A boat would be smashed to kindling-wood if once
carried under there. At last we got our logs wedged, and an hour of
tugging, in which only two men could take part at the same time,
landed both boats in safety below this barrier. We shot the remainder
of the rapid on water so swift that the oars were snatched from our
hands if we tried to do more than keep the boats straight with the
current. That rapid was no longer the "Bold Escarpment," but the "Last
Portage" instead, and it was behind us.
The afternoon was half gone when we made ready pull away from the Last
Portage. There were other rapids, but scarcely a pause was made in our
two-hour run, and we camped away from the roar of water. The canyon
was widening out a little at a time; the granite disappeared in the
following day's run, at noon. Grass-covered slopes, with seeping
mineral springs, took the place of precipitous walls; they dropped to
2500 feet in height; numerous side canyons cut the walls in regular
sections like gigantic city blocks, instead of an unbroken avenue.
Small rapids continued to appear, there were a few small islands, and
divided currents, so shallow they sometimes kept us guessing which one
to take, but we continued to run them all without a pause. We would
have run out of the canyon that day but for one thing. Five
mountain-sheep were seen from our boats in one of the sloping grassy
meadows above the river. We landed below, carried our cameras back,
and spent half an hour in trying to see them again, but they had taken
alarm.
Pages:
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262