rapid with two twelve-foot waves in the centre
of the stream, with a projecting point above that would have to be
passed, before we could pull out of the swift-running centre. Emery
got his swim there. I was just behind and was more fortunate. I never
saw anything more quickly done. Before the boat was fully overturned
he swung an oar, so that it stuck out at an angle from the side of the
boat, and used the oar for a step; an instant later he had cut the oar
loose, and steered toward the shore. Bert threw him a rope from the
shore, and he was pulled in. He was wearing a thin rubber coat fitting
tightly about his wrists, tied about his neck, and belted at the
waist. This protected him so thoroughly that he was only wet from the
waist down.
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