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Public Library
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PUBUC LIBRARY
, Listen, Bright Angel
Books by Edwin Corle
Mojave
Fig Tree John
People on the Earth
Burro Alley
Solitaire
Desert Country
Coarse Gold
Listen, Bright Angel
By
EDWIN CORLE
Duell, Sloan and Pearce New York
Copyright, 1946, by
Edwin Corle
All rights reserve^ including
the right to re-produce this lyook
or ^portions thereof in any form.
First edition
To
Horace W. Armstrong
. . . and if this expedition has any right to success or sur-
vival, then listen to a scientist's prayer, O Bright Angel of Im-
mortality. . . .
Contents
I. CENTRAL CHARACTER
1. An Island in Time 3
2. Tonto Sea 6
3. Life 11
4. A Canyon Is Bom 16
II. MORE OR LESS HEROES
1. There's Something About a Soldier 25
2. The Little Man and the Big Cross 45
3. Escalante and Dominguez 59
4. Lieutenant Ives Is Not Amused 75
5. Life at Lee's Ferry 92
IIL ROW YOUR BOAT
1. Ashley 108
2. Powell 113
3. Brown-Stanton , 128
4. The Amazing Kolb Brothers 137
5. Eddy 152
6. A Bride and Groom 162
7. White 173
8. Tweedledum and Tweedledee 182
[vii]
CONTENTS
IV. SOUTH RIM
1. "Oh, Yes, I've Seen the Grand Canyon" 191
2. Those Who Came Before 197
3. And Those Who Came Later 206
4. Trail-Wise and Trail-Weary 216
5. A Hundred Million Customers 230
V. LAND OF THE SKY BLUE WATER
1. Where Nothing Ever Happens 242
2. Sunday in Havasu Falls 249
3. Where Did Robinson Crusoe Go with Friday on
Saturday Night? 257
4. One Mind in Indian Time 264
VL NORTH RIM
1. Kaibab Country 279
2. Thunder River and Toroweap 290
3. The Dirty Devil and the Bright Angel 300
INDEX 304
\viii]
I
Central Character
SOUTH RIM
(TO NORTH RtU ABOUT TEN MILES
a:
t&j
o
o
re
UJ
a.
oe
Ul
cu
DEVONIAN
NUJ uJ
UJH
xo
1*
KAIBAB
LIMESTONE
COCONINO
SANDSTONE,
$UPAl FORMATION.
^SANDSTONES',' LIMESTONES
'^^7 AND SHALES}** , ,
JHE RED WALL 1
< ' tL'lMESTONE)
LIMESTONE
flRljSHY ANGEL "SHALE 1 ,, (
(THE TONTO GROUP) ' " t
V ! ! I " ' i
.TAPEATS SANDSTONE
ARCHAEAN ERA
(G^lSSES, SCHISTS, 6RANITES-
ROCKS ON EARTH);!
SCHEMATIC CROSS SECTION OF THE
GRAND CANYON FROM SOUTH RIM TO
RIVER AT GRAND CANYON VILLAGE
(LOOKING WEST), DEPTHS OF VARIOUS
STRATA ARE APPROXIMATE FIGURES'.
An Island in Time
T,
HE world was in a fine state;
nobody was on earth. And it was a lucky thing they weren't,
for if they had they would have been cooked to the condition
of a sizzling steak in something less than one second.
In fact the figure is inept. On the centigrade scale water
boils at one hundred degrees. The temperature of the surface
of the earth was about six thousand degrees centigrade. A siz-
zling steak would have been ice-cold by comparison, and
could not have existed for one second. Even such heat-resistant
elements as platinum and carbon were not only melted, but
they were in a state of gaseous nebulae. The world was a ball
of hot gas, and hot is not the word for it. Its temperature was
the result of sub-atomic energy from the interior which
reached the amazing value of twenty million degrees. It is
beyond comprehension. If the electric heater in your bath-
room could be stepped up to this level it would instantly set
fire to anything and everything within a radius of many
thousand miles.
The reason for all this was that the earth had just been
born. Because of the gravitational pull of a passing star it had
been wrenched and torn from the body of its mother, the
sun. It was made up entirely of sun-stuff. This was three
billion years ago.
If there is one thing that the earth has always had in abun-
.LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
dance, that thing is time. If time is money, the earth is a pluto-
cratat least, from the point of view of little man. But when
the first crust formed and the ball of hot gas had passed
through a state of liquefaction to solidity, living things had
not yet appeared. All this was the preparatory stage the first
billion years were the hardestand the earth, painfully and
slowly, was getting ready to produce life.
The crust deepened until the outer surface had a depth of
forty miles; and the internal heat, slowly diminishing, was
sealed in the interior. This was the Archeozoic era, geologi-
cally speaking, and while much of the surface was covered
with water, the oldest known rocks were formed and re-
formed and folded and tilted and fused. There was igneous in-
trusion and volcanic action; the crust shrank and cracked and
faulted; mountains were thrown up and worn down. There
was plenty of time for all this for another eight hundred mil-
lion years were going by. If there was any life all traces of it
were eradicated in the geologic fusion, and it is probable that
there was none. These Archean rocks are not to be found
readily on the face of the earth today. Layer upon layer of
sedimentary deposits have covered them, and they are deep
underground. But there are a few places where nature and cir-
cumstances have contrived to turn back the pages of the
geological history book. One of the best is northern Arizona.
Here the co-authors of the book are the Colorado River and
the Grand Canyon. They begin their story, "Once upon a
time a billion years ago near the mouth of Bright Angel Creek
there lived a . . ." but well come to it. The earth was an
island in time; it had nothing to do but exist.
The Archeozoic era came to an end. The earth was
1,800,000,000 years old and nothing much except solidifica-
tion had happened yet. From its mother, the sun, it had been
weaned, but it was hardly able to shift for itself. Nevertheless,
it was a promising young planet.
[4]
AN ISLAND IN TIME
Next came the second major geological era, the Protero-
zoic. It added another six hundred and fifty million years to
the youngsters age got him out of swaddling clothes and
into rompers perhaps. But as a child the earth wasn't much
more interesting than he had been before. The indications of
his peculiar talent, however, were present. He made a simple
one-celled plant. And in the mud and slime and primordial
ooze, it lived. What would this prodigy do next? All the uni-
verse wondered.
[5]
Tonto Sea
B
f Y THIS time there was a no-
ticeable acceleration of development. By comparison with
times past, the tempo of evolution increased. The third great
geological era, the Paleozoic, began, and so much happened in
that era that it has been necessary to divide it into six sub-
divisions, or periods. The Paleozoic era, as a whole, added an-
other three hundred and fifty million years to the life of the
earth.
Northern Arizona had been firmly based, as was most of
the rest of the world, on solid Archean rock. This was covered,
for the most part, by the rock of the second era, and this over-
lay formed the surface of Arizona when the third era began,
in turn, to cover the second. The coverage was done almost
entirely by various inundations of sea water, and the slow sedi-
mentary deposits of sands and limes of ancient oceans gradu-
ally built new strata on top of the second-era rocks. When the
sea receded or when the land rose, the deposit remained. This
accumulation marked a "period" within the third era.
Of the six periods within the Paleozoic era, three are well
represented in the Grand Canyon's geology book, a trace of
a fourth exists, and two are missing. If we ask the earth why
he was so remiss as to leave two periods out of the record, he'll
make it clear.
The first period of the third era, however, is there. Geolo-
[6]
TONTO SEA
gists call it the Cambrian. It lasted about eighty million years
and it laid down a series of mud and sand from a shallow sea
and some very durable limestone as the sea became deeper.
In the Grand Canyon's open book this Cambrian deposit
consisted of what geologists call locally "the Tonto group/' It
includes such specific classifications as Tapeats sandstone,
Bright Angel shale, and Muav limestone. This invariably in-
terests the average person not at all. But it is a moot question
among the men of science, for some say that this body of
water which made the sedimentary deposits should be called
the Tonto Sea.
And others say it should not, that the Tonto Sea was
something else altogether and that these deposits were made
by the Cambrian Sea. Since they are arguing over what to
call a sea which has been extinct for four hundred and eighty
million years, the innocent onlooker sadly and wisely leaves
the field to the men of science and stares over the rim of the
canyon at the various rocks a mile below and thinks, "Golly,
what a gully!"
But some time back there about four hundred and eighty
million years ago the sea, by whatever name, dried up, or dis-
appeared as the earth rose at this point, and the Cambrian
period was over. The young earth was growing fast now and
he added two more periods in rapid succession the Ordovi-
cian and the Silurian. But he forgot to write them down in
his Grand Canyon history book, and no matter how long he
is kept after school, he still cannot recall them.
It was not really the young earth's fault, as he will explain
if you give him a chance. He put the deposits of those two
missing periods in the proper place all right, but a thing
called erosion wore them away*
It is a very important word erosion.
When land is under water it is going through a process of
growth by sedimentation of the water that covers it; and when
[7]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
land Is above tlie surface of the water it is going through a
process of erosion, of being worn away by the air, wind, and
water in the form of creeks, streams, or rivers that run over it.
Thus the surface of the earth is never static; it is either de-
veloping or wasting away. After the now-missing Ordovician
and Silurian periods had been properly deposited during
the course of the earth's growth, they remained above sea
level and erosion wore them away at a point called Northern
Arizona. That accounts for their absence in the Grand
Canyon's book.
So we see that the young earth didn't miss a trick after
alL And for a like reason the fourth period of this third geo-
logical era the Devonian almost got away from him, too, but
not quite. The Devonian lasted for fifty million years, and
erosion was not able to get all of it; the earth put some evi-
dence of it into the Grand Canyon book. The fifth and the
sixth periods complete this third era; they are called the Car-
boniferous and the Permian. During these years a total of
about a hundred and ten million there were several inunda-
tions. The first flood waters were those of a broad and calm
sea and they deposited a pure limestone or it may be said
they built on top of the Cambrian sediments a pure limestone
for a height of five hundred and fifty feet a solid deposition
as high as the Washington Monument. This is the famous
Redwall which anyone can see from almost any part of the
Grand Canyon a red belt of sheer cliff, recording what was
once a huge sea.
And again comes the argument* The professional faction
which declares the previous sea of the Cambrian period was
not the Tonto Sea, states that the waters which deposited the
Redwall were the real Tonto Sea. So * * * (There is, of
course, a third faction which says neither was the Tonto Sea,
but we won't complicate it further.)
Regardless of names, the earth was adding to its bedrock
[8]
TONTO SEA
by means of a series of inundations which built up level after
level of its solid outer crust. Inside, the old heat from mother
sun still persisted, and to reach a point today where water
will boil because of the internal heat, it is only necessary to
go down into the earth from any surface locationat the
equator or at the North Pole to a depth of 7200 feet.
The questions as to which and when was the Tonto Sea
will probably never be solved. Since the name is entirely arbi-
trary it makes no difference at alL The name has never quite
caught on with the general public anyhow. Still it is a ro-
mantic-sounding name and carries with it red sails in the sun-
set. It is not at all impossible that some song writer may make
use of it some day. Can't you hear it?
Carry -me back to my old Tonto Sea,
There and there only my heart wants to he.
Dreaming of you under a Cambrian Moon,
Five hundred million years too soon.
Why not?
But the young earth had not produced a song writer in
the Paleozoic era. The Redwall was created in the Carbonif-
erous period and the course of geologic evolution went right
on. Another huge series of sediments was being formed on top
of the Redwall. The sixth and last period of the third era, the
Permian, was following the pattern of its predecessors. Eight
hundred feet of what is called the Supai formation was de-
posited. After that, through the millions of years, came the
Hermit shale.
On top of the Hermit shale the earth used a new trick.
Instead of -adding to its growth by sedimentation as it had in
the past, it did the same job by means of wind-blown sand. At
the Grand Canyon this is shown by a beautiful yellowish band
of sandstone three hundred feet high, the second layer below
[9]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
the rim. Scientists call it the Coconino sandstone; they all
agree on this and there is no argument about the name.
Above the Coconino sandstone, and extending to the rims,
both north and south, is the last contribution of the Permian
period, the gray Kaibab limestone. It has a depth of about five
hundred and fifty feet. Like all limestones this was formed on
an ocean bottom. You are standing on what was the floor of
an ancient sea as you look over the rim into almost two billion
years of geological history. But the Grand Canyon the gash
itself- is not two billion years old. That is another story.
At present we shall pause. Remember where we are. The
earth was born and grew for about two billion years to the
Permian period, or the end of the third major geological era.
After the primordial gas cooled to liquid and the liquid cooled
to a crust, the Archeozoic era began. The Proterozoic followed
it. The Paleozoic, with its six subdivisions Cambrian, Ordo-
vician, Silurian, Devonian, Carboniferous, and Permian
came third. There are two more eras yet to account for be-
fore we bring the earth up to date, for the Permian period
where we now pause ended two hundred million years before
this book was written. It makes a good resting place; if you
forget it or confuse it, think of it merely as the rim of the
Grand Canyon today.
Meanwhile, well cut back to the early part of the Grand
Canyon's history book and come forward again on a different
theme. For the young earth's particular talent was not so
much the building of rocks upon rocks. Any planet growing
up can do that. The earth had its special gift He created
something rare in the universe, called life. Let's go back to
Bright Angel Creek. "Once upon a time a billion years
ago * , ,"
[10]
Life
"+ . . near the mouth of
Bright Angel Creek there lived an alga*"
A what?
Some protophyta some schizomycetes and thallophytes.
Well, well.
The alga wasn't alone. There were millions of him then,
and there are millions of him today. We call them, collectively,
algae. He was a single-celled primitive, microscopic, water-
growing plant, but he was alive.
Bright Angel Creek, as it is today, did not exist a billion
years ago. But the basic rocks that are there now have been
there since the cooling of the surface of the planet, the
Archean rocks that every muleback party sees as they reach
the depths of the Grand Canyon. The seas that deposited
these rocks held carbohydrates in solution. They, in turn, held
colloidal aggregates, or groups of organic cells held together
by electrical attraction. These couldn't be called life, but,
rather, charged organic matter from which life could and did
develop. The eight hundred million years of the Archeozoic
era accomplished that much and no more.
When the second geological era came in the Proterozoic
'the organic colloids went from a liquid solution to a jelly. A
Russian scientist named Oparin, who has studied the origin of
life from sea water, considers these jellies of the primeval
ril.1
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
oceans (he calls them coazervates) the most important step in
the development of life on earth. From them came the single-
celled infinitesimal first plant. It grew out of the water and
slime and ooze and jelly of the second geological era and its
fossilized remains may be found in the bottom of the Grand
Canyon today where the rocks of the first era are met by the
rocks of the second. It may safely be called the first appearance
of life on earth. It lived and it died; but before it died, it split
in two and one half outlived the other. So the alga became
algae. As the cell division continued, the live algae continued
to exist simply because their rate of dividing into two units
was faster than the death rate of any one unit.
And so a billion years ago something began at Bright Angel
Creek (and at other places over the primitive globe) that has
never stopped, but has become more and more complex, and
is going on now. At this time the new earth was not attractive
as we think of it today. There were shallow seas and only
rocky terrain and nothing growing except the rapidly expand-
ing microorganisms called algae.
The earth was still cooling but so much vapor was as yet
in the atmosphere that the sun was obscured by clouds. With
the constant cooling process, however, the envelope of mois-
ture condensed into oceans and the sun's rays penetrated to
the surface.
The effect of the sun's rays caused the growing micro-
organisms to develop within themselves the vital compound
chlorophyll, and this broke down the carbon dioxide in the
atmosphere and allowed the plant to feed on the carbon.
Thus the sun gave her creative child a great deal of encourage-
ment. He went on with his game and soon it became more
than a game. It was a serious pursuit.
As the second geological era wore on, the plant life be-
came more complicated. And out of the same primordial jelly
another one-celled being grew. It was exactly like the algae
[12]
LIFE
except that it wasn't a plant it was an animaL Today we
call it an amoebamore correctly they were protozoa. After
a few million years of development they became metazoa, the
first animals with a digestive cavity.
Thus after the basic layer of rocks was laid down, and
while the second-era rocks were being formed, the earth pro-
duced the first and simplest plant and animal life.
Evolution during the next billion years has done the rest*
The Darwinian story is too well known for repetition, but as
the layer upon layer of earthly crust was accumulating in
Arizona, the story of life on earth was added to the story of
the rocks at Grand Canyon.
The protozoa developed to an age of sponges. An age of
jellyfish succeeded them in importance. Then came the third
era, and the Cambrian period. In these rocks, well above
Bright Angel Creek on the Tonto Platform, traces of life
have been found, fossilized shells and in particular, trilobites,
a crablike creature with a head and no eyes. Life in this period
was entirely of a marine variety.
The next two periods, it will be remembered, are missing.
Hence there are no traces in the rocks of the Grand Canyon
of the creatures of Ordovician or Silurian periods cephalo-
pods and primitive fish. The Devonian period, the age of
fishes, left its record, however, and the plates and scales of
fish have been found preserved in the rocks in a few pockets of
Devonian deposits just above the Cambrian's Tonto group
and just below the Redwall.
The Redwall, formed in the Carboniferous period, took
eighty-five million years to build. And while the sea that laid
this down was not the disputed Tonto, it was rich in life. The
composition of the Redwall shows a vast accumulation of
plants and animal skeletons. Living things, by this time, had
emerged from the sea onto land. The first amphibians began
to croak; .and the first of a new species, which dominated the
[13]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
globe at a later period, evolved from the amphibians ttiese
were the early reptiles.
The Permian period saw the completion of the sedimentary
deposits up as far as the present rim of the Grand Canyon.
During this period of twenty-five million years huge ferns
flourished and their fossils are found in the Hermit shale. The
amphibians were the dominant species of life and their foot-
prints are written in the Grand Canyon's book. And in the
Coconino sandstone, the second strata below the rim, the
tracks of twenty-seven species of animals have been found.
Life was booming in the Permian period. And the period was
not over. Another sea deposited the five hundred and fifty feet
of Kaibab limestone, the strata of the rim. Marine life was
abundant, and from it have been taken fossils of shells, corals,
sponges, and even a shark's tooth.
This brings us back up to the Permian period where we
paused before. So far we are just two hundred million years
behind the present day.
During those two hundred million years the earth added
two more geological eras the Mesozoic and the Cenozoic. It
no doubt continued to build up its surface until the Permian's
last contribution, the Kaibab limestone, was covered with the
deposits of Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous periods of the
fourth geological era. And animal and plant life continued to
evolve and the age of reptiles reached its prime with dino-
saurs, pterodactyls, and ichthyosaurs.
The fifth and last geological era began only about sixty
million years ago. In the Tertiary period, quadruped mam-
mals became the dominant species. And about a million years
ago obviously very recently in view of geological time man
appeared on earth. He was t sluggish brute with a feeble
brain, but he advanced to the stage of the Piltdown man, lived
in a cave, and learned to use fire. A million years have brought
him to what he naively calls the twentieth century.
[14]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
globe at a later period, evolved from the amphibians these
were the early reptiles.
The Permian period saw the completion of the sedimentary
deposits up as far as the present rim of the Grand Canyon.
During this period of twenty-five million years huge ferns
flourished and their fossils are found in the Hermit shale. The
amphibians were the dominant species of life and their foot-
prints are written in the Grand Canyon's book. And in the
Coconino sandstone, the second strata below the rim, the
tracks of twenty-seven species of animals have been found.
