There is nothing on earth to which this gorge can
be compared. Storm-clouds lowered into the chasm in the early morning.
The sky was overcast and threatening. We were travelling directly west
again, and no sunlight entered here, even when the sun shone. The
walls had lost their brighter reds, and what colour they had was dark
and sombre, a dirty brown and dark green predominating. The mythology
of the ancients, with their Inferno and their River Styx, could hardly
conjure anything more supernatural or impressive than this gloomy
gorge.
There were a few bad rapids. One or two had no shore, others had an
inclination to run under one wall and had to be run very carefully. If
we could not get down alongside of a rapid, we could usually climb out
on the walls at the head of the rapid and look it over from that
vantage point. The one who climbed out would signal directions to the
others, who would run it at once, and continue on to the next rapid.
They would have its course figured out when the last boat arrived.
One canyon entered from the left, level on the bottom, and about one
hundred feet wide; it might be a means of outlet from this canyon, but
it is doubtful, for the marble has a way of ending abruptly and
dropping sheer, with a polished surface that is impossible to climb.
New Year's Eve was spent in this section. The camp was exceptionally
good. A square-sided, oblong section of rock about fifty feet long had
fallen forward from the base of the cliff.
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