I could not help but
be amused, and feel a little uncomfortable too, when I saw how nearly
I came to being wrecked here, after having escaped that fate in the
rapids of the canyons.
I ran my boat back to the diverting canal, then rowed down to the
massive cement gates, which looked to me like a small replica of some
of the locks on the Panama Canal. With the help of an Indian who was
ready for a job my boat was taken out, rolled around the buildings on
some sections of pipe, and slid over the bank into the canal below the
gates.
In spite of a desire to spend some time inspecting the machinery of
this great work,--which, with the canal and other improvements, had
cost the government over a million dollars--I immediately resumed my
rowing. It was mid-afternoon, and measured by the canal, which was
direct, it was twelve miles to Yuma. But I soon learned that great
winding curves made it much farther by the river. In some cases it
nearly doubled back on itself. The wind had shifted by this time and
blew against me so hard that it was almost useless to attempt rowing.
In another place there were no banks, and the water had spread for
three miles in broken sloughs and around half-submerged islands, the
one deep channel being lost in the maze of shallow ones. With these
things to contend with it was dusk long before I neared the town, the
twelve miles having stretched to twenty. Finally I saw a windmill
partly submerged.
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