Life was booming in the Permian period. And the period was
not over. Another sea deposited the five hundred and fifty feet
of Kaibab limestone, the strata of the rim. Marine life was
^ abundant, and from it have been taken fossils of shells, corals,
sponges, and even a shark's tooth.
This brings us back up to the Permian period where we
paused before. So far we are just two hundred million years
behind the present day.
During those two hundred million years the earth added
two more geological erasthe Mesozoic and the Cenozoic. It
no doubt continued to build up its surface until the Permian's
last contribution, the Kaibab limestone, was covered with the
deposits of Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous periods of the
fourth geological era. And animal and plant life continued to
evolve and the age of reptiles reached its prime with dino-
saurs, pterodactyls, and ichthyosaurs.
The fifth and last geological era began only about sixty
million years ago. In the Tertiary period, quadruped mam-
mals became the dominant species. And about a million years
ago obviously very recently in view of geological time man
appeared on earth. He was a sluggish brute with a feeble
brain, but he advanced to the stage of the Piltdown man, lived
in a cave, and learned to use fire. A million years have brought
him to what he naively calls the twentieth century.
[14]
LIFE
But something strange was taking place in northern Ari-
zcipk. Layer upon layer of rock, from the Archeozoic, granite
and schist, had accumulated all the way up through time
to the fifth geological era. Then the land rose so high at this
point that it was like a huge blister on the earth's surface*
When it was no longer covered by oceans, it became the vic-
tim of erosion. A great denudation took place, and nature
sought to bring this upraised land into conformity with that
adjacent by wearing the blister down. It completely wore
away all traces of the fifth geological era, and the fourth geo-
logical era. It was as if this section of the globe were over-
built, and nature was tearing some of it down. This great
retroactive force removed everything all the way back to the
end of the third geological era, the Permian period. It left a
broad high plain of Kaibab limestone. Flowing across this
limestone was a small trickle of water. It flowed generally to-
ward the west. Since the fall of this stream to the sea was
great, it flowed very fast. And since it flowed so fast it began
to cut into the limestone. It dug itself a channel.
The blister on the globe at this point continued to rise due
to internal pressure from deep within the earth. The rivulet
merely flowed faster and cut its channel deeper. Even the
creeks that fed it began to cut small side channels. Water
erosion had begun. The little river flowed furiously on and
it was fed by many tributaries. Its channel became a gulley
and then a gorge and, at last, a canyon was born.
[15]
A Canyon Is Born
ILMOST every visitor to the
Grand Canyon, after he has recovered from the shock of the
first look, wants to know two things; 'When did this happen
and what caused it?'*
The answers are simple: It happened twelve million years
ago; the river did it*
And the visitor, quite properly, is not satisfied. He wants to
know more, and unless he has some knowledge of geology it
is not likely that it will ever be very clear to him. To fill this
want, the National Park Service has provided a series of lec-
tures, and nature walks, and charts and maps and models,
and a library, and a museum. They are all excellently man-
aged, and a visitor who has never heard of geological eras and
periods will begin to see daylight if he attends a few talks, and
thinks about what he has seen and heard. Nature has pre-
pared a mighty drama. At your feet is the amazing and thrill-
ing story of the history of the earth and the life that populates
it. A sensitive mind will be excited, awed, and moved. A great
artist is there to perform for you if you will but take it in.
You will never be quite the same again to your advantage.
Theodore Roosevelt said that the Grand Canyon was some-
thing that every American ought to see. He might have ex-
panded the remark to include everybody on earth. Just seeing
it is not quite enough; people ought to understand it. Some
[16]
A CANYON IS BORN
do; some don't. But -the Park Service is making it easy for
those who have a genuine desire to know more.
As we have seen, there was a time when the Grand Canyon
didn't exist. This may have been twelve million years ago
or it may have been as much as a hundred million. Since man
himself has been on earth only one million years, there are
no witnesses as to just when the erosion process o canyon
cutting began, or just when the first little trickle of water
began to wear its path into the Kaibab limestone. Scientists
agree, in general, that twelve to fifteen million years ago
would be a fair estimate.
One thing is certain, and that is geological history. The
earth built up its steady system of sedimentary deposits up
to the last geological era. Then it contrived to wear away the
recent strata back to the Permian period. Here it stopped the
great denudation. A broad flat plain of limestone existed. A
little stream ran west across the plain. Slowly the force that
raised the blister on the earth at this spot raised it again. The
little stream dug in deeper, and although the limestone plain
sloped toward the south, the little stream refused to be thrown
from its channel by this tilt. This slope of the land to the
south meant, however, that most of the tributaries of the
stream would come from the north. Water didn't run uphill,
even twelve or fifteen million years ago.
The gash that was cut into the limestone may have been
two inches deep. If so, it was probably several inches across.
This was the Grand Canyon in its infancy and the little
stream was the Colorado River. It is still cutting that gash
deeper and wider today and will still be cutting it centuries
hence. Today it is a mile deep and varies from ten to twelve
miles across at the rim.
As the water erosion and canyon cutting continued, the
stream began to turn backwards the pages of geological his-
tory. It cut all the way through the Kaibab limestone and hit
[17]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
tlie Coconino sandstone beneath. This meant that it was a
huge canyon, for the limestone goes down into the earth for
five hundred and fifty feet. It cut through the underlaying
soft sandstone and into the Hermit shale. The canyon was
then over eleven hundred feet deep. Two Washington
Monuments, one on top of the other, would barely have
reached the rim from the river. This was nothing to what was
to come.
The river, at this time, must have been about as large
as it is today. Wind erosion was helping to recess the side
walls. A great earthquake fault, a crack which ran diagonal
to the river, proved an ideal course for a side creek coming
in from the north, and this side creek eroded a great gash of
its own. There were other similar tributary canyons in the
process of creation as century after century went around the
clock. Rainfall was also helping to widen the main canyon,
while in the bottom the surging river, carrying its cutting
implements of sand, silt, and rocks of all sizes, went on
wearing its bed deeper and deeper into the earth. The stream
in the side canyon raced on to keep pace with the river. It
cut equally well and it meets the river today deep in the
canyon bottom. It is called Bright Angel Creek.
After about six million years of this relentless and unceasing
cutting and grinding and boring and drilling, the canyon was
half a mile deep and five or more miles across. It was worthy
of the name Grand Canyon even then.,
But the incessant water, sand, wind, and rain erosion had
a long way yet to go. The whole Permian period had been ex-
posed. And the river cut on into the Carboniferous limestone,
the Redwall. It sheered the Redwall like a knife. It reached
the Devonian period the age of fishes in the Darwinian scale
and it sliced through this in a short time, that is, geologically
speaking.
The Silurian period was missing and so was the Ordovician.
[18]
A CANYON IS BORN
An earlier erosion, millions of years ago, had removed those
two strata. The river never missed them; it cut on into the
Cambrian rocks which had once heen laid down by the erst-
while Tonto Sea. Here it was exposing to daylight rocks that
had been overlaid for five hundred million years. The skele-
tons of the ancient trilobites with their crablike bodies were
exposed along with other marine life of a mysterious ancient
world.
And even deeper went the river to the very foundation of
the Cambrian rocks and the meeting of the third geological
era with the second. Here it turned back the pages of history
to the Proterozoic, or more than a billion years.
And finally it cut down to the oldest rocks on earth, rocks
that comprised the first crust when the globe was forming a
solid surface and the sun had not yet penetrated the mists,
rocks that held not the first live thing, but rocks that ante-
dated even life itself. Here, then, at the canyon bottom is the
stuff the earth was made of two billion years ago.
It is quite a show.
From the Permian period back to the birth of the globe is
what the river and the canyon have to exhibit to anybody who
makes the trip from rim to river. Nowhere else on earth can
you see such a performance.
And that is not all. The whole pageant is here, not just part
of it. For, to the north in Utah, an easy day's drive, is Zion
National Park. If you have seen the play called "From Arche-
ozoic to Permian," which the Grand Canyon stages, there is
a sequel called the "Fourth Era," which the Painted Desert
(which you pass on the way to Utah) and Zion have to pre-
sent. Here you will be able to see the history of the earth from
the Permian period at the Grand Canyon rim through the
whole fourth era, the Mesozoic. And there is one more act
after that; it is found at Bryce Canyon, also in Utah, not far
[19]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
from Zioru Bryce will show you the last scene, the fifth-era
formations, the Cenozoic, and that brings you right up to date.
Thus it is possible for a visitor to start the day at Phantom
Ranch in the canyon bottom, ascend the Bright Angel Trail
to the south rim; drive via the Painted Desert to Zion Na-
tional Park, and, if he hurries, pull into Bryce Canyon Na-
tional Park before dark. He will have run the gamut of ge-
ological history; he will have passed through every phase of
the earth's development; he will have seen the home of every
species of life since the first algae swam in the primordial sea;
and he will have done it all in the space of one day.
As you stand beside the roaring river at the mouth of Bright
Angel Creek you wonder how much farther down into the
earth this canyon will go. Where will it be in another million
years? The answer is that the river will continue to cut deeper
until its pitch toward sea level is sufficiently lowered so that
it will no longer be a rushing torrent. At the bottom of Grand
Canyon you are still more than two thousand feet above sea
level. Thus the river has another two thousand feet of Ar-
chean rock to excavate before the force of gravity will be
tempered and it will then be a quiet well-behaved river like
the Hudson or the Delaware. Does the Archean rock extend
down another two thousand feet? Yes, indeed it extends
down another thirty or forty miles, so the river will stop cut-
ting long before it reaches the hot interior of the earth where
the sun-stuff of three billion years ago is still molten.
And how long will it take to cut these next two thousand
feet? Nobody knows. Since man has applied his knowledge
to the phenomena at the Grand Canyon, a matter of less than
a hundred years, there has been no perceptible change. Man's
life span is too short to permit him to see the erosion taking
place. He knows it is going on, but the movement, like that
of the hour hand of his watch, is too slow for his eye to per-
ceive.
[20]
A CANYON IS BORN
It has been a little over four hundred years since white
men first saw the Grand Canyon. And in accordance with
geological time which reckons years by the hundreds of mil-
lions, man's total time on earth, to say nothing of a mere four
hundred years, is not enough to count. Hence to man, change
in the physiography of the Grand Canyon is negligible or
nonexistent. The canyon looked very much as it does today
when Columbus sailed from Spain, when Rome was founded,
when Troy fell, when Hammurabi wrote the laws of Babylon.
And it will still be the same two thousand years in the future.
Man needn't be concerned.
[21]
II
More or Less Heroes
There's Something About
a Soldier
cr
JL HE man who discovered the
Grand Canyon never saw it. This paradox is not intended to
be witty or fatuous, for it is technically true. It came about
because of the political, military, and religious reasoning of
the leaders of what was New Spain in 1540 and is Mexico
today.
Hernando Cortes had landed at Vera Cruz in 1519, and by
1521 he had successfully subjugated the Aztec Empire of
Montezuma. Fourteen years later, the first Viceroy of New
Spain, Antonio de Mendoza, was in power at Tenochtitlan
newly renamed Mexico City as the highest representative of
his Catholic Majesty, Charles V, King of Spain; and Charles,
in turn, occupied his throne as the mortal representative of
God himself. Now God cannot err* Thus Charles V, God's
representative on earth, could not err; and thus Antonio de
Mendoza, Charles* (and God's) representative in New Spain
could not err. And Mendoza declared that Captain Francisco
Vasquez de Coronado discovered what we call today the
Grand Canyon. According to sixteenth-century Spanish rea-
soning, that was exactly as if Charles V had so declared. And
any statement by Charles V was divinely sanctioned. Thus,
there was no doubt about it, the Grand Canyon was dis-
[25]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
covered by Captain Francisco Vasquez de Coronado, no
matter if he never saw it and didn't get within two hundred
miles of it.
From a point of view four hundred years removed from the
culture of New Spain, some of the Spanish proprieties,
amenities, manners, and morals seem unnecessarily complex,
highly contradictory, and somewhat ridiculous. There were
active young men in Mexico City, full of the zest for life, and
they had taken on an immense job. The Spanish civilization
was at full flower. To be a soldier of Spain was an admirable
and coveted ambition for any young man. The Indies (the
word America was hardly in use at that time) offered op-
portunity. To be an adventurer, a conqueror, a hero in the
service of Spain was much the same in 1540 as to be a pilot
or bombardier in the service of the United Nations today. It
was front-line stuff and it had its thrills. We think of the
Spanish conqmstadores as doughty, rugged men of middle
years, callous and cruel, brutal and bold. Instead, they were
for the most part young and inexperienced, impatient and
impetuous representatives of the sixteenth-century stripe of
extroverts, bent on one aimmaterial success.
Columbus was forty years old when he sailed from Palos in
1492, and he was one of the oldest of the men who established
Spain in the New World. Marcos de Niza was thirty-nine
when he thought he saw the first of the fabulous Seven Cities
of Cibola with streets paved with gold and studded with tur-
quoise. Balboa was thirty-eight when he stood on a peak in
Panama and discovered the Pacific Ocean. Coronado was
thirty-five when he reached Mexico in search of fame and
fortune. Cortes, the conqueror of the Aztec Empire, was
thirty-four when he marched against Montezuma, Charles V,
King of Spain, began his reign at the age of sixteen, and by
the time he was twenty-seven, he ruled not only the entire
New World, but had sent his armies against Rome and had
[26]
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
made Pope Clement VII to him an old man of forty-nine
his prisoner. It was a young man's world, then, now, and
always.
But it must he remembered that the heritage and condition-
ing of these men, who were to leave an indelible mark on the
Americans, were medieval. We would be in a position today
comparable to that of a Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur s
Court if we could bridge the centuries, run time backwards,
and intrude upon the political policies, mercenary machina-
tions, and religious philosophy at the palace of the Spanish
Viceroy, Antonio de Mendoza. Things were done for reasons
seemingly illogical, but all behavior and customs were based
upon the eternal human frailties, and might seem strange to
us only because they appeared in the dress of the times. In
1941 the unaccountable Japanese had to "save face" at all
cost, in a policy born of infantilistic vanity. A similar vanity,
pride, and arrogance were characteristic of conquistador tem-
peraments.
In the New World of opportunity, it was inevitable that
human ambitions were bound to conflict. At the time of the
conquest, Cortes had received the lion's share of the acclaim,
and therefore Cortes had more enemies among his cohorts and
colleagues than he had among the Aztecs whom he had con-
quered. It was all Cortes throughout New Spain in the
1520's, and even those who pretended to be his friends were
envious and jealous. The Governor of Cuba, Velasquez, was
after his scalp for moral reasons. It is said that Cortes had
seduced the sister of Velasquez's mistress while in Cuba be-
fore his sortie to Vera Cruz. No doubt this gave Velasquez a
proper reason for damning the young soldier; and Cortes
figuratively thumbed his nose at the Governor by turning his
back on Cuba, beaching and burning his ships at Vera Cruz,
and making a conquest of the Aztecs a matter of life or death
for his army. And to add more fire to the Governor s fury,
[27]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Cortes took a new mistress in Mexico, an Indian girl named
Malinche, who acted as his interpreter and was important in
betraying and double-crossing the Aztec nation by playing
other tribes against them. In Mexico, Cortes, by instinct, was
using the Hitlerian method: divide your enemies and conquer
them one by one. Thus, by abandoning one mistress and
making love to another, Cortes's career flourished like the pro-
verbial green bay tree, the Aztec Empire collapsed, New
Spain rose over, the ashes of Tenochtitlan, and the Fair God
long feared by Montezuma had arrived.
But there were others who wished to play the same game.
Velasquez, still in Cuba and furious over the fact that Cortes
had outwitted him and outstripped him in the esteem of
Charles V in Madrid, sent a boy to do a man's job. He com-
missioned one Panfilo de Narvaez to go to Mexico and place
Cortes and his whole army under arrest, maintaining that
Cortes had no business to conquer the Aztecs, that nobody
had told him to do it, and that now he should be called on
the diplomatic carpet.
Cortes, however, was enjoying the exhilaration of success.
It was a bad moment to try to stop him. He simply took the
unwitting Narvaez at his own game. The man and an army
had come to arrest the Fair God? Very well, the Fair God
arrested him as soon as he landed and absorbed his army into
the ranks of his own. All that Velasquez's coup had done was
to send Cortes unintentional reinforcements.
Thus it is easy to see that there was considerable confusion
as to just who was who in New Spain. All the power plays
and diplomatic jockeying took many months. Madrid was the
final authority, and Charles V was too wise to let any of these
scrambling soldiers of fortune get too far out of hand. He ap-
pointed a viceroy for New Spain whose authority was su-
preme, and in good time Antonio de Mendoza arrived. The
army had done its work and now the state took over.
[28]
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
Meanwhile, Cortes had released Narvaez, who went bawl-
ing back to Cuba. To pacify him and his Cuban governor,
Velasquez, the dextrous Charles V sent Narvaez on a conquest
of Florida. If Cortes wouldn't have him in Mexico, let the
fellow go shoot up Florida where, who knows, he might dis-
cover another plum.
Now all of this Spanish land-grabbing and internal strife
had ramifications without end. To record it further is beside
the point, but it is all strikingly significant, and the throwing
of a bone to the Velasquez-Narvaez faction in the form of
Florida was far more important than even Charles V realized
at the time. Not that Narvaez ever amounted to anything for
he successfully wrecked his whole party off the Florida coast
in 1527. The important result was that from this fiasco there
survived a small group unable to get back to Cuba. This group
of redoubtable Spaniards walked overland from Florida,
around the Gulf of Mexico, on through Texas, and somehow
managed to get to Mexico City by their roundabout route. It
was unparalleled and amazing, this famous march of Cabeza
de Vaca and his companions, and it took eight years. And here
we come to an important and thrasonical figure; for with
Cabeza de Vaca on this journey was a huge Negro who called
himself by several names, usually Esteban de Dorantes.
Now the Viceroy, Antonio de Mendoza, had been ap-
pointed by the King in 1535, and as we have seen, the King
was nobody's fool. He was a great judge of men. And Men-
doza rewarded the King's confidence by loyalty and far-seeing
wisdom in playing on the ambitions of the army. He never
showed all his cards, and he held the conquistadores in check
and used them to the advantage of the crown. Mendoza had
all the skill of a Metternich, but he will never be as well
known.
Cortes had made a trip to Spain, but he was back in 1536
looking for new worlds to conquer. The only area still un-
[29]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
touched was the land to the north of New Spain what is
today the American Southwest. It was a question of who was
going to be the first to have the honor and glory of conquering
it and collecting a goodly share of the gold that it doubtless
held.
And at this time, blown on the winds of myth, there ap-
peared the story of the Seven Cities of Cibola. The source of
this legend fades back into the limbo of wishful thinking.
Probably it began conservatively, but in men's minds it caught
on like a prairie fire. Somewhere to the north, the legend had
it, there were seven cities paved with gold and studded with
jewels beyond the farthest stretches of the imagination. And
where were these wealthy seven cities? Also beyond the far-
thest stretches of the imagination. But nobody wanted to be-
lieve that. It was all too good not to be true; Cibola must exist.
Then find it, Spanish soldier.
And who determined to outsmart his enemies and find it
first? Hernando Cortes, of course. And the other conquista-
dores and would-be conquistadores said to each other, no, they
weren't interested in Cibola certainly not and proceeded to
hatch every manner of plot and to solicit all possible support
to finance an expedition to find it.
Two men struck first: Cortes, and his enemy, the Viceroy
Mendoza. And they used typically different methods. The
extrovert Cortes followed his customary psychology. He
banked everything he had on one swift move. This had
worked at Vera Cruz, at Mexico City, and it should work
again. Independent of the government of New Spain he
assembled three ships at Acapulco on the Pacific.
He intended to lead this expedition himself up the west
coast of Mexico to the thirty-fourth parallel or thereabouts,
and then leave the ships and strike inland to Cibola. It was a
costly venture and he put all his fortune into it. His mistress,
[30]
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
Malinche, had long since disappeared from liis life and tie was
now married to a lady of Spain. To finance Bis expedition
Cortes even had to pawn his wife's jewels.
At the last moment Cortes himself was prevented from sail-
ing, probably on some pretext by Mendoza. So he placed his
captain, Ulloa, in charge, and sent him off for Cibola on July
8, 1539. He could not fail; Cortes never failed.
Mendoza, who was only too well aware of what was going
on, used a different method. He got hold of the huge Negro,
Esteban, and pumped him for information, as the Negro had
come down from the north on the long trek around from
Florida. It is easy to visualize the interview between the crafty
Mendoza and the bragging Negro, the Viceroy leading
Esteban on with pointed questions. For example, had Esteban,
in his glorious adventures, by some mere chance, ever heard
of a place called ahwhat VJBS that name now?
''Cibola!" exploded Esteban.
"Ah, yes, Cibola/' Mendoza purred. "Unusual city said to
be fairly wealthy and lying ah somewhere to the north?"
"Yes, full of gold. I was there," declared Esteban.
'What!" snapped the Viceroy.
"No. I mean to say I could go there."
"Ah," smiled the Viceroy. "Suppose you think carefully
about it. To yourself. Until tomorrow."
Immediately and quietly Mendoza enlisted the services of
Fray Marcos de Niza, a Franciscan who had traveled widely
in the New World from Mexico to Peru and back. De Niza
and Esteban were to march northward, ostensibly carrying the
faith into the wilderness, and, who knows, they might get as
far as Cibola! By this method the Viceroy would be spared the
expense to his government of sending a huge expedition of
conquest. And if Esteban could lead the priest to Cibola, they
were to profess friendship for the Cibolans, estimate the
[31]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
wealth of tlie community, and return at once and report. If
the report were good, Mendoza would send the full might of
New Spain against Cibola at once.
Thus the year 1539 was of great importance to the future
history of the American Southwest. Cortes's man, Ulloa, was
sailing up the west coast; Mendoza's man, de Niza, was
trudging overland, guarded by a giant Negro and the power
of the cross. And both emissaries were in the field at the same
time.
Ulloa had little luck. He obeyed orders and discovered a
huge inland sea, together with the fact that Lower California
was not an island as supposed, but an immense peninsula.
Very properly he called the body of water the Sea of Cortes.
Before he reached the thiry-fourth parallel, he came to the
landlocked head of the sea. He tried to sail on, not knowing
that he was bucking the mouth of the Colorado River, which
he found a hellish place of destructive tides, and he wrote in
part:
We perceived the sea to run with so great a rage into the land
that it was a thing to be marveled at; and with the like fury it
returned back again ... It seemed there was an inlet whereby
the sea went in and out. There were divers opinions amongst us,
and some thought that some great river might be the cause thereof.
This is the first description by white men of the tempera-
ment of the Colorado River. Ulloa did not actually see the
river, but he inferred its existence because of the violent tidal
bores at its delta. And for the next three hundred and ninety-
seven years the tempestuous violence of this stream continued
to baffle men until Elwood Mead's Boulder Dam tamed it in
1 936 supposedly.
Ulloa sailed south out of the Sea of Cortes, around the tip
of Lower California, and up the coast. He took two of his
[32]
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
tliree ships and sent tlie third back to Acapulco to report to
Cortes that he was still looking for the thirty-fourth parallel.
That was the end of Captain Ulloa; he was never heard of
again. All Cortes received for his financial outlay was the
honor of having his name bestowed on a landlocked sea, and
even that disappeared in time. On a map printed in 1597 it
is called by the unattractive name of "The California Sinus,"
and this, rather fortunately, was later changed to the Gulf of
California.
Luck had run against Cortes at last. He left for Spain, his
fortune gone, his enemies triumphant, and his wife desper-
ately ill. It would be interesting indeed to know the thoughts
of this remarkable soldier as he stood on the deck and watched
the New World recede on the horizon. For he never saw it
again.
Meanwhile, Mendoza's man, Fray Marcos de Niza, was
having adventures of his own. On April 12, 1539, he crossed
the line into what was destined to become Arizona. He had
sent Esteban ahead and the two kept in contact by Indian
messengers. There is a story that the Franciscan and the
Negro were not of one mind. Fray Marcos was a sincere and
devout man and he wished to convert the Indian bucks
whenever possible. Esteban was sincere about another kind
of prowess, and it is said that he wished to seduce the Indian
maidens whenever possible. He decorated his giant frame with
feathers and gourds and explained that he was a god. This
was accepted by the Piman and Papago tribes, but Esteban
overstepped when he reached the Zunis.
It is possible that the Negro really believed this pueblo was
the first of the cities of Cibola. At any rate, he pranced in and
affronted the Zuni people. His invulnerable godhood did not
impress them, and after a brief council they decided the world
would be a better place without this invader. What Esteban
did in Zuni is not known, but what the Zunis did to Esteban
[33]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
is an historical fact. They shot a few arrows through him and
discovered that what they had suspected was true, the black
man was mortal after allunless the Zuni arrows have made
him immortal.
Messengers brought this shocking news back -to Fray
Marcos de Niza. The priest, believing the Cibolans to be
belligerent in order to protect their great wealth, proceeded
cautiously and looked at Zuni from a distant hill. He, too, was
sure this was Cibola. Why this pueblo of mud and rock should
have impressed him is difficult to say, but he reported later to
Mendoza, "It has a very fine appearance . . . the best I have
seen in these parts. Judging by what I could see from the
height where I placed myself to observe it, the settlement is
larger than the City of Mexico."
Mendoza visualized a treasure trove indeed, for hadn't the
Cibolans slain poor Esteban in order to guard the secret of
their wealth,? And this was but one of the seven richest cities
in the New World!
That was information enough for the Viceroy. He pre-
pared two expeditions at once, one to go by sea, following the
route of the Cortes-Ulloa ships, and the other to go overland,
retracing the journey of Fray Marcos. And Fray Marcos, of
course, would go along.
Quickly the news spread through New Spain that Cibola
had been found. Hundreds of young men rushed to join the
expedition. They were prepared to attack the Cibolans with
fire and sword. These enemies of Spain must perish to the last
man. An army of eleven hundred men was assembled in a few
days. Arms and armor, guns and powder, doublets and lances,
horses, cattle, and supplies were quickly made ready. Every-
body was a hero before he started. All they needed was Dul-
cinea del Toboso to wave them on while they charged the
windmills.
[34]
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
Mendoza approved of this spirit* His next task was to ap-
point one of these fine "blades as the commander-in-chief and
tell him to bring back the prize the gold. He wanted a man
who was not a fool, but who, on the other hand, was not too
bright. Another Cortes was not desirable. Furthermore, this
man must be "somebody" an officer and a gentleman. Politi-
cal and social elements had to be considered. At last the
Viceroy hit upon the very man, a Spanish grandee who had
been educated at the University of Salamanca and who had
recently married in Mexico City the daughter of the Treas-
urer. (The Treasurer was said to hold his job because he was
the illegitimate son of his late Catholic Majesty, King Ferdi-
nand, grandfather of Charles V and patron of the late Chris-
topher Columbus.) Could any man have better qualifications?
Spanish customs and the cupidity of Mendoza's mind thought
not. So may God save ah what was his name? Oh, yes, may
God save Francisco Vasquez de Coronado.
This expedition, bent on loot, was so thoroughly equipped
that it even had its own historian, a man named Castaneda,
who wrote:
When the Viceroy saw what a noble company had come to-
gether, and the spirit and good will with which they all presented
themselves, knowing the worth of these men, he would have liked
very much to make every one of them captain of an army * . .
but he could not do as he would have liked, and so he appointed
the captains and officers because it seemed that he was so well
obeyed and beloved, nobody would find fault with his arrange-
ments.
That was thoughtful of Mendoza. And Castaneda con-
tinues:
After everybody heard who the general was, Francisco Vasquez
de Coronado, the Viceroy made Don Pedro de Tovar ensign-
[35]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
general, the guardian and high steward of the Queen Dona Juana,
our demented mistressmay she be in glory.
Mendoza wasn't missing tributes to any of the royalty, even
the mentally unfit And the historian continues:
It might be clearly seen . . . that they had on this expedition
the most brilliant company ever collected in the Indies . . . but
they were unfortunate in having a leader who left in New Spain
estates and a pretty wife, a noble and excellent lady, which were
not the least causes for what was to happen.
So this gay band of jolly fellows, consecrated to the rapine
of what was a sleepy Indian village of dried-mud houses bask-
ing in sunshine, started off on their great crusade with all
the excitement of a rush to the Yale Bowl for the Harvard
game. They were the mighty legions of Spain, indomitable,
indefatigable, and, without knowing it, ethically indecent*
They were out to whip Cibola, chanting the Santiago, the
battle cry of Spain, and it must have been quite a shock to tfee
cheering section back home when the score turned out to be
something like Cibola 74, Mexico City 0.
The ridiculous, however, is not a fair light in which to ex-
amine this expedition. The values may have been empty and
the machinations Machiavellian, but it took brave and hardy
men to buck the mountains and deserts of Mexico and Ari-
zona. It must have been a long and impressive safari, colorful
to the extreme, with eleven hundred soldiers and as many
animals winding slowly northward over this raw land.
Coronado took his leadership very seriously, and while he had
no talent for this kind of thing, he was not aware of this lack.
He considered himself another Cortes.
The importance of this expedition to the history of the
American Southwest cannot be overestimated, for it was these
[36]
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
soldiers who brought the first cattle and horses into a country
that was to make these animals its trademark The great-
umpty-great grandparents of Kansas City beef, a million-dollar
industry, were brought into a desert country by an unknow-
ing soldier who came only because he hoped to take a million
in gold out of it. Coronado, of course, could have only the
immediate point of view. And the farther he went, the more
disappointing it became. This arida zona looked worse with
every league. He could give it nothing but a name; and those
who came later contracted the name he gave it to Arizona.
At last the party came to Cibola. And here was bitter dis-
appointment, for not only was the city barren of gold, but
Coronado himself was wounded. And his injury occurred not
in glorious battle, leading his troops against a resistant phalanx
of the Cibolans far from it, for the Cibolans offered no re-
sistance at all. Coronado was hurt by falling off his horse. No
sooner had he marched ingloriously into Cibola than he had
to spend a month in bed. One can almost wish that this news
could have been flashed to the once-valiant Cortes. It might
have won a sardonic smile.
While the Spaniards tarried at "Cibola" that is, at Zuni
puebltf in New Mexico some pertinent questions must have
been fired at Fray Marcos de Niza. How the Franciscan justi-
fied his former appraisal of Cibola is not known. But the
priest's reputation was pretty well shattered and his name
never figured again in any explorations of New Spain. He
died some years later, unwept and unsung except by members
of his own order, the Franciscans, in Jalapa, Mexico. But he
died with a smile on his lips, for he well knew that the Cibola
of his dreams was the carrying of the faith into the unknown
and this he had accomplished through his overly optimistic
report to Mendoza. The church had made good use of the
state.
Coronado sent his second-in-command, Pedro de Tovar, to
[37]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
investigate other Indian pueblos to the northwest with the
faint hope that these might be the real Cibola after all. Tovar
reached Oraibi and Walpi and found the Hopis chary but
friendly. Castaneda states: 'It is governed like Cibola. * .
This was where they [the Spaniards] obtained information
about a large river, and that several days down the river there
were some people with very large bodies/'
Since these men of opposite worlds could not converse in
a common tongue, it is doubtful if the Castaneda version of a
Hopi legend was at all clear. The Hopis believe that deep in
the Grand Canyon is the orifice from which man emerged
upon earth. Hence the canyon leads into the nether world and
the home of the gods. This is what they were trying to tell
the Spaniards, but to get that from the Shoshonean roots into
a romance language with any clarity was understandably be-
yond Castaneda.
Tovar had been ordered to meet these people, but he had
no orders to explore further. So, being a good soldier, he re-
turned with this tale to Coronado, whereupon the incapaci-
tated leader sent another officer to investigate the river. This
man was Don Garcia Lopez de Cardenas. He took twelve
men, making thirteen in all, and they went to Oraibi, picked
up Hopi guides, and sought the great river.
That the men of this party of Spaniards in 1540 were the
first white men to look into the Grand Canyon, there is no
doubt. But the exact spot where they stood and looked Into
the brink is not fixed in geography. It has been identified as
anywhere from Marble Canyon near Lee's Ferry to Havasu
Point, twenty miles west of the present Grand Canyon vil-
lage and Bright Angel Trail. Probably these extremes are
wrong. Judging from Castaneda's record again, it is likely that
the Hopis led the Spaniards to one of the points near Desert
View. This, in some respects, is more stunning than the view
from the present hotel and lodge at the head of Bright Angel
[38] .
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
Trail, which are located deep in the side canyon caused by
the Bright Angel fault. But no matter where one looks for the
first time from the South Rim, he is due for a shock, and the
Spaniards were no exception. Castaneda wrote conservatively
and was never guilty of willful exaggeration. His matter-of-
fact style is often naive, but never mendacious. Since he was
not one of the thirteen who went to the canyon, this part of
his journey was written from hearsay. Pedro de Sotomayor,
being a kind of undersecretary to the chronicler, went with
Cardenas on this side trip, and from Sotomayor Castafieda re-
constructed the junket and wrote:
* . . they came to the banks of the river, which seemed to be
more than three or four leagues above the stream which flowed
between them. This country was elevated and full of low twisted
pines, very cold, and lying open toward the north [an excellent
description of the Coconino Forest], so that, this being the warm
season, nobody could live there because of the cold. They spent
three days . . . looking for a passage down to the river, which
looked from above as if the water was six feet across, although the
Indians said it was half a league wide [there is some discrepancy
here, as half a Spanish league would be one and two-fifths miles
and the Colorado is actually about a hundred yards wide, or about
the length of an American football gridiron]. It was impossible to
descend, for after these three days Captain Melgosa and one Juan
Galeras and another companion, who were the three lightest and
most agile men, made an attempt to go down at the least difficult
place, and went down until those who were above were unable to
keep them in sight.
They returned about four o'clock in the afternoon, not having
succeeded in reaching the bottom on account of the great difficul-
ties which they found, because what seemed to be easy from above
was not so, but instead very hard and difficult. They said that they
had been down about a third of the way and that the river seemed
very large from the place that they reached, and that from what
they saw the Indians had given the width correctly.
[39]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Those who stayed above had estimated that some huge rocks on
the side of the cliffs seemed to be about as tall as a man, but those
who went down swore that when they reached these rocks they
were bigger than the great tower at Seville.
They did not go farther up the river [meaning that the whole
party did not try to follow the rim any farther] because they could
not get water. Before this they had to go a league or two inland
every day late in the evening in order to find water, and the guides
said if they should go four days farther, it would not be possible
to go on, because there was no water within three or four days, for
when they [the Hopis] travel across this region themselves, they
take with them women loaded with water in gourds, and bury the
gourds of water along the way to use when they return and besides
this, they travel in one day what it takes us two days to accomplish.
This was the Tizon River, much nearer its source than when
Melchior Diaz and his company crossed it.
The last casual sentence needs some explanation. It should
be remembered that the meticulous Mendoza never did any-
thing by halves. He sent not only a land expedition to conquer
Cibola, but also one by sea. It was supposed in 1540 that both
routes would run parallel, and in order to ease the land
burden, many supplies were sent by boat under the command
of Hernando de Alarcon up the west coast. The two expedi-
tions were supposed to keep in contact by overland messen-
gers.
Because the geography of North America was so little
understood in 1540, Mendoza did not know that Coronado
would be marching due north, and that Alarcon would be fol-
lowing a north-northwest coastline. The farther they went,
the greater became the distance between them.
Alarcon, nevertheless, did not intend to fail the Viceroy.
When he reached the head of the Sea of Cortes, which had
frightened Ulloa, he kept on and fought his way up the Colo-
rado River. The current was too strong for him to sail against,
[40]
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
so his crews (he had three ships) were obliged to tow the
boats from the bank. The naked Cocopah Indians looked on
in amazement, but Alarcon knew that Coronado was count-
ing on the supplies on shipboard and he dared not fall back
at the first adversity.
Alarcon was not at all sure of Cocopah friendship, but a
clever ruse outwitted the natives. He discovered that they
worshiped the sun. Promptly he made them understand that
he had come from the sun and was the god of it. It was fast
thinking and the Cocopahs believed him. After that they
quarreled for the honor of towing the Sun God upstream in
his water chariot, and the Spanish crews relaxed on the decks
while the red men sweated.
It is not established how far up the Colorado the Cocopahs
pulled the Spaniards, but it is certain from AlaroSn's records
that he ascended beyond the site of the present city of Yuma
and even beyond the mouth of the Gik. And nowhere did
he hear any news of Coronado, who was in New Mexico more
than four hundred miles to the east. The two expeditions
never made contact, though they came surprisingly close to it.
Coronado sent another side party overland to find Alarcon,
and a man named Melchior Diaz was in charge of this. At
Alarcon's farthest penetration upstream, he had a large cross
constructed and gave the natives many small crosses made of
sticks and parchment. He called the Colorado el Rio de Euena
Guia (River of Good Guidance) in honor of the motto on
Viceroy Mendoza's coat of arms. Then he sailed south again
and gave up as a bad job any further effort to act as a source
of supply for Coronado.
He had been gone about a month when the Melchior Diaz
party found the river and discovered Indians wearing crosses
made of sticks and parchment. Thus Diaz learned that
Alarcon had come and gone. Diaz marched up and down the
river and called it Rio del Tizon when he observed natives
[41]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
warming themselves with a firebrand. Diaz did not find the
large cross, but the fact that the two parties came as close as
they did to actual contact was remarkable in itself. While ex-
ploring the adjacent desert country and fighting the hostile
Mojaves, Diaz was mortally wounded, and he died before he
could get back to report to Coronado. When his men returned
to Cibola with this news, it was one more blow for the gentle-
man from Salamanca, who was now heartily sick of the whole
thing.
Castaneda's narrative was written in full at a later date.
The Diaz men had returned, and this is why he says that the
stream in the bottom of the Grand Canyon was the Tizon
River. He knew that Diaz had called it this, but he did not
know that Alarcon had previously given it another name.
Coronado was at last able to travel again. So far everything
had been a failure. De Niza was a palpable liar; Cibola was
made of mud; Tovar found the Hopi villages to be the same;
Cardenas found the river so inaccessible that it was useless;
Diaz had lost his life in a futile effort to meet Alarcon; and
not an ounce of gold had been found anywhere.
More rumors came from beyond the blue New Mexican
horizon rumors of a great golden city in a place called
Quivira. Coronado heaved a long sigh and the eleven hun-
dred, less a few casualties, marched again.
For two years the Spaniards traveled and searched and
hoped and none of the hopes were realized. .They worked
their way over the plains as far east as Kansas and it was all,
to them, a vast, empty, worthless, God-forsaken country. In
1542 they straggled back to Mexico City. Some left their
bones in the American Southwest; some were wounded from
skirmishes with the warlike Apaches and Comanches; some
were ill; and all were discouraged and exhausted. Coronado,
erstwhile emulator of Cortes, was disgraced and discarded. No
[42]
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT A SOLDIER
proud welcome awaited him, and his pretty wife had lost her
heart to another man.
Nothing succeeded with Viceroy Mendoza except suc-
cess. He had no time for dolts and fools. He was so disgusted
that he would not even see the gentleman from Salamanca.
Coronado had been given every chance to find Cibola and he
had failed. The fault was entirely Coronado's. In a report on
the expedition, Mendoza had credited all discoveries to the
leader, regardless of who saw the prize first. Since Coronado
had explored for two years and discovered nothing, he got
credit for that, -too. About all that the Viceroy could glean
that this piffling picaroon had done was to discover a big hole
in the ground. Well, it was too bad his men hadn't carried
him all the way from Zuni, bed and all, and tossed him into
this Canyon grande. And with that the Viceroy looked around
to find a new hero.
Coronado died a broken man at the age of forty-nine. He
never understood that he had opened a vast new area, rich in
natural resources beyond estimation. He had none of the
fight and fire of Cortes; he humbly accepted his failure. He
never knew how to tell a viceroy to go to hell. And if he had
known, it wouldn't have helped. For Cortes had known full
well how to do that, and he was a broken man, too.
This pattern is not uncommon with the soldiers who pio-
neered America, and it is especially true for the explorers of
the American Southwest. It was a stark and terrible country,
and it was greater than any single man. The land was there
when they came and there when they left. It left its mark on
its invaders, but hundreds of years passed before the invaders
could leave their mark on it.
The silence at the abysmal brink of the Grand Canyon was
not broken again by white men for two hundred and thirty-
six years. This awful and gorgeous maw was a hostile force
[43]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
that the soldier could not conquer or even understand. He
preferred not to think of it and the very existence of the Grand
Canyon was ignored and forgotten. The Spanish soldier knew
how to attack an enemy, but before the Grand Canyon coun-
try he was as powerless as an infant. Its deep and mysterious
silence was the sound for retreat.
The Little Man and the
Big Cross
WH,
IITE men (and women)
have been coming to the Grand Canyon and peering over
the rim for various reasons for more than four hundred years.
The approach can be divided into five stages, and the visitors
fall into five classifications.
.The first were the Spanish conquistadors, a relatively small
group numbering only thirteen men. They looked, they mar-
veled, they condemned, and they went away. The canyon did
not interest them for they were looking for gold. Following
the soldier, as is normal in the course of history, came the
priests. This second group of visitors was again Spanish, and
throughout the Southwest the Franciscans and the Jesuits
followed their consciences and carried their faith into the
more or less unknown. Three of these men reached the Grand
Canyon country in 1776 and their names are well known to
students of the region. And they, too, looked, marveled, con-
demned only slightly, and went away. The canyon did not
interest them for they were looking for souls. The third group
consisted of Americans. They were trappers, scouts, frontiers-
men, and they came from the 1820's to the 1850's. They
looked, marveled, condemned hardly at all, and went away.
The canyon did not interest them for they were looking for
[45]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
furs, bides, and pelts. The fourth group was made up of
American explorers and scientists and artists who came to the
area because of the area itself. They looked, marveled, con-
demned not at all, and some of them stayed. The canyon in-
terested them especially for they had come to study it. Their
era began about 1858 and it is still going on today. This is
the first group whose individuals can be numbered in hun-
dreds, perhaps thousands. The fifth group was primarily
American although it has included a sprinkling of every
nationality on earth. These were and are the tourists. They
come and look and marvel and make remarks and go away.
The canyon interests them for they are seeking entertainment
and escape, and this group can be numbered in the millions.
When Spanish exploration from 1540 to the late seven-
teenth century ceased to have a military significance it be-
came the province of the church. Men such as Padre Eusebio
Kino, a Jesuit, traveled widely over the Southwest. Kino was
a tireless and zealous man who founded many missions in
Sonora, Arizona, and California. He was, incidentally, an
Austrian, and few realize that any man born in Vienna had
much to do with Southwestern history. His name was Kuhn,
sometimes spelled Kuhne, and its Spanish variation is either
Quino or Kino. His base of operations was the Mission of
Dolores which he founded in 1687 in the Mexican state of
Sonora, and he crusaded vigorously over the raw and danger-
ous desert country for twenty-five years. His type of expedi-
tion, either alone or with acolytes or Indian servants, was
called an entrada, a name which seems more correctly descrip-
tive when not translated. He never saw the Grand Canyon,
but he was familiar with the Colorado River for a long dis-
tance up from the Gulf of California, and his missionary work
led the way for other priests to follow.
The Colorado River was still receiving names at this time.
Ulloa had failed to name it in 1539 only because he did not
[46]
THE LITTLE MAN AND THE BIG CROSS
actually see it from his cockleshell ship tossed about near its
mouth. Alarcon called it the River of Good Guidance in 1540;
Diaz called it the Firebrand River the same year; Juan de
Onate, who had explored the Rio Grande Valley before com-
ing farther west, called it the River of Good Hope in 1604;
and Kino called it the River of the Martyrs in 1702.
None of them stuck, and it remained for Kino's most dis-
tinguished successor, Padre Francisco Tomas Garces, to give
it a fifth and final name in 1775. He called it Colorado be-
cause it was. The word may be translated as "colorful" and
also as "reddish." The river is both and Garces's name has
held.
In 1767, long after Kino's death, the Jesuits were expelled
from all parts of the Spanish dominions and their mission
property was taken over by the crown. The Viceroy of Mexico
asked the Franciscan College at Queretaro for priests to con-
tinue the missionary work in Sonora and Pimeria Alta (Ari-
zona). Fourteen young men responded. Among them was
Francisco Tomas Garces. He reached the Mission San Xavier
del Bac near Tucson which still stands today in the Arizona
sun, an architectural achievement, and a monument to the
devotion of Jesuits and Franciscans alike, to say nothing of
Papago Indian labor which made the edifice possible.
Beginning in June, 1768, Garces made five great entradas,
traveling widely from southern Arizona to the Colorado River,
up and down its. banks, and on to the Mission San Gabriel
near Los Angeles, California except that in those days there
was no Los Angeles. His fifth and final journey was the great-
est of them all. It is said that his travels covered twenty-five
hundred miles, and that he carried the cross to twenty-five
thousand Indians. He was a quiet, soft-spoken, simple little
man who lived only to serve what he considered the greatest
truth on earth, love for his fellow man.
He traveled alone much of the time, and occasionally he en-
[47]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
listed Indians to guide him from tribe to tribe. Sometimes he
walked; sometimes he rode a mule. It was impossible for him
to carry much more than the clothes on his back and most of
the time he had to depend upon native food. Padre Pedro
Font, a less hardy Franciscan brother, comments on Garces:
"He seems just like an Indian himself . . . and though the
food of the Indians is as nasty and disgusting as their dirty
selves, the padre eats it with great gusto/' Never in these
journeys did Garces ever think of going armed. He had
strength only for greater ammunition than bullets his faith,
his cross, his love.
Garces* fifth entrada began in the summer of 1776 and he
worked upstream from the present site of Yuma, Arizona, and
visited the Mojave Indians near what is now Needles, Cali-
fornia. He then decided to move easterly across northern Ari-
zona and travel as far as the Hopi settlement of OraibL This
objective was important to him because the priests from Santa
Fe, and other settlements in the Rio Grande Valley, had not
done too well with the Hopi people. Almost a hundred years
previously, 1680, to be fexact, the Hopis had risen in an out-
burst of sporadic violence and killed the few priests and sol-
diers who had come among them. This was not altogether a
blot on the Hopis* usually peaceful record. The Spaniards
had come professing to bring them salvation which they did
not want (the Hopis were, and are still, among the most ad-
vanced Indians of North America) and had proved instead to
be emissaries of the flesh and the devil when soldiers seduced
a number of the Hopi girls. The Hopis put a quick stop to
this, but they did it in their own aboriginal way. They de-
cided the only good Spaniard was a dead Spaniard. Garces
knew of this and considered it most regrettable, and with his
never-failing courage and zeal, he determined to visit the Hopi
and convince them that not all white men were bad men, and
that the teaching of Christ was intended for all.
[48]
THE LITTLE MAN AND THE BIG CROSS
On his way all alone, the priest met a number of Walapai
Indians and they volunteered to act as guides and take him to
another tribe hidden away in the fastness of a deep canyon, a
tribe which no white man had ever seen. Moreover, this un-
known canyon was on the trail that would eventually lead to
Oraibi. Garces was delighted. He kept a careful record of this
remarkable trip and in 1900 it was meticulously translated by
Dr. Elliott Coues and published under the title of On The
Trail of a Spanish Pioneer. And thus it is from the priest's
own diary that his itinerary can be traced and his visit to the
Land of the Sky Blue Water enjoyed in detail
About thirty-five miles west of what is today Grand Can-
yon village on the South Rim, a road leads to the head of the
Topocoba Trail. From here it is another fourteen miles down
the precipitous trail by mule or Indian pony to Havasu Creek
in Cataract Canyon where live the Havasupai Indians. This
is one of the most remote and inaccessible tribes in America.
In some respects it represents a native culture that has main-
tained its characteristics and resisted white influence more
than that of any other tribe. And from another point of view
it has absorbed a great number of the white man's institutions.
The Havasupais remained a tiny ethnological group sufficient
unto themselves because they were so very hard to reach. Na-
ture was their retreat, and for the majority of them, year after
year and century after century, their universe was bounded by
the walls of the giant fissure in which they lived. In a later
section of this book we shall visit the Havasupais and examine
the Land of the Sky Blue Water from a contemporary point
of view. Many of their characteristics today are identical with
those of 1776 when a lone priest was approaching their little
world and they were about to see a white man for the first
time.
The thirteen English colonies had not yet declared their
independence from George III when Padre Garces reached
[49]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
the Land of the Sty Blue Water. The Walapai Indians lived
in the high country above the eroded gashes and canyons and
they were friendly with the Havasupais. It was the Walapai
Cthe Pine-Tree People) who led Garces over 'the difficult
terrain which approaches Havasu Creek and Cataract Canyon
from the southwest. This is known as the Walapai Trail and
it is just as difficult today as it was in 1776 and so is the
Topocoha by which means Garces left.
The Havasupais are extremely friendly people. They smile
at a stranger and bid him, "Tckew Ko-mew [Hello, how are
you]." Wars and torture, and rites of blood and sacrifice, are
foreign to their nature. Life is beautiful and peaceful to the
Havasupai in his rich little canyon surrounded by huge red
walls. He thinks he is on earth to be happyand so he is. He
thinks that way today, and he was thinking that way in 1776.
Garces's diary gives an excellent account of his visit and some
quotations from the original are essential for a measure of
Garces himself.
June 20, 1776. 1 went five leagues east, two northeast, and three
north, the last four of these over very bad ground through some
caxones [canyons] the most profound, though all were well grassed
with plenty of trees. I arrived at a rancheria [any agricultural
settlement was so-called by Garces] which is on the Rio Jdbesua
IJabesua is pronounced almost exactly like Havasu and is the same
word in Spanish version] . . and in order to reach this place I
traversed a strait. This extends about three-quarters [of a league];
on one side is a very lofty cliff, and on the other a horrible abyss.
This difficult road passed there presented itself another and worse
one, which obliged us to leave, I my mule and they [the Walapais]
their horses, in order that we might climb down a ladder of wood.
All the soil of these caxones is red; there is in them much mez-
cal; there are some cows and horses, most of which are branded,
and some have several such marks: I recognized none of them, but
of a single one I doubted whether it were not of the mission San
Ignacio. , * .
[50]
THE LITTLE MAN AND THE BIG CROSS
Probably it was not, as this mission was far south in Sonora,
Mexico. But it is interesting to note that even on this labor of
love, Garces was not without an eye for cattle stolen from the
Franciscan missions. He continues:
I asked these Indians, as I had done before in other rancherias,
whence did they procure these horses and cows; and they replied,
from the Moqui [another name for the Hopi] where there are
many ill-gotten cattle and horses.
I arrived at the place of our stopping for the night, [probably at
the widest, and hence most farmed, spot in Cataract Canyon; it is
the site of a school and resident agent's house todayl and as I saw
the Jabesua Indians well supplied with some pieces of red doth, I
suspected therefrom that they might be some of the Apaches who
harass these provinces. My suspicion increased when the women
came, and among them some whiter than is the rule in other na-
tions. [Garces knew that if these people had Apache blood his life
might be in danger.! In spite of this I had no fear, seeing all well
content at my arrival, and that they embraced with pleasure the
peace proposed with their inveterate enemies, the Jamajabs [Pro-
nounced Hamahabs and meaning the Mojaves. These people occa-
sionally raided the Havasupais and the Havasupais were naturally
pleased that Garces suggested intertribal peace] . * . also did I
propose to them to cultivate pleasant relations with the padres and
the Spaniards who would soon come to live on the Rio Colorado.
So pleasing was the insistency with which they urged me to
remain in this rancheria that as I found myself constrained per-
force in this place, I had to remain five days; during which they
waited upon me and regaled me with flesh of deer and of cow, with
maize, beans, quelites, and mezcal, with all of which they were
well provided. They also eat a berry of the juniper, a tree which is
very abundant in these lands. I had much complacency to see that
as soon as it was dawn each married man with his wife and grown
sons went forth to till his fields, taking the necessary implements,
as hatchets and hoes, all of which they procure from the Moqui
These people go decently clothed, and are very fond of any ted
cloth of Castilla which comes from New Mexico. That there are
[51]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
here women so white, I saw one who looked like a Spaniard. I
attribute it to the situation of the place wherein they live; for this
is so deep that it is ten o'clock in the day when the sun begins to
shine. [The sun comes up as usual, but Garces means that the
side canyon of the Grand Canyon is so deep at this point that it is
ten a.m. before the direct rays come over the rim.] Whithersoever
I have gone I have seen no situation more strong and secure by
nature.
These families do not exceed thirty-four in number [allowing
seven members to the average Havasupai family, they totalled two
hundred and thirty-eight in 1776 which has been a fairly constant
level of population and just about all that the arable land will feed.
They numbered two hundred and fourteen in 1943 according to
the agent's census]. Close by runs the Rio Jabesua, which arises
in the labyrinth of caxones there are in every direction; the course
it here takes is to the northwest and north, and at a little distance
it falls into the Rio Colorado. This [Havasu Creek and not the
Colorado] is a river of middling size but very rapid, and the
Jabesuas utilize it well with many dams and ditches.
During his five-day visit Garces explained Christianity to
two hundred and thirty-eight people who had never heard of
it and who had generally supposed that they and a few nearby
tribes were the only people on earth. After giving it a little
thought they could see no sense to the odd and meaningless
stories of Christian faith. They smiled and said yes, but in-
wardly they felt a bit sorry for this confused stranger who
obviously had no peace of mind such as they tad and who had
to go through life an unfortunate victim of obsession, travel-
ing from place to place talking nonsense. They tried to be very
kind. And thus the first Christian message to penetrate the
Grand Canyon country met not with rebuff, but with polite
sympathy. With crucifixions and torture and mobs and confu-
sion and kings and rabble and miracles and ascensions it
must be a dreadful world this poor white man came from.
[52]
THE LITTLE MAN AND THE BIG CROSS
Why didn't he forego it all and stay here by the laughing blue
water and the majestic red cliffs and the fertile green fields for-
ever? There was plenty for all and the warm sun shone every
day and the nights were cool and everybody was happy. Why
go?
Padre Garces insisted that he had to go on. He had a mis-
sion to perform. There were others who needed to hear his
stories. He could not tarry in one place long. He had demands
upon himself.
The Havasupais smiled among themselves. One of them
thought he had the answer. Perhaps it was that the white
man had to go on because he wanted a wife.
The Franciscan protested.
But they would be happy to provide him a girL Every man
had a wife, and while it was not customary for Havasupai girls
to marry outside the tribe, they could make an exception in
this case since he was obviously a good and well-meaning
man, and if he were to take a Havasupai girl his strange mad-
ness and hallucinations about crosses might pass. And, in
time, he could marry her. It was always done that way. And,
who knows, he might even get to be a medicine man.
Thus the Franciscan found himself a tiny island of Chris-
tian morality entirely surrounded by people of pagan morality.
He decided there was much work to be done before he could
ever bring the Havasupais to Jesus so much, in fact, that to
undertake the teaching would preclude his ever getting to his
destination, Oraibi, and the Hopi people. Putting these chil-
dren of ignorance aside with the mental reservation that here
was a great field for somebody but somebody else Garces
blessed them all for their innate goodness and said a prayer
for their ungodly sins and bade them good-bye. They smilingly
watched him go, and their medicine man said a prayer that
the poor white man's derangements might be healed. And
they never saw each other again,
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Garces' diary omits details between June 20 and June 25,
the time of his five-day visit, but on this latter date he writes
soberly:
I set forth accompanied by five Indians and traveled south and
east, now on horseback, now on foot, but in both these ways with
great exertion, and halted on the slope of the sierra at a scanty
aguage [probably Topocoba Spring], In the afternoon I finished
the most difficult part of it [the ascent]. They cause horror, those
precipicesand thereafter traveling north over good ground with
much grass, and many junipers and pines and other trees among
which I went about three leagues, I arrived at a rancheria which
appertains to the Jabesua, whither had come some of this nation to
gather the first of the juniper. The principal Indian offered himself
to accompany me next day.
It is evident that Garces had ascended the Topocoba Trail
but he does not say what happened to his mule which was
left at the head of the ladder leading down the Walapai Trail.
It is probable that a Walapai guide had brought it around the
rim country to the head of the Topocoba Trail, for as thrifty
and as frugal a man as Garces could not have abandoned a
good mule* Apparently he spent the night at what is now Pas-
ture Wash, and in the morning set out with his one remaining
Havasupai guide. "June 26, 1776. I traveled four leagues
southeast, and south. And turning to the east halted at the
sight of the most profound caxones which ever onward con-
tinue, and within these flows the Rio Colorado/*
Garces was standing on the South Rim of the Grand Can-
yon. He was the first white man to look into the abyss since
Cardenas and his men had stood beside it in amazement in
1540.
'There is seen a very great sierra, which in the distance
looks blue," he wrote, and since he does not say where this
mountain is, it could have been Navajo Mountain a hundred
[54]
THE LITTLE MAN AND THE BIG CROSS
miles to the northeast, or it could have been the Eaihab Pla-
teau to the north across the canyon proper. He is specific,
however, about the topography in general.
And there runs from southeast to northwest a pass, open to the
very base, as if the sierra were cut artificially to give entrance to
the Rio Colorado into these lands. I named this singular pass
Puerto de BiAcareli [Bucareli was Viceroy of Mexico in 1776], and
though to all appearances it would not seem to be very great, the
difficulty of reaching thereunto, I considered this to be impossible
in consequence of the difficult caxones which intervened.
Garces was standing at a spot where the Grand Canyon
lay at his feet to the north, and to the northeast he was looking
straight up the gash cut by Marble Canyon. So very definitely
he was somewhere between what is now Grand Canyon vil-
lage and Grandview Point. "Also were there seen on the north
some smokes, which my companions said were those of the
Indians whom they name Payuches, who live on the other
side of the river."
They do indeed. For that was smoke of a Paiute camp on
the Kaibab Plateau, not only "on the other side of the river"
but on the other side of a gorge a mile deep and ten miles
across. "I am astonished at the roughness of this country and
at the barrier which nature has fixed therein/*
And cogitating upon the strange ways of God, of nature,
of man, the little priest traveled on, following the general
direction of the South Rim and fixing in his mind and record-
ing in his diary the landmarks of the region. He had a quick
sense of contour and he understood the country very well in-
deed as it unfolded its design before him. He met other Indi-
ans and together they journeyed on to Oraibi, the march tak-
ing five days.
It would be pleasant to record that this well-meaning little
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
man was well received by the Hopis, but lie was not. It would
be even more pleasant to record that he spent the rest of his
days in the teaching of Christianity to the red men and that
he died satisfied and happy, knowing that he had served his
God well on earth. And neither did this happen. Garces was
destined for a tragic death.
The Hopis mistrusted him in 1776. He arrived at Oraibi
on the second of July, and the chiefs would not permit him to
enter the houses of the pueblo. He was forced to camp out-
side. The people would have nothing to do with him, al-
though they were curious enough to stare while he cooked his
own supper. On the third of July conditions were no better.
Garces hoped to win the Hopis over to an amicable relation-
ship, but they steadfastly refused to be friends. On the fourth
of July the chiefs and dignitaries dressed up in feathers and
paint, marched to Garces' camp outside the town, and com-
manded him to leave. He held up his crucifix and tried to ex-
plain that he had come to save their souls. They thought it
was bad medicine and some were sullen and others were
openly belligerent. Garces realized that his continued pres-
ence would only aggravate these people further, and so he
sadly and wearily collected his scant supplies, packed them
on his faithful mule, and slowly rode away. His heart was
torn at seeing so many poor Indians going straight to hell for
the lack of only three drops of water which he would gladly
sprinkle over them if only they would let him do it. He
blamed himself, not the Hopis and in his prayers he asked
God to forgive him his failure for surely he must not be pure
in heart or he would have won these people to the faith.
In 1779 he established the Mission Purisima Concepcion
on a hill overlooking the Colorado River on the California
side across from the present city of Yuma. Here his work
among the Yuman Indians was successful, and another mis-
sion called San Pedro y San Pablo was built eight miles down-
[56]
THE LITTLE MAN AND THE BIG GROSS
stream. Garces labored and lived happily for three years, and
doubtless bestowed upon the Yuman Indians with loving care
the saving three drops of water.
Stupid and tyrannical government on the part of Spanish
officials caused the Yuman tribe to revolt in 178L They mur-
dered every Spaniard cleric, layman, and soldier and took
the women prisoners. Against the better judgment of the chief
of the tribe, the warriors clubbed Garces to death while the
little man clung loyally to the cross. And all too late the
Yumans realized that they had martyred their best friend and
the only white man who had ever understood them. It is said
that the Yuman* chief, Captain Palma, who had ordered
Garces alone to be spared, wept over his body. Normally this
story might be discredited, but, when one remembers Garces
and his unselfish labors and the doglike devotion of the
Yuman chief to him, it is probably true*
Thus died Francisco Tomas Garces. His career is impor-
tant in Southwestern history, for not only was he the first
white man to travel along the rim of the Grand Canyon and
to describe it accurately in writing, but he gave a lasting name
to the river that created the canyon, and he spent the remain-
der of his life spreading love and kindness from his Mission
Purisima Concepcion within sight of the stream.
"Soul" is a difficult word because it is used all too easily. It
may be defined, however, as the non-corporeal nature of man,
and again, as the moral and emotional nature as distinguished
from the purely intellectual and scientific, which, however,
it includes. To say of anybody or anything that he or it has a
great soul, is attaching to it something transcendental, or a
priori according to Immanuel Kant. Nevertheless, the word
"soul" is used glibly and is often semantically foggy* In spite
of this risk it can truthfully be said that Francisco Tomas
Garces was a little man with a great soul. The details that he
preached and the methods that he used and his personal Be-
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
liefs have nothing to do with, this conclusion. Had he been
born a Hindu or a Jew he would have preached differently,
but he still would have had a great soul.
And it is poetically just that this little corporeal being who
reflected a great soul should have trudged his way overland
through an unknown wilderness to look upon a work of na-
ture which, in its own way, also reflects a great soul. Padre
Garces and the Grand Canyon had to meet. He was indeed a
Mnd of Bright Angel, and the spiritual zeal of the man has
much in common with the awesome impact and the angelic
power of the canyon. The little man who worshiped the big
cross never stood before a man-made altar which could com-
pare with his "most profound caxones which ever onward con-
tinue." He may not have reasoned thus. It was a union in
spirit.
At the site of the Mission Purisima Concepcion today there
is a government agency and Indian school for the Yumans.
A statue of Padre Garces stands there looking serenely out
over the Colorado River. It will probably stand there as long
as man is on earth. And the river will continue to surge
through the Grand Canyon a few hundred miles upstream
and come rolling down past the statue as long as man is on
earth. Soul has nothing to do with space and time.
[58]
Escalante and Domingaez
J.
' UST what, and where, is the
geographical point known ty the romantic name of El Vado
de los Padres, or the Crossing of the Fathers? Few Americans
have ever heard of it, and fewer still have ever seen it. And
fewer still can say who the "fathers" were and what it is they
crossed and when and why.
Yet this point marks one of the important monuments in
the exploration and winning of the West. A vanguard, or
perhaps, in contemporary vernacular, "a task force," made
contact with the great unknown. Adventure, excitement, ex-
ploration, physical hazards of all kinds; uncertainty, suffering,
daily risks, and the strain on human nerves to the breaking
point all were endured by a party of ten men who have not
been forgotten by American history books, but who, ironically
enough, were never even remembered in the first place.
There are several reasons for this, and the first is that th^
expedition in question set out from Santa Fe, New Mexico,
on July 29, 1776, Now July 4, 1776, was a great day in Amer-
ica and it is fittingly remembered. But there was not a solitary
citizen of the infant United States who had ever heard of Don
Bernardo de Miera y Pacheco. The nation that was to become
the United States of America possessed thirteen Atlantic sea-
board colonies and its influence had hardly been felt west of
the Appalachian chain and certainly not west of the Missis-
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
sippi. As that influence did spread west, however, it carried
on its successive waves the heroes of the Westward Movement
in America. Today everybody can identify Lewis and Clark;
every schoolboy wishes he could have marched with Daniel
Boone; and many a youngster has played at riding the plains
with Kit Carson and Buffalo Bill. But I doubt if any ten-year-
olds have ever begun a game by saying, "111 be Escalante and
you be Dominguez."
The West, which is supposed to be the youngest part of
the United States, is in many respects the oldest. There were
permanent Indian villages in Arizona before Columbus was
born, and these villages exist today. Oraibi and Walpi are but
two examples; Zuni in New Mexico is another. And the Span-
ish city of Santa Fe was a hundred and seventy-one years old
in 1776. The white man has been on the Eastern seaboard
well over three hundred years, but he has been in the Ameri-
can Southwest for more than four hundred,
But the Eastern culture has washed over the Western. The
Spanish outposts have become anglicized and many of the
Spanish heroes have faded in time de Niza, Melchior Diaz,
Ofiate, Ulloa, Garces, Kino are names pertaining to the South-
west, but, beyond that generality, identification is none too
specific in the American mind today. And this is perfectly
understandable, for the incoming civilization from the East
brought its own heroes, while the records of the Spaniards
exist today in the libraries of Mexico and in the archives of the
Deposito de la Guerra in Madrid.
Nothing was known of the area between Santa Fe in the
upper Rio Grande Valley and Monterey on the Pacific Ocean
in California in 1776. No overland journey had been made
between the two Spanish cities and a vast region totally un-
explored lay between them. The Governor of New Mexico
was interested in closing this gap and he encouraged an ex-
pedition. Ten men were selected to make up the party and the
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ESCALANTE AND DOMINGUEZ
most important of the ten, the leader, was a citizen of Santa
Fe, Don Bernardo de Miera y Pacheco. That this journey into
the wilderness should have been known as the de Miera ex-
pedition would seem inevitable and so it was. Yet historians
look blank when you mention it today. And finally a light
dawns and they say, "Oh, you mean Escalante and Domin-
guez yes, very important but I don't know just what it ac-
complishedif anything. Do you?"
Like most other ventures, the de Miera expedition came
into existence for business purposes. Its members went along
for various reasons depending upon their individual ambitions,
but chiefly for prestige, the claiming of new lands, the es-
tablishment of trade routes, financial benefits, and exploita-
tion in general. The Governor of New Mexico urged de
Miera to consider the possibilities of colonizing the huge area
which comprised what is now a large part of New Mexico,
Arizona, Colorado, and all of Utah and Nevada. No small
job. And no white man had ever seen the land through which
the projected route was to go. All they knew was that if they
continued northwesterly and westerly long enough they
should come out at Monterey in California or Somewhere.
It turned out to be only Somewhere.
Under de Miera, the next most important member was a
Spanish priest, Padre Franco Atanacio Dominguez. And third
in importance came another priest, Padre Silvestre Velez de
Escalante. The two fathers were not so much interested in the
extension of trade and commerce as they were in the bringing
of the faith into the wilderness. It was known that there were
aborigines in this hinterland of New Spain. Here was a coun-
try that did not yet know the cross. Onward!
After the leader, and the priests, came the practical men of
business. In importance they ranked in this order:
4. Juan Pedro Cisneros, the mayor of Zuni
5. Joaquin Lain of Santa Fe
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
6. Lorenzo de Olivares of El Paso
7. Juan de Aguilar of Bernalillo
8. Simon Luzero, a servant of Lain
9. Andres Muniz
10. Antonio Muniz.
The last two were not shareholders in the expedition but
were merely employed as guides. That they had never seen
the land over which they were to guide was understood by all;
they were really servants of the expedition, but they had pre-
viously penetrated into northwestern New Mexico and could
"guide' for the first week or two. On July 29, 1776, this
party set forth.
Nobody heard anything more of them for over six months.
Then, on January first, 1777, they arrived back in Santa Fe,
coming in from a totally different direction from that in which
they had started. They had traveled sixteen hundred miles on
direct route and over two thousand counting side trips.
Had they been to Monterey?
No.
Had they found any new trade routes?
No.
Had they made any new converts?
No.
Had they found any new natives to exploit?
No.
Had they seen any mineral wealth gold perhaps?
No.
Had they located the sites for any new colonies?
No.
Well, what in the name of the Blessed Sacrament had they
teen doing all this time?
Walking.
By January second, 1777, a reaction to this expedition had
taken place fn the public consciousness of the city of Santa
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ESCALANTE AND DOMINGUEZ
Fe* It had been a failure, a complete and unmitigated failure.
Those who had backed the expedition had wasted their
money. This fiasco had cost plenty and accomplished nothing.
The attitude was one that in later years was taken toward a
man who proved he could sit on a flagpole for a week, or a
month. It was simply, "So what?" Nobody was going to
finance another trek into that unproductive wilderness. The
high tide of Spanish infiltration into North America had been
reached, and the last wave had washed up onto a barren lit-
toraL Let New Spain consolidate its vast domain, but let it
expand its frontiers no farther. And with the de Miera expe-
dition the Spanish advance northward from Mexico into the
American West came to an end. Historically, this is important.
For had the power of New Spain continued to advance north-
ward and westward until it held by force of physical possess-
ion all of Colorado, Utah, and Nevada, and had it pushed on
and claimed Wyoming and Idaho, the inevitable clash be-
tween such an empire and the westward-moving forces of the
United States would have written another chapter to the so-
called "Mexican War."
Since the de Miera expedition aroused no enthusiasm in
Santa Fe in 1777, it is interesting to examine it in more detail
and find out what was wrong, for oddly enough it was the
first appraisal of one of the richest areas on earth.
The trip had not been ill prepared or impetuously planned.
The forgotten de Miera probably left no account of his trav-
els, but the third member of the party, Escalante, kept a
journal and recorded many facts in careful detail.
It is also interesting, in passing, to note the rise in im-
portance (if the expedition has any claim to importance at
all, and in the long view it truly has) of this man Escalante.
He was no doubt outranked by Dominguez as Dominguez's
name always comes first in the records after de Miera. But
Escalante is a euphonious name. It is somehow more attrac-
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
rive to the Anglo-Saxon ear and eye than either de Miera or
Dominguez. Semi-illiterate men recalled it readily* One of
Major Powell's boatmen, who battled their way down the
treacherous Colorado River in 1869, refers, in a letter, to the
name as "Eskalanty." Posterity has selected it from the list of
ten who made up the trip as the name to survive, and there
are students of the American West who take it for granted
that the whole expedition was made at Escalante's instigation
and that he was the leader. This matters little, but the tricks
played by a name and a hundred and fifty years or more help
to set the supposed course of history.
The party left Santa Fe with pack animals and horses and
moved northwest through the wild but known terrain of New
Mexico, crossed into Colorado, and passed through the valley
In which Durango is now located. Keeping generally north-
ward they saw much of western Colorado and reached the
site of Delta by September first* Slowly they worked north
and west and entered Utah at or near the White River. Here
in the great unknown they discovered what later arrivals
called the Green River, coming down from Wyoming, and
they named this the San Buenaventura. With this party the
Utah wilderness resounded to the tread of horses' hoofs for
the first time, and to this day there are still huge sections of
Utah which can be visited by foot or by horseback only. The
ruggedness of this state has long proven a barrier to man's
efforts, and as for the important Crossing of the Fathers on
the violent Colorado in Southern Utah, you will have to go
by foot or horseback if you wish to see it even now, unless, of
course, you fly.
On September 13, the party reached its northernmost point
and the banners of New Spain were only fifty miles from
what eventually became the very un-Spanish state of Wyo-
ming. In spite of the rambling characteristics of this peregrina-
tion, the leaders were entering the unknown with care and
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ESGALANTE AND DOMINGUEZ
skill and they carried with them the science of the times, as
shown by an entry in Escalante's diary for that day:
Sept. 13, 1776. We took observations by the polar star and found
ourselves in 40 19' latitude. Before Mid-day, we used the quad-
rant to confirm our observations by the sun and found ourselves in
40 59' 24". Judging that trie discrepancy might be caused by some
variation in the needle, in order to find out, we secured the quad-
rant to observe the north star, which remains on the meridian of
the compass at night. So soon as the north star was visible, the
quadrant being on the meridian, we observed that the needle
turned to the northeast. We again made the observation of the
latitude by the north star and found the same, 40 19' as on the
preceding night.
Any expedition capable of checking its latitude by a matter
of minutes and seconds would have a pretty good idea of its
whereabouts at all times, regardless of the terrain. Surely the
"successful" expeditions of Alarco'n and Diaz and Coronado
in the sixteenth century could not have been more accurate.
In fact, we know they were less.
On the twenty-fifth of September the party rested for a
few days beside a lake at what is now the site of the city of
Provo. This is Utah Lake but Escalante called it by another
name.
We ascended a low hill and beheld the lake and extended valley
of Nuestra Senora de la Merced de los Timpanogotzis, as we called
it ... large plains of good land for planting . . . and plenty, if
irrigated, for two or even three large villages. This lake of the
Timpanogotzis abounds in many lands of good fish, and in geese
and in other water fowl that we had not time to see. The Indians
subsist on the abundant fish of the lake, for which reason the
Yutas [Utes] call them fish-eaters.
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
The Indians called Yutas by Escalante were found by him
to be "gentle and affable/' They accepted his gifts and he
took it for granted that they accepted his faith and his teach-
ings, although the truth is that the priest could have made
but little impression on the sluggish and phlegmatic Utes.
Had he told them that he was an emissary of Jupiter or
Buddha it would not have made any difference to the un-
imaginative Ute buck or squaw. But the Indians did tell the
party of a great body of salt water to the north. Oddly, this
phenomenon did not interest de Miera, and the expedition
never saw the Great Salt Lake. They promised the Yutas that
they would return and establish a Spanish colony and a Cath-
olic mission, which caused no particular interest, and then
moved on south and west, searching for the best route to
California and Monterey. And from here on the going was
rough.
The royal road to California was not to be found. To the
west lay deserts and more deserts. One of the more forbidding
they called El Desierto de Silvestre Velez de Escalante, a
dubious honor perhaps, but this alkali waste of southwestern
Utah is still known today as the Escalante Desert.
Things were rapidly pointing toward a crisis. The trip was
not running according to schedule, the hardships became
acute, and for the first time there was dissension within the
party. On the sixteenth of October they reached their most
westerly position, a point on what was to be in later years
the Utah-Arizona boundary due south of the present Mormon
town of St. George. Snow was falling in the high country
which they had left behind, and the burning challenge of
the Nevada deserts presented an unpleasant welcome to the
west California was months ahead, if ever they could make
it at all. Winter was making a retracing of their route im-
possible. Their supplies were almost exhausted and so were
their animals. The party was weary and undernourished and
[66]
ESCALANTE AND DOMINGUEZ
their clothes were ragged. They were almost three months re-
moved from their original base of supplies in Santa Fe, and
apparently the nearest source of relief was still Santa Fe.
What to do?
A council was called and seven opinions were expressed;
the two Muniz brothers and Simon Luzero, the servant of
Joaquin Lain, had no vote. The organization of the party was
not on a democratic basis, and the capitalists and the priests
jockeyed for leadership. The vote on whether to try to reach
California at all odds, or to forego that objective and try to
find some way to return to Santa Fe, was divided four to three,
and this was so close as to demand a recount.
Don Bernardo de Miera was chagrined at the failure of the
mission to find much more than a forbidding wilderness. He
was the titular head and his authority carried weight. He
voted most emphatically to go on. He would not return to
Santa Fe empty-handed and dishonored.
Don Joaquin Lain was with him to the bitter end. Both
had invested money in this expedition, and both would see
it through.
With them, though not so emphatic, was Lorenzo de Oli-
vares of El Paso. He still believed in the ultimate value of
the expedition, but he was ill and weary. Perhaps it would be
best to return to Santa Fe and try it again in the following
year. Still, they were all partners in this venture, and if the
leader was for going on, he would abide by that decision.
Thus, after deliberation, he voted to go on to California.
Juan Pedro Cisneros of Zuni, and Juan de Aguilar of
Bernalillo were of a different mind. California was not just
over the next mountain range or beyond the next desert. It
might be as much as another thousand miles across terrible
country. They preferred to return home to Santa Fe and live
to see California another day.
There remained Escalante and Dominguez, and Domin-
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
guez, be it remembered, was theoretically second in com-
mand. The two priests, very sensibly, voted to return to Santa
Fe. Supplies were gone, and tempers were at the breaking
point. Only more suffering in a hostile country lay ahead; but
by working due east as directly as the topography would allow,
they had a chance, no matter how slight, of reaching the
Indian villages of the Painted Desert, and then Zuni and
Santa Fe. When the poll was closed, the vote stood three for
California and four for Santa Fe.
The California contingent was not satisfied, and a rift and
separation seemed imminent. Escalante suggested to let the
decision rest with God. There was no gainsaying this attitude
and everyone agreed. Lots would be drawn: a long stick,
California; a short stick, Santa Fe. Dominguez provided the
prayers and Escalante provided the sticks and Don Bernardo
de Miera had the honor of choosing. He hesitated, looked
first east and then west, closed his eyes and drew the short
stick.
It was Santa Fe.
And here the leadership passed, if not politically, at least
practically, from the aristocracy back to the church. Escalante
and Dominguez took over, and in his journal, Escalante states,
with a smile between the lines: 'We all accepted this, thanks
be to God, willingly and joyfully." Dominguez disposed of the
sticks that Escalante had selected to indicate the decision of
God. The blessed short stick meant Santa Fe. But when
Dominguez destroyed them, he forgot to tell the others in the
party that although the winning stick was definitely short,
the other stick was even shorter.
But they were not yet out of the woods or the deserts or
the badlands. Carefully taking their bearings, the two priests
set out for Santa Fe and the rest of the party followed.
Again the expedition was a cohesive unit and of one mind.
And while leadership had changed, spirits were higher. And
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ESCALANTE AND DOMINGUEZ
well they might be. For if Escalante and God tad not con-
trived to convince the overly ambitious that a return to Santa
Fe was the only and wise decision, they would most surely
have died of thirst in the blistering deserts of Nevada.
As it was, they suffered mightily and were forced to eat
some of their pack animals, but all knew that they were now
moving under God's guidance and that somehow they would
get through. Such faith cannot fail. They got through.
Southward into Arizona the priests led the way, following
a valley one day to be known as Toroweap. Ahead lay the
great impassable gorge of the Grand Canyon, but they did
not know it. Within ten miles of this hopeless barrier, faith
led the way, and the priests turned east, missed the North
Rim of the canyon, and finally found Kanab Creek. From
here they needle-threaded along what in later years was to be
the Arizona-Utah border. It is safe to say that they never knew
how close to the Grand Canyon they were. But they must
have known of it, they must have sensed its proximity, and
carefully they avoided it.
East across the Kaibab Plateau they led the weary through
a country no white man had ever seen and yet, as true as the
terrain would allow, drawn like a steel filing to a magnet,
they marched straight to the only chance in a thousand they
had for survival.
For now it was no joke, and no game to be played with
sticks. It was life or death and every day counted, possibly
every hour. Neither Escalante nor Dominguez could have
known that the terrible Colorado River had an Achilles heel.
Neither priest could possibly have guessed or reasoned that
there was but one spot in the hundreds of miles either up-
stream or downstream that would permit them to cross. Yet
they marched straight to that spot*
Having avoided the yawning trap of the Grand Canyon,
they skirted Marble Canyon, picked their way high above
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
a violent and savage stream, and descended at last to the
Colorado River by a side canyon so tortuous that the party
had to hew its way by cutting steps down the side of a pre-
cipitous cliff in order to lead their animals down step by step.
It was mountain climbing of the most dangerous order* But
to the priests it was faith. They never doubted, and they were
saved.
They reached the river on November 7, 1776, and this
was the last little joker. For if the river is high at this point,
a crossing is out of all reason; if it is low, a ford is possible
though always dangerous. High water meant slow death by
starvation; low water meant a chance to cross and reach the
Hopi Indian villages a hundred and fifty miles to the south in
Arizona's Painted Desert.
The priests were not worried. The water would have to be
low, and it was.
And there, deep in a canyon of the mighty Colorado, they
made, on the seventh day of November, 1776, the epic Cross-
ing of the Fathers,
A certified copy of Escalante's diary containing a facsimile
of the page describing the crossing was made by Charles F.
Lummis from the original manuscript in the Ramirez collection,
and may be seen in the library of the Southwest Museum in
Los Angeles. It is a pity that such a fine scholar of the South-
west as Charles Lummis did not append his own translation.
Interpreting freely but keeping as close to Escalante's style
as practical, I offer the priest's own description as follows:
* * , here the river is very wide, and judging by the course it
runs not very deep; but only by means of an adjacent canyon would
we be able to descend to it. We sent two of our party to examine
this [canyon] as well as the ford of the river, and they came back
saying it would be too difficult. We did not give much credence to
this information and we ourselves, accompanied by Don Juan
[70]
ESCALANTE AND DOMINGUEZ
Pedro Cisneros, are determined to examine it tomorrow. Before
dark the Janizaries arrived.
Seventh Day. We went very early to inspect the canyon and the
ford, taking the two Janizaries [the Muniz brothers] as they might
"be able to cross the river since they were good swimmers. In de-
scending the said canyon it was necessary for the protection of the
animals, to make steps with an axe in a large rock for the distance
of three rods or a little less. By this means the horses were able to
pass, although without goods or packs. We went down the canyon,
walked one mile, and arrived at the river; and we continued along
the narrow strip of shore beside the water to its very limit which
brought us to the widest part of the stream. And here, it appeared,
was a ford.
The river is a hundred and fifty yards wide at this spot
and the ford today is not straight and obvious, but follows
treacherous sandbars. It could have been no better in 1776.
Escalante's diary continues:
One of the Janizaries entered on foot and found it to be suffi-
ciently good so that it was not necessary for him to swim. Following
him on horseback we went in a little deeper, and in the middle of
the river our two horses lost their footing and swam in the main
channel which lay ahead. We held ourselves back, notwithstand-
ing some danger, until the foot crosser returned from the far bank
to conduct us. Thus we crossed with ease without straining the
horses who arrived still swimming.
We informed our companions who had remained behind that
with ropes and lariats they could make a cautious descent, bringing
the harness, saddles, and other utensils by way of the large rock
which was hazardous but not insuperable, hence to the head of the
ford and by this means, they could bring the rest of the caravan
down by the route which we had come. They did so, and by five
in the afternoon they completed the crossing of the river. We gave
praise to God, our Father, and fired some guns in token of the
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
great relief we all felt In having conquered so great a barrier which
had caused us so much work and delay.
Here Is the literal description of the first crossing of the
Colorado River in its canyon regions by white men. It' Is one
more masterpiece of understatement. The chances for success
were one In a thousand a miracle. Elation must have been
internal and external quiet and vociferous. But Escalante,
never an expansive man, is content to say "we fired some
guns" when an imaginative emotionalist would have wept and
shouted for joy.
Once on the south bank of the river the party was reason-
ably safe.
The last lap into Oraibi was painful and difficult, but the
dangers were over. Faith with a couple of short sticks had
won.
The threadbare and starving group reached Oraibi on No-
vember 16 and here they rested and recuperated. And at last,,
by way of Zuni, they returned over familiar ground to Santa
Fe and marched into the surprised city on New Year's Day y
1777.
The exploit of Escalante and Dominguez is remarkable no
matter how one looks at it. Whether it be their faith and trust
in the efficacy of prayer, or whether the fabulous Bright Angel
of the Grand Canyon region guided their footsteps to the only
possible escape back to civilization, or whether it should be
defined by the indefinable and called "a miracle" no matter
how we look at It, the whole story is amazing and incredible.
But it happened.
De Miera and Company got nothing for their pains. The
land over which they had struggled, rich in every mineral
known to man, was discounted as worthless, its arable acreage
negligible in view of the whole, and Its aborigines backward
and hardly worth converting and certainly not worth exploit-
[72]
ESCALANTE AND DOMINGUEZ
ing as workers or slaves. De Miera drew a large and detailed
map of the region in Santa Fe in 1777. Nobody cared to study
it. The Spanish Empire, long past its prime, was fast crum-
bling. The map was sent to Mexico City and finally to Spain.
It is still gathering dust in the archives of the War Depart-
ment in Madrid today. But Herbert S. Auerbach has pub-
lished an excellent reproduction of it along with some perti-
nent comment in the Utah Historical Quarterly.
Escalante and Dominguez never returned to bring the faith
to their Yuta Indians. The promised mission was never built;
the fertile valleys of central Utah were forgotten; the sphere
of Spanish influence moved no farther north than the head-
waters of the Rio Grande. The de Miera expedition, penetrat-
ing almost to Wyoming, was the high-water mark of New
Spain, and from there the Spanish tide receded.
The ineffective results of de Miera and Company had only
a negative place in history. De Miera had not been backed
by Mexico or Madrid. His "was not a military expedition to
forward the course of empire. He was merely a business man
who had invested unwisely, and destiny never intended him
to be another Cortes. His fiasco wrote finis to the flood tide
of Spanish infiltration into the American West.
There were a couple of final laps, of course, notably a
little-known expedition by Manuel Mestas in 1805 and an
even more obscure party led by Mauricio Arze in 1813 into
Utah. But these were quickly forgotten, and the great Rocky
Mountain region and Great Basin area were practically vir-
gin territory to the first American explorers, scouts, and trap-
persthe Patties, Jedediah Smith, and William Ashley, ad-
vance guards of the expanding United States in the eighteen
twenties.
New Spain ceased to exist in 1821, and Mexico rose from
its ashes. The new country had no more interest in Utah in
1821 than we have today in Betelgeuse perhaps less. By
[73]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
1846 the Mexican War was fought "between Washington and
Mexico City over who was going to get what in the American
Southwest. As Mexico says today, 'We compromised; the
United States got it all." This is not entirely accurate. By the
end of the war, 1848, Mexico had little more than a paper
claim to the lands of Colorado, Utah, and Nevada, and this
was due entirely to the failure to follow up the de Miera ex-
pedition. It was there for the taking in 1776, and New Spain
didn't want It. Had she established garrisons and outposts
along the de Miera route, It is entirely conceivable that the
history of the American West would have followed quite a
different pattern.
Today the de Miera expedition has become backstage his-
tory. Its leader is unknown, as Escalante and Dominguez
have risen to the surface of the story for the few people who
know of it at all. And about all that is popularly known about
the two priests is that they crossed a river at some place, still
inaccessible, called the Crossing of the Fathers. Who or what
or where or why is of little concern. But haw they ever found
the crossing is truly a mystery. It was in the cards for Escalante
and Dominguez and the rest of the party to perish in the rocky
fastness of the Grand Canyon or any of the adjacent gorges.
Only Escalante and the Bright Angel know why they did not.
[74]
Lieutenant Ives Is Mot Amused
"Ax
LAST we reached the
place where the river emerges from these horrid mountains/'
wrote James Ohio Pattie, "which so cage it up as to deprive
all human beings of the ability to descend to its banks and
make use of its waters. No mortal has the power of describing
the pleasure I felt when I could once more reach the banks
of the river."
James Ohio, and his father, Sylvester Pattie, were trappers
who explored much of New Mexico and Arizona in 1825.
They reached the lower Colorado in the vicinity of what is
today Yuma and worked upstream, following the general
course of the river, all the way through Utah and into Wyo-
ming. Most of the time they didn't know where they were ex-
cept "out west/' They were the first white men to travel
throughout the entire Rocky Mountain region and this
achievement has been forgotten in the rising tide of history.
Their exploit was remarkable, and an account of it was pub-
lished in book form by John H. Wood, as edited by Timothy
Flint, in Cincinnati in 1831. Yet the student of the American
West will search a long time before he will find a copy of
The Personal Narrative of James Q. PaUie of Kentucky in
American libraries.
The Patties skirted the Grand Canyon for its entire length
and James Ohio later wrote in his book, 'We were compelled
[75]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
to climb a mountain and travel along its acclivity, the river
still in sight, and at an immense depth beneath us." For weeks
they traveled overland, suffering at times for lack of food but
surviving on whatever game they could kill. "It is this very
long and formidable range of mountains/* wrote James Ohio,
"which has caused that this country has not been more ex-
plored."
Remarkable conclusion. He might as well have written:
"The reason men have not explored the moon is due to the
fact that they have not yet been able to reach it." But if
Pattie's book is naive and humorless, it is important Ameri-
cana. And significant is his dominating adjective "horrid,"
It seems odd to us today that anyone summing up the Grand
Canyon region would choose "horrid" as the quintessential
description, yet the sober and literal Mr. Pattie is not inac-
curate. The word derives from the Latin, meaning "rough,"
and rough the region was and is.
But one thing is certain: the Patties did not like it and said
so. In this they were not alone.
The Patties left the only record of the country between
the Spanish priests in 1776 and Lieutenant Joseph C. Ives
in 1858, and like the Patties, Lieutenant Ives was not amused.
Jedediah Smith, a great name in the West, passed close to
the Grand Canyon area in 1826, traveling southwest through
Utah and descending the Virgin River to its confluence with
the Colorado. He called the Colorado by still another name,
the Seedskeedee. This is a Crow Indian word meaning Prairie
Hen, apparently an inapt name until one realizes that the
Crows lived far to the North in Wyoming where the head-
waters of the Colorado's tributaries did indeed support range
For prairie hens. Here it was the Seedskeedee River, so as far
as Jedediah Smith was concerned, it was still the Seedskeedee
it a point now inundated by Lake Mead back of Boulder
[76]
LIEUTENANT IVES IS NOT AMUSED
Dam. Smith went on west, leaving the canyon country to
await the coming of Lieutenant Ives.
An official expedition to explore the Colorado River from
the delta to the head of navigation, wherever that might prove
to be, was instigated in 1857 in Washington by the Office of
Explorations and Surveys.
Lieutenant Ives, who had seen some of the lower Cblorado
the year before, was put in charge. He was going to do it
properly. A stern-wheeler was built in Philadelphia and given
a trial run on the Delaware River in the spring of 1857. It
worked perfectly on the Delaware, so there was no reason why
it would not work on the Colorado. This was Washington
reasoning on the part of gentlemen in the Office of Explora-
tions and Surveys who had never been west of Harper's Ferry
on the Potomac. The proud stern-wheeler, in honor of the
office, was called the Explorer until the Colorado took it in
hand.
The Explorer was dismantled and shipped in sections from
Philadelphia by way of Panama to Robinson's Landing at the
mouth of the Colorado. Here it was reassembled and trouble
began. The strain on the vessel in the gentle Delaware proved
to have been no test for the strain presented by the ten- and
fifteen-foot waves at the tidal bore of the Colorado. No sooner
was the Explorer launched than the Colorado gave it a playful
slap and cracked the hulL For the first time, in what was to
be a series of incidents, Lieutenant Ives was not amused.
This caused a delay until timbers and bolts could be sent
from San Francisco, and the Explorer was patched up. But it
never equaled its trial performance on the Delaware, nor was
the Colorado yet through with it.
In spite of the elaborate preparations on the part of Wash-
ington, this expedition had not been well plamied. There had
been previous steamers on the Colorado the General Jessuy
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
and tlie Uncle Sam, "both of which had been ignominiously
sent to the bottom by the river a few years earlier. Captain
Johnson, who owned the General Jessup, tried again, and
called has new boat the Colorado, in an effort to placate the
river. It was a shallow draft stern-wheeler one hundred and
twenty feet long and the river begnidgingly allowed it to
operate for a number of years. Thus the Colorado had puffed
and snorted up and down stream before the Explorer arrived.
All Washington had needed to do was to charter the Colorado
from Captain Johnson, whose boat was for rent, and thereby
save the expense of designing^ building, testing, dismantling,
shipping, reassembling, and reconstructing the Explorer
all of which must have been extremely costly. But Washing-
ton didn't do things that way in 1857.
Ives's ship was only half the length of Captain Johnson's
Colorado which made her more maneuverable, but unfortu-
nately Johnson was familiar with the river and Ives was not.
Moreover, the human frailties were present and Ives and
Johnson considered each other rivals. Probably Johnson re-
sented not having a fat government contract for himself and
his steamer, so just to show Washington what a mistake it had
made he proceeded to steam to the head of navigation himself
and what is more he did it before Ives could get there.
Lieutenant Ives, on a serious scientific expedition, chose to
ignore Johnson's existence. After all, who was this river-
runner to be recognized by the Office of Explorations and
Surveys? Nobody.
It was December 30, 1857, before the Explorer could be
repaired and made ready for action. The next day the great
trip began, and in January, 1858, the party reached Yuma.
Johnson was far ahead in his steamer and doing nicely, but the
poor Explorer was having a bad time of it. She ran aground;
even with full steam up, she was swept downstream by the
changing current, and she was rocked and shipped an alarm-
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LIEUTENANT IVES IS NOT AMUSED
ing amount of water. Everyone in the party agreed on one
point; the Explorer was the ideal ship to explore the Delaware
River. At times she had to be towed from the shore, and Ives
was unable to enlist the towing service of the Cocopahs or the
Yumans as Alarcon had done, for now these people knew
that white men did not come from the sun after all The
Indians sat on the banks and laughed.
Somehow the party managed to move upstream and they
passed the site of Needles. Here they were watched by Mo-
jave Indians, and one of these was hired by Ives as a guide. The
Lieutenant's choice was excellent. The Indian's name was
Ireteba and Ives gives him full credit as an assistant, saying,
"This Indian is the finest I have ever met ... he is invaluable
* . . quickly learns English words . . . and is expert at drawing
maps on the ground." The Explorer, however, was still in
trouble, and Ives is loyal to his ship and apologizes for it by
saying: "It is probable that there is not one season in ten when
the Explorer would encounter one fourth the difficulty that
she had during the unprecedentedly low stage of water."
They passed Johnson who was now coming downstream,
having reached the head of navigation in Black Canyon where
Boulder Dam stands today. It is said that Ives failed to return
Johnson's salute, though it is hard to believe this of the Lieu-
tenant. In his account of his expedition, however, he barely
mentions Johnson and never says a word about the rival
steamer.
At low water there are small rapids even this far down on
the river, and through these hazards the Explorer had to be
towed. That she survived at all is a wonder. At last they came
to Black Canyon. So little was known about this country in
1858 that Ives thought this might be the beginning of the
Grand Canyon, though he quickly learned better. The tat-
tered Explorer puffed bravely on and all hands rejoiced as she
seemed to take a new lease on life and gain speed. The current
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
slackened and Ives counted on a good day's run. It was full
speed ahead.
Then came a terrible crash.
The Explorer had run into a sunken rock, splitting her
bow* So abrupt was her stop that men on the forward deck
were thrown overboard, those on the af terdeck were thrown
into the machinery, the boiler was set askew on its support,
the entire wheelhouse was ripped off, the stern-wheel was
jammed, the steampipe was broken, leaks occurred in her bot-
tom, the funnel leaned like the tower of Pisa, and the whole
ship groaned like a harpooned and dying whale.
The man who had been holding the sounding pole at the
bow was fished out of the river. It had been his job to keep
calling soundings, and as soon as he could talk, with water
still running out of his mouth and ears he shouted, ^Egad,
Lieutenant, I believe we may have reached the head of navi-
gation! Stop her!"
Egad, they had.
And, egad, the Colorado had stopped her for good. In her
sinking condition the crew managed to get her onto a sand-
bank. And there she rested, done in.
Lieutenant Ives was not amused. He turned from the wreck
of the Explorer and looked at the country* In his record he
mentions reaching "the head of navigation" and he describes
not the Explorers condition, but the scenery instead. It was
a much more pleasant subject. "No description," he wrote,
"can convey an idea of the varied and majestic grandeur of
this peerless waterway. Wherever the river makes a turn, the
entire panorama changes, and one startling novelty after an-
other appears and disappears with bewildering rapidity."
What most men would have written under the circumstances
wouldn't have been fit to print. And what is more, Ives well
knew that Captain Johnson had steamed at least twenty miles
farther upstream than his wreck of an Explorer. The Lieu-
[80]
LIEUTENANT IVES IS NOT AMUSED
tenant showed great self-control Indeed, and from Bis com-
position one might say his talents were misplaced; he could
have written excellent travel-folder copy.
Steamboating was now out of the range of possibility. Ives
was well supplied with an overland pack train. So he returned
to the Mojave country at Needles and reorganized his expe-
dition. From now on they would go overland, and here Ireteba
proved his inestimable value.
The party moved northeast from Needles, following a
route similar to that taken by Padre Garces in 1776.
Descending Diamond Creek in northwestern Arizona, they
again reached the Colorado River and this time they were in
the western reaches of the Grand Canyon. With Lieutenant
Ives was Dr. J. S. Newberry, an eminent geologist of the
times, and also two artists, F. W. Egloffstein and H. B. Moll-
hausen. These men were stunned and awed by the propor-
tions of the Grand Canyon country and Ives describes New-
berry as being in a geologist's heaven. Perhaps "the two artists
were in a kind of heaven, too, but their sketches of the locality
particularly Egloffstein's are surprising. These drawings
serve to illustrate Ives' Report on the Colorado River of the
West, printed as a senatorial document in Washington in
1861. Egloffsteias work is anything but realistic. The mag-
nificent proportions of the canyons are exaggerated in order
to create an awesome effect, and as impressions they serve a
purpose, but as reproductions of what Egloffstein saw they
were about as faithful as illustrations of scenes from the Di-
vine Comedy.
At the mouth of Diamond Creek and the Colorado River,
much farther upstream than the poor Explorer could have
reached except in pieces, Ives called the spot "Big" Canyon.
The name Grand Canyon was not yet in use and it remained
for Major John Wesley Powell to christen it thus in 1869.
The Ives expedition, led by Ireteba, continued east over
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
rough and rugged terrain. The going was difficult and the
party endured the hardships, believing they were the first to
traverse this area. They knew nothing of Father Gaxces or
even the Patties. The farther east they went the less Ireteha
knew of the country. They were now beyond the homeland
of the Mojaves and into that of the Walapais, and Ireteba
procured a couple of Walapai guides.
Lieutenant Ives was not favorably impressed with these lat-
ter Indians. "They stink/' he frankly said, and commented
later that they did not live up to the Fenimore Cooper tradi-
tion of what Indians should be. 'They are a lowly type and
to eat is their one idea.'* Nevertheless, it was a case of Walapai
guides or no guides at all. And the trip was made even more
unpleasant a few days later when Ireteba would go no farther.
He shook hands with Ives, and the Lieutenant loaded him
down with presents and he returned to his people at Needles.
Twenty-four hours later both Walapai guides disappeared,
leaving the party stranded in the high desert country of ar-
royos, canyons, and mesas.
At night, however, the Walapais returned, saying that they
had merely gone to search for water. They led the party to a
small spring and here they camped. In the morning the Wala-
pais were gone again, and this time they took all the food and
blankets that they could carry.* As guides, Lieutenant Ives
found them disappointing. He dismissed their peccadilloes
with a few words and again described the scenery.
They were getting into high country, and the altitude and
the cold increased as they went on. Not only were they having
Indian trouble, but also water trouble and mule trouble.
When they left a small spring it was a question of whether
they would find water again that day or notor for a number
of days. There was no way to explain this to the mules. They
weren't thirsty in the morning and they wouldn't drink, Ives
wrote, 'The mules, ignorant of what was before them, re-
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LIEUTENANT IVES IS NOT AMUSED
fused, as mules often do, to drink on the morning before leav-
ing camp." Three dry days went by and Ives adds, "They
became too thirsty to graze and filled the air with their distress-
ing cries/' It was all very unpleasant indeed.
They found more Walapais and by commandeering and
bribing, they succeeded in retaining them for guides. Why
this party, twenty-five strong, was in such dire need of guid-
ance is not clear. Certainly one experience with the untrust-
worthy Walapais should have been sufficient. But this was a
scientific expedition and as such it must have Its native guide.
Things were done that way. These new Walapais, of course,
ran away at the first opportunity taking a mule with them.
The party had been equipped for the warm region of
the Colorado River, and now they were at an elevation of
more than five thousand feet and constantly getting higher.
They lost a man who went out on his own to hunt deer and a
day was wasted while the others searched for him. A snow-
storm broke and the man barely got back ahead of it. What
Ives said to the man is not recorded, but It is certain that
neither of them was amused by the incident.
It was the twelfth of April, 1858, and the snow, fortu-
nately, or unfortunately, did not last long. In fact, it melted
within twenty-four hours and again there was the problem
of water. This time the parched mules solved it In their own
mulish way. They craftily waited their chances and then
broke away and ran or trotted all the way back to the last
spring. The men had to pursue them on foot, and if anyone
has ever tried to overtake a mule who doesn't want to be
caught, he can well understand the irritation of the Ives Ex-
pedition. The mules kept In sight but just out of reach and
the party had to follow them back almost to the point where
they had parted with their Mojave guide, Ireteba. By this
time, nobody, not even the geologists or the artists, was
amused.
[83]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
It miglit liave seemed like common sense at this time to go
the mules one better and return all the way to Needles. But
Ives, quite understandably? could not bring himself to do
this. His river trip had been a fiasco; another steamer had
reached the head of navigation instead of his Explorer; and
the whole mission to explore the Colorado River had become
demoralized in high and dry and cold mountains. This was
no report to make to Washington. So the mules were watered
and they began again.
Back over the Garces trail they went and this time they
penetrated farther into the wilderness of mesas, canyons, and
badlands that buttress the Grand Canyon country on the west,
A dizzy trail wound around a cliff and the party moved in
single file. Without knowing it they were following in Garces'
very footsteps, for this was the Walapai Trail which led then
and leads today to the long hidden canyon of the Havasupai
Indians deep in a side cleft of the Grand Canyon.
"I rode first/' wrote Ives in his report, "and the rest of the
party and train followed one by one looking very much like
a row of insects crawling upon the side of a building."
After a mile of this the trail narrowed so that there were
only three inches between the mule and a thousand-foot drop.
'The sight made my head swim," continues Ives, "and I
dismounted and got ahead of the mule, a difficult and deli-
cate operation, which I was thankful to have safely per-
formed. A part of the men became so giddy that they were
obliged to creep on their hands and knees, being unable to
walk or stand."
At last they reached a place so dangerous that the mules
would go no farther. Fortunately there was a wide spot nearby
where the animals could be turned around. The mules were
then sent back with some of the party to form a base camp,
and Ives and the others determined to continue on foot
[84]
LIEUTENANT IVES IS NOT AMUSED
The Lieutenants first Band account is vivid and colorful
and should be told in his own words.
Lieutenant Tipton, Mr. Egloffstein, Mr. Peacock and myself,
with a dozen men, formed the party to explore the canyon. It was
about five miles to the precipice. [The point of farthest advance of
the mules.] The descent of the latter was accomplished without
serious trouble. In one or two places the path traversed smooth in-
clined ledges, where the insecure fooling made the crossing dan-
gerous. The bottom of the canyon, which from the summit looted
smooth, was covered with hills thirty or forty feet high. Along the
center we were surprised to find an inner canyon, a kind of under-
cellar, with low walls at the starting point, which were soon con-
verted into lofty precipices, as the base of the ravine sank deeper
and deeper into the earth. Along the bottom of this gorge we
followed the trail, distinctly seen when the surface was not cov-
ered with rocks. Every few moments, low falls and ledges, which
we had to jump or slide down, were met with, till there had ac-
cumulated a formidable number of obstacles to be encountered in
returning.
This, be it remembered, is but a side canyon of the Grand
Canyon proper, and Lieutenant Ives > description of the terrain
in 1858 might just as well have been written to describe the
area today. Man has touched this part of Arizona hardly at
all. He continues:
Like other canyons, it was circuitous, and at each turn we were
impatient to find something novel or interesting. We were deeper
in the bowels of the earth than we had ever been before, and sur-
rounded by walls and towers of such imposing dimensions that it
would be useless to attempt describing them; but the effects of
magnitude had begun to pall, and the walk from the foot of the
precipice was monotonously dull; no sign of life could be discerned
[85]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
above or below. At the end of thirteen miles from the precipice an
obstacle presented itself that there seemed to be no possibility of
overcoming. A stone slab, reaching from one side of the canyon
to the other, terminated the place which we were descending.
Looking over the edge it appeared that the next level was forty
feet below. This time there was no trail along the side bluffs, for
these were smooth and perpendicular. A spring of water rose from
the bed of the canyon above, and trickled over the ledge forming a
pretty cascade. It was supposed that the Indians must have come
to this point merely to procure water, but this theory was not alto-
gether satisfactory, and we sat down upon the rocks to discuss the
matter.
Mr. Egloffstein lay down by the side of the creek, and pro-
jecting his head over the ledge to watch the cascade, discovered a
solution of the mystery. Below the shelving rock, and hidden by it
and the fall, stood a crazy looking ladder made of rough sticks
bound together with thongs of bark.
This was "the ladder of wood," described by Padre Garces,
which forced him to leave his mule and continue on foot. For
the first time in eighty-two years the white race had come
again, and the solitary priest was at last followed by the sol-
dier, the scientist, and the artist. Probably it was the same
ladder with only minor repairs that Garces had used, but
this party did not have the priest's blind faith or good luck.
Ives continues with this description of the ladder:
It was almost perpendicular, and rested upon a bed of angular
stones. The rounds had become rotten from the incessant flow of
water. Mr. Egloffstein, anxious to have the first view of what was
below, scrambled over the ledge and got his feet on the upper
round. Being of solid weight, he was too much for the insecure
fabric, which commenced giving way. One side, fortunately stood
firm, and holding on to this with a tight grip, he made a precipi-
tate descent. The other side and all the rounds broke loose and
[86]
LIEUTENANT IVES IS NOT AMUSED
accompanied Mm to the bottom in a general crash, effectually
cutting off the communication,
Leaving us to devise means of getting him back he ran to the
bend to explore. The bottom of the canyon had been reached. He
found that he was at the edge of a stream, ten or fifteen yards
wide, fringed with cottonwoods and willows. [Havasu Creek as it
is today.] The walls of the canyon spread out for a short distance
leaving room for a narrow belt of bottom land, on which were
fields of corn and a few scattered huts.
This is the heart of Havasupailand and the tiny and remote
settlement of Supai, Arizona, the most inaccessible post office
in the United States even now. There are two or three Indians
living there today who were little boys at the time of Egloff-
stein's inglorious arrival bottom first. And the venerable chief
Watahomogie, if he is well over a hundred as his reputation
insists, must have been a young man in his prime in 1858.
Lieutenant Ives did not descend the last long step into Cata-
ract Canyon and the home of the smiling people. The im-
petuous Mr. Egloffstein had precluded that. But Ives could
scramble up to a vantage point and look below.
A place was found near the ledge where one could clamber a
little way up the wall, and we thus got a view of the valley. The
canyon, Mr. Egloffstein saw, could not be followed far; there were
cascades just below. He perceived, however, that he was very near
to its mouth, though perhaps at a thousand feet greater altitude,
and an Indian pointed out the exact spot where it united with the
canyon of the Rio Colorado.
Egloffstein was not as near to the Colorado as he thought.
It is a good six miles from the heart of Havasupailand to the
Colorado over a tough trail and there are three more large
waterfalls in between. Ives continues his observations:
[87]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
These Yampais [his name for Havasupais] did not differ much
from the Walapais in general appearance. They were perhaps a
trifle cleaner and more respectable. It is probable that, all told, they
do not number more than two hundred persons. One of them ac-
companied Mr. Egloffstein to the foot of the ledge, and intimated
a willingness to go with us to camp, but when he saw the broken
ladder he gave up his intention. The accident did not appear
otherwise to concern him. There must have been some other trail
leading to the retreat, for the use of the ladder had evidently been
long abandoned.
There was, of course, the Topocoba Trail by means of
which Padre Garces left. This is the main trail today for sup-
plies and occasional tourists from Grand Canyon to Supai.
In 1858 it must have been just as hazardous as the ground
over which Ives had come, but he never saw it. If he was a
little provoked with the artist for preventing Mm from being
the first of the party to descend to the floor of the canyon, he
conceals his opinion and continues his narrative:
Having looked at all that was to be seen, it now remained to get
Mr, Egloffstein back. The slings upon the soldiers' muskets were
taken off and knotted together, and a line thus made which
reached to the bottom. Whether it would support his weight was a
matter of experiment. The general impression was that it would
not, but of the two evilsbreaking his neck or remaining among
the Yampais he preferred the former, and fastened the strap
around his shoulder. It was a hard straight lift. The ladder pole was
left and rendered great assistance both to us and the rope, and the
ascent was safely accomplished. We invited the Indian to follow
Mr. Egloffstein's example, but this he energetically declined* The
examination being finished it was time to return.
It is dear from the account that R M. Egloffstein was the
only member of the expedition to set foot in Cataract Canyon
[88]
LIEUTENANT IVES IS NOT AMUSED
and mingle with the Havasupais. And he was there for a
matter of hours only. This explains why the Ives report lacks
the detail about the Havasupai people which is present in the
diary of Padre Garces who spent five days among them.
The party returned to its base camp and continued to ex-
plore the area and reached a point on the rim of what Ives
still called "Big" Canyon, This was a considerable distance
west of the present El Tovar Hotel and Bright Angel Trail,
and the party was greatly impressed. Ives says, 'We paused
in wondering delight. There are fissures so profound the eye
cannot penetrate their depths . . . and slender spires that seem
tottering on their bases shoot up thousands of feet from the
vaults below,"
This was literary enthusiasm of the moment, Ives' sense
of appreciation was always great and his report is consistently
well written. It was only that the difficulties and disappoint-
ments and hardships of the trip as a whole dampened his
ardor. Throughout his writing there is an unselfish heroism
and a zealous desire to perform his job faithfully* And there
is a constant attempt to play down the vicissitudes and play
up the scenery whenever the going was rough.
After having examined the area thoroughly, however, his
scenic escapism collapses with a bang and the long-delayed
honest reaction comes forth. The whole expedition had failed
to come off with the glory that he had expected. It had been
plain hard and thanldess work. And both the river and the
terrain were more than he had been prepared to combat. After
moving south and east from the Grand Canyon to the area
around the San Francisco Peaks, the party worked its way
east, through the Painted Desert and die Hopi country and
concluded their travels at the government post of Fort De-
fiance in eastern Arizona. Ives was glad that it was over, and
he never expected to do it again. Oddly enough he never
[89]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
learned that Cardenas had been there in 1540, and Garces
In 1776, and that Escalante and Domingnez had crossed the
Colorado in its canyon regions the same year as Garces. Nor
had he ever heard of the two Patties, father and son, who
skirted the Grand Canyon in 1825.
At his "Camp 74" on April 18, 1858, he wrote what he
really thought, and such a truly honest statement should he
quoted to show not so much what Ives thought of the area
as to show what the area had done to Ives.
The region is altogether valueless. It can be approached only
from the south, and after entering it there is nothing to do but
leave. Ours has been the first, and doubtless will be the last, party
of whites to visit this profitless locality. It seems intended by nature
that the Colorado River along the greater part of its lonely and
majestic way, shall be forever unvisited and undisturbed. The
handful of Indians that inhabit the sequestered retreats where we
discovered them, have probably remained in the same condition,
and of the same number, for centuries. The country could not
support a large population, and by some provision of nature they
have ceased to multiply. . . .
In other words, it is neither pleasant nor profitable; nobody
will ever go there again, and the river and the canyon are
best forgotten once and for all.
Lieutenant Ives took his report to Washington and re-
mained on the Atlantic seaboard. When the Civil War broke
out in 1861, Ives joined the Confederacy. He fought bravely
and well and gave his life for the cause of the South. He was
an earnest and likable man and he deserved a happier fame.
Today the terrible river has long since eradicated all traces
of his ineffective Explorer and the country over which he
passed left no trace of his journey. The Grand Canyon swal-
lowed him up, like all the others, and if it were not for the
[90]
LIEUTENANT IVES IS NOT AMUSED
Senate report he would be completely forgotten. In fact, an-
other party, moving through the raw country ten years later,
naively declared; 'We are the first white men to explore this
part of North America and probably none will follow us, . . ."
And the Grand Canyon merely yawned.
[91]
Life at Lee's Ferry
T<
OWNS, or communities, or
settlements of any kind in the Grand Canyon region have
been rare* The nature of the country precludes any permanent
civilizing force. There is Grand Canyon village, of course, on
the South Rim which owes its existence to the National Park
Service and the tourist business. There is the Indian village
of Supai deep in Cataract Canyon, and there is the Union
Pacific's lodge on the North Rim. The only other settlements
along the great gorge between Green River, Utah, and Boul-
der Dam (if you skip Phantom Ranch on Bright 4ngel
Creek) are Hite and Lee's Ferry.
Hite, Utah, near the mouth of the Dirty Devil River, usu-
ally has a population of one and never more than three. It is
merely a ranch and a base of supplies for mining operations
and to get to it is an expedition in itself even today.
Lee's Ferry is about thirty-five miles downstream from the
Crossing of the Fathers and about six miles upstream from
Marble Canyon where the Navajo Bridge carries the modern
highway across the river forty stories above high-water mark.
The opening of the bridge in 1929 put the ferry out of busi-
ness. The motoring public no longer has any reason for going
to the old ferry site and therefore few tourists ever see one of
the West's historical landmarks. In a sense that is too bad,
although a visit to Lee's Ferry today requires an active im-
[92]
LIFE AT LEE'S FERRY
agination in order to reconstruct some of the scenes that have
been played there*
The Colorado River is wide at this spot, and it is joined by
a tributary from the north, the Paria pronounced Pah-ree-a
supposedly a Ute word meaning "elk water." It is never pos-
sible to ford the river at this point, but the water is smooth
enough so that a flatboat or a scow can be navigated back and
forth.
Two well-known names in Southwestern history are associ-
ated with the spot. One was famous and he was Jacots
Hambiin, scout, frontiersman, and general advance man for
Brigham Young and the Mormons of Utah. The other was in-
famous, and he was John Doyle Lee, whose name is marred
by the Mountain Meadows Massacre in which some rabid
and overzealous Mormons (Lee was one of them) killed a
hundred and twenty men, women, and children, simply be-
cause they were not Mormons.
Brigham Young was interested in expanding the empire
of the Latter Day Saints southward, even though that empire
was effectually shut in on the southeast and south by the
Colorado River, and he sent Jacob Hamblin as a kind of
minister without portfolio into Arizona Territory to see how
the land looked for settlement. This was in 1858. Hamblin,
with the help of Ute Indians, found the ford where Es-
calante and Dominguez crossed the Colorado in 1776 and he
is presumed to be the first white man to follow the two priests.
He traveled extensively throughout the region and as he was
a simple, honest, quiet-speaking man who always kept his
word, he became known to all Indians as a friend. Navajos,
Utes, Paiutes, Walapais, Hopis, and Havasupais all knew Ja-
cob Hamblin and all accounted him something of a white medi-
cine man. When he said he would be at a certain place, he
was always there. If he wanted to meet an Indian thirty days
later he would give him a sack with diirty cedar berries in it,
[93]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
and tell the Indian to throw away one terry with each sun.
When the last berry was gone Jacob would be back. And to
the Indian's wonder he always was.
After he became familiar with the Grand Canyon country,
Hamblan noted the smooth water at the meeting of the Paria
with the Colorado and he managed to effect a crossing at
that spot by means of a log raft* Since Hamblin reported all
of his findings to Salt Lake City, Brigham Young realized
that the only avenue of trade into Arizona that was not
blocked by the canyon country must be at this crossing. The
ford of Escalante and Dominguez was far too dangerous and
difficult to be practical.
The Mountain Meadows case made it necessary for the ring-
leaders to "make themselves scarce" and Young is supposed
to have told John Doyle Lee to take his wives and his bags
and his luggage and move out of Utah. An ideal place would
be the Colorado at the Paria where Lee could have the ferry
right on what was going to be the only Mormon road into
central Arizona. Here he would be reasonably safe from any
United States marshals who might search high and low over
Utah and never find him, for he would be over the line in
Arizona. Brigham Young was "the Lion of the Lord/' and
when the Lion roared the common folk obeyed, for the Lion's
voice was one with God. Lee moved to the Colorado River.
It was now 1872.
Lee was sixty years old; he didn't take all of his wives, but
left the older women in Utah. How many wives accompanied
him to the Colorado is not known but probably half a dozen,
and Mrs. Lee, the seventeenth (Rachel), and Mrs. Lee, the
eighteenth (Emma) were there when the second river ex-
pedition of Major Powell reached the scene the same year.
It should be stated that while John Doyle Lee was guilty
of murder, he was not the arch-criminal that tradition has
created. He was the pawn of the three Saints who plotted
[94]
LIFE AT LEE'S FERRY
the cold-blooded slaying of the one hundred and twenty
Gentile emigrants at Mountain Meadows, and it was Lee
who finally paid with his life for the crimes of men even more
fanatic than he. From the day of the mass murder in 1857
he never had a moment of peace. He moved about Utah in
an effort to keep ahead of government investigators, and there
is one persistent story that he spent a few years in hiding with
the Havasupai Indians in Cataract Canyon, and that he
brought them their peach and apricot seedlings and taught
them improved methods of farming. There is no substantia-
tion for this story and it is probably untrue. The Havasupais
got their peach and apricot sprays from the Hopis with whom
they have traded for many generations, and thus the people
of the sky-blue water never saw the unhappy Mormon.
So in 1872 Lee's Ferry was founded. At first it was a town
of Lees only, as a man who had eighteen wives also had a
brood of children in numerical proportion. Jacob Hamblin
was on the scene from time to time and in 1873 he laid out a
wagon road south from Lee's Ferry to Tuba City, a Mormon
mission and trading post in the Navajo country.
A town founded by a murderer practicing polygamy on
the world's most dangerous river has a distinction that few
communities can boast. But a recognized town it was, for Lee's
Ferry became a post office. There were eight buildings in two
rows of four each with a street between them. They were all
made of rocks and plastered with adobe mud. One was the
main house and the others were storehouses and homes of
various wives. High on a hill overlooking the Paria and the
Colorado and the surrounding country, Lee built a lookout
so that he, or one of his family, could spot any strangers long
before they arrived. One of the buildings in the "town" was
also a kind of fort. It had very small windows and holes from
which rifles could be fired. Lee said it was to be used in case of
an Indian attack, but more than likely he intended it as a last-
[95]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
ditch stand if and when federal officers should arrive and try
to arrest him. In the rich adjacent bottom land of the Paria,
there were fields of vegetables, alfalfa, fruit trees, and grazing
land for livestock.
Lee called the place Lonely Dell and indeed it was that.
His ferry business he called Saint's Ferry, and a desire to keep
his own name out of circulation is evident. Neither name
stuck, however, and both the place and its reason for being
were forever made known in the name Lee's Ferry.
When a weary traveler arrived he always found that Lee
was not at home. If he came into town from Utah he would
note a scurrying of women and children into buildings where
they would peer out at him. And if he looked at the building
used as a fort, he would find the seventeenth Mrs. Lee train-
ing a shotgun on him until his identity could be established
as friendly. Rachel Lee, moreover, was said to be a crack shot.
After this unusual reception, and after the stranger had de-
clared that he wished only to be ferried across the Colorado,
Lee would appear from one of the houses or come striding
down from the lookout. Then the stranger, even if he were a
Gentile, would be made welcome, probably fed, and ferried
across and sent on his way.
If the stranger came up from central Arizona, he would
have to "hallo" across the river until Rachel came over with
the ferry and the shotgun to ask his qualifications. If Rachel
was a sergeant-at-arms, Emma (thirty-five years younger than
Lee and his last bride) was a chef supreme. AD. visitors, from
the second Powell expedition on until 1877 when Lee left his
lonely dell for the last time, declared that the food was good
at Lee's Ferry new vegetables, freshly killed meat, game in
and out of season, raw milk, and fresh butter. There were
plenty of wives to keep a good household. Life at Lee's Ferry
may have been unusual, but life there was undeviatingly
Mormon.
[96]
LIFE AT LEE'S FERRY
If the traveler rested overnight, Lee would entertain his
guest with prayer and tell his version of the Mountain Mead-
ows Massacre and emphasize his innocence. It was a wishful
tale; Lee never told the truth until he broke down after his
eventual arrest and wrote, of his own volition, a full confes-
sion of his part in the crime. Ironically enough, he was never
sought at Lee's Ferry and all his precautions were unneces-
sary. But after a few years he made a furtive trip to the town
of Panguitch, Utah, where another wife maintained a resi-
dence. A United States marshal had got wind of this visit and
he caught Lee hiding and trembling in a pigpen. Two years
later, after two trials, Lee was executed by a firing squad on
the exact spot where his perfidy had helped to disarm and
betray the one hundred and twenty victims of Mormon hate
and religious unbalance. In a sense he paid the penalty for
other Mormons, higher in the church than he, who were
never brought to trial.
The first ferry was one of Major Powell's boats which had
been battered by rapids and was no longer in good condition.
Lee repaired it and it saw desultory service back and forth
across the Colorado. It was not satisfactory, however, as it had
never been designed for such a purpose.
Lee then brought timbers from the Kaibab Forest, sixty
miles away. A flat-bottomed ferryboat was built, large enough
to accommodate two wagons and teams. This awkward affair
was piloted across by Lee and his sons, Charlie and Rains,
and it seldom made the trip without at least a minor calam-
ity of some sort, or perhaps a major tragedy. The trick
was to use the downstream current to get it across and the
downstream current to get it back. This left it well below the
starting point so it had to be towed back upstream for its next
trip. One story, which may be apocryphal, tells of the Lee's
Ferry sheep racket. The pilots became so expert that they
could cause the craft to tip by allowing the current to strike
[97]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
it at a certain angle. When it was packed with sheep the tip
would throw half a dozen or more animals off and the help-
less owner would see them being swept downstream. It was a
loss to him, but not a serious loss, and there was no way to
retrieve them. Once across, the shepherd went on his way,
knowing that the ewes would soon produce more lambs and
the number of sheep thus be restored. Sheep, however, can
swim, and as there are no bad rapids at this point to dash them
to pieces, they were able to get to shore only a mile or less
downstream. By that time the shepherd had gone, so the Lees
kept the sheep. At first they had only a few, but in time they
had a flock. If the tale is true, it is no wonder the mutton was
always good at the dinner table.
At times, however, there were unpremeditated accidents.
When the ferry was heavily loaded it was in danger of getting
out of control, and when the boat was tipped and the load
shifted, it always got out of control. Animals and men were
pitched into the river; supplies were lost; and on May 28,
1876, no less a person than Bishop Lorenzo W. Roundy of
Salt Lake City, on his way to the mission among the Navajos,
was thrown into the river and drowned in the swift current.
This kind of disaster was not uncommon up until 1929
when the ferry ceased operations and traffic moved by Navajo
Bridge. As late as 1927 the ferryboat was whirled and dipped
while it was carrying two Studebaker cars. Both automobiles
were lost in the river. One of the ferrymen saw that one of
the cars lay submerged in a spot that did not prevent salvage.
A month after the accident when the owner had collected his
insurance, the ferryman managed to haul the wreck out of
the river. The body of the car was useless and so apparently
was the engine. But this man took the engine apart, cleaned
out the grit and the sand, soaked the parts in oil, reassembled
it, poured in some gasoline, and it ran. Presumably it is still
generating the power that is consumed locally. Thus Lee's
[98]
LIFE AT LEE'S FERRY
Ferry has its own way of taking its toll; steep in tlie eighteen
seventies, and a motor in the nineteen twenties.
After the execution of Lee, his eighteenth wife remained
at the ferry and bravely tried to operate it alone. Her children
were only seven and eight years old and the children of Lee's
other wives were either grown up or approaching middle age,
They were not interested in Lonely Dell and never returned
to it. Only Emma Lee ran the ferry until 1879 when she sold
it to the Mormon church for three thousand dollars.
The church held tide to the ferry and leased it to the John-
son brothers, Price and Elmer. This family continued to live
at the spot until 1935, when, for polygamous reasons, they
moved to Short Creek which is also in Arizona just below
the Utah line.
Polygamy was one of the tenets of Mormonism which Brig-
ham Young steadfastly refused to renounce. It was not until
thirteen years after Brigham's death 1890 that the church
under the leadership of Wilford Woodruff legislated against
polygamy. It was not a moral issue but a political issue. Utah
could not become a state as long as polygamy was legal. State-
hood was essential; economics was stronger than the Revela-
tion as given to Joseph Smith and printed in Doctrine and
Covenants. To have more than one wife became a crime, ex-
cept to those who winked at it. At Lee's Ferry, miles from any-
where, they didn't even bother to wink at it. Let Utah become
a state; they were in Arizona and Arizona was only a territory
whose law never penetrated to this,, wild spot. The Johnson
brothers went on marrying wife after wife.
Polygamy, as an accepted civic principle of life at Lee's
Ferry, continued until 1935, and only stopped then because
the prolific Johnsons moved to Short Creek where there were
many sympathizers and diehards who had set up a "cohab"
community. Cohab is merely slang for polygamist, indicating
plural cohabitation.
[99]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
In 1927 Arizona said the church in Salt Lake City should
do something about the conditions at Lee's Ferry. The church
said the crime was being practiced in Arizona, so Arizona
should do something about it. So Arizona did: the state rented
one building at Lee's Ferry for a school and sent a teacher to in-
struct the tldrty-odd Johnson children who were growing up
there In 1927. The church said that wouldn't put a stop to
It; the state said the children, regardless of legality, were
citizens of Arizona and Arizona was proud of her school sys-
tem. An appeal was made to the Governor. He drove up from
Phoenix and passed through Lee's Ferry and said, "Hell, if I
had to live here I'd want more than one wife myself/' And to
his chauffeur, "Drive faster!"
In 1935 the church tried to crack down. In so doing It un-
earthed a lot of "cohab" sympathizers in Arizona's northern
strip. The sunbaked town of Short Creek became the new
Millennial City. Polygamous-minded Mormons of the old
order came from far and wide. The church hesitated to act
because It meant a lot of unsavory publicity, Arizona didn't
mind because it was making the front pages of newspapers.
Let Nevada have the divorce racket, Arizona was developing
the crackpot marriage racket. When questioned, the advo-
, cates of the Revelation declared their adherence to polygamic
theocracy in their own manner of expression, <f You got to
foller the laws of God er man; we's a-follerin* God, by God.
It's writ in the book!" And they changed the name of Short
Creek to the City of Fair Colors.
All this was during the relief period of the early nineteen thir-
ties. It became a headache to the relief administrators to de-
termine how to dole out money to a family declaring itself
made up of one husband, five wives, and fourteen children.
Especially when, with the relief money, the husband might
take a new wife. Life at Lee's Ferry had indeed made a con-
tribution to the West. It was something that the sensible
[100]
LIFE AT LEE'S FERRY
Mormon Church of 1935 wanted to forget but could not. And
even for Arizona It began to get beyond the joke stage when
the influx of "cohabs" at the City of Fair Colors began to
swing the control of the electoral vote of the county. That
was serious; both Mormon Church and State of Arizona
joined hands in an effort to put an end to this social anach-
ronism.
One unforeseen element came to the assistance of church
and state. It had been revealed to the Prophet, Joseph Smith,
back in 1830 when Mormonism was bom, that if a woman
were a virgin, and not promised in matrimony, any man might
marry her regardless of the wife or wives he already had, pro-
vided he could support her. Relief money in 1935 made the
support, such as it was, possible. The result was that the City
of Fair Colors exhausted its supply of eligible virgins and the
whole thing came to an end. Just to put the stamp of finality
upon it, Arizona law sent two of the bitterest recalcitrants to
the penitentiary.
The City of Fair Colors collapsed, and then the threatened
boom of several thousand "cohabs" melted away. The name
was changed back to Short Creek. And Lee's Ferry, which
was responsible for the whole mess by keeping polygamy alive
all through the years, became a guest ranch under new man-
agement.
The visitor today will find that the area looks much the
same as it did when John Doyle Lee first settled there in
1872.
[101]
HI
Row Tour Boat
SCALE IN MILES
SO 100 150
IDAHO /
MING
H E VAD A
THE COLORADO RIVER AND ITS WATERSHED
The river, from Wyoming to its mouth, is more
than 2300 miles lonp second only to the
Mississippi-Missouri in the United States.
Row Your Boat
or
JL HE Colorado Is the most
dangerous river in the world. And It is one of the longest and
fastest in North America. Moreover, It Is one of the most un-
predictable* Even today only small portions of It are known
and understood by the general public. The stream flows
through canyons hundreds of miles long and hundreds of
miles from a railroad, through country that is desolate and
untouched by man, and almost all of which is either moun-
tainous or desert. Except for the fact that the sea into which
It finally pours is never sunless, it might well have been
named Alph.
Before Boulder Dam was built there was not a single town
on the Colorado between Green River, Utah, and Needles,.
California (^excepting Lee's Ferry), a distance of more than
eight hundred miles, and there were only two or three points
along this course that it could even be crossed. It is a wild
river surging through wild country, and in proportion to the
number of men who have tried to make use of it, it has taken
a high toll of lives.
Also, it is a river of many characteristics; in some spots it
is placid, in others It is choked with rapids; at some places it
Is a hundred yards wide and at others it is four hundred, and
at flood stage near the mouth it may be several miles across.
At all times it is heavy with silt, and the government river-
[105]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
gauge station near the mouth of Bright Angel Creek has
estimated that it carries a million tons of sediment past that
point every twenty-four hours. When it is really furious it
has hurled as much as twenty-seven million tons of pulver-
ized rock and sand past the gauge in a single day. It travels
at a rate of two miles an hour to twenty miles an hour, and
even more. This, for a river, is express-train speed.
It has more than one personality, and to look at the reddish
muddy water flowing quietly over sandbars at Yuma and to
recall the roaring swirling rapids of Cataract Canyon which
have smashed boats and men, is to understand that here is a
schizophrenic. It is at once fascinating and dangerous, Jekyll
and Hyde, and there is no river like it anywhere in the world.
Indians are afraid of it and so are white men. But as al-
ways, there are some white men who will "try anything once/*
The very fact that the Colorado is defiant is reason enough
in the Caucasian mind to tame it. So far it is just about a
draw. In the end, the white man expects to win, and so does
the river.
The first white man to travel by boat on this stream was
Hemando de Alarcon, in 1540, and he didn't have an easy
time of it and he saw only a small portion near the mouth.
Just who was the first white man to travel by boat in its upper
tributaries is not possible to say. The first recorded journey
was made by William Henry Ashley and party in 1825,
Ashley was from Missouri and he wanted to be shown. He
was.
Others followed, some unknown, some forgotten, until the
formal exploration and scientific expeditions of Major John
Wesley Powell, the intrepid one-armed veteran of the War
Between the States, who completed a running of the un-
known sections in 1869. Since then the challenge of the river
has attracted many an adventurer and scientist. Some have
never come out of the perilous canyons and rapids, and others
[106]
ROW YOUR BOAT
have had dramatic success. To give in full details the hazard-
ous story of each river expedition would be pointless and
repetitive, yet no man who has ever braved the dangers of the
stream should be slighted. For example, Buzz Holmstrom
(whose given name is Haldane), with a quiet determination
and an eschewing of all publicity, ran the river alone in 1937.
It was an unparalleled feat and has been ably told by Robert
Ormond Case in the Saturday Evening Post. Major PowelFs
expedition was the first to ran the river; sixty-eight years later,
Buzz Holmstrom was the first man to run it solo. Both achieve-
ments are river history. But between Powell's and Holmstrom's
efforts there have been a number of expeditions for various
reasons (or none whatsoever) which have become vivid sto-
ries in themselves.
Therefore, it has seemed best to present an account which
would give the main emphasis to the variety of expeditions,
and to mention in passing as many of the others as feasible.
Personality and color determine the choice as well as history
and science. The river has been run, or at least attempted,
by an ex-governor, a major, trappers, miners, photographers,
thrill-seekers, geologists, artists, criminals, botanists, a live
bear, a bride and groom, and a madman. But to begin at the
beginning there was Ashley.
[107]
Ashley
> PAIN'S sun had set in the
Far West before 1800; and Mexico's never rose. A far greater
orb completely eclipsed the red, white, and green; it was the
red, white, and blue. The newborn Mexican nation of 1821
had only a confused idea of its northernmost lands, and only
tenuous claims upon them. Roughly Mexico ended where
Canada began, which was the California-Oregon border.
Mexico, then, owned by right of first exploration all of
Nevada, Utah, and Colorado, although only a small portion
of this area had been visited.
The United States owned the area embraced by the Louisi-
ana Purchase of 1803, and this extended from the Mississippi
west "to the Rockies" not a very definite boundary, but over-
lapping the Mexican claims in some instances. Actually, no-
body knew who had what, and as late as 1825 men thought
that there might be a river in Colorado that flowed into San
Francisco Bay, and that the Great Salt Lake was an arm of the
Pacific Ocean.
As the last flame of Spanish interest flickered and died, a
new kind of frontiersman came on the scene. He was the
trapper. The fur trade in the American West was a lucrative
business and several vast American fortunes came out of it.
Trappers appeared in Wyoming and Colorado and Utah.
Some were Americans and some were French-Canadians and
[108]
ASHLEY
all were a hale and hearty lot Some historians prefer the
words "rough and tough/* One hundred pounds of beaver
pelts were worth from three hundred to five hundred dollars.
If you were a frontiersman and knew your business, it was
quick money. There was nobody to contest your right to hunt
and trap in this virgin country. And who cared if the area be-
longed to Spain or England or the United States or the Arapa-
hoes or the Blackfeet? Profits were the objective, and nothing
else mattered*
William Henry Ashley was bom in Virginia in 1778 and
always had his eyes fixed on the West. He went to Missouri
Territory when he \vas twenty-four years old and when the
territory became a state in 1820 he became its first governor.
But he was still looking toward the West, and hearing of the
fortunes to be made in the fur trade, he went into the business
with a partner, one Andrew Henry. Ashley was the power and
the backing, and Henry was "in the field" In 1824.
Ashley himself came West in 1825 to look the land over. In
the watershed of the Colorado and the Green River at this
time were men whose names have become famous in the
American West: Jim Bridger, Jedediah Smith, William Sub-
lette, Jim Beckwourth, and David E. Jackson, for whom the
Jackson Hole country of Wyoming is named. Ashley seemed
to have a good idea of the type of country and the roughness
of the frontiersmen, for along with his equipment he brought
the first vehicle to roll on wheels into Utah and it was a
cannon.
Also Ashley brought business acumen. All of the French-
Canadians who were in the area trapped for the Hudson's Bay
Company, a British corporation. Hudson's Bay paid two
dollars per pelt. Either Ashley, or his partner, Andrew Henry,"
convinced the French-Canadians that it was much wiser to
do business with an American company. And it was not the
cannon that was the persuasive instrument, but rather Ash-
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
ley's willingness to pay five dollars per pelt. Even at this tre-
mendous difference, Ashley could make a handsome profit, so
great was the market for furs. The Hudson's Bay Company
howled at this deal and called it a steal. Reverberations were
carried to Washington and there nothing happened.
In the summer of 1825 a group of trappers met at xvhat they
called "the rendezvous" on the Green River in Utah, a tribu-
tary of the Colorado. Here they brought their furs and sold
them to Ashleyfurs that the Hudson's Bay Company was
destined never to see.
While on the scene Ashley decided to explore some of this
unknown country. With three boats locally built, the party
began the first journey down the Green. Had they continued
long enough this would have become the Colorado, and had
they continued that long, none of them would have lived to
tell the tale.
There were many beaver in these upper canyons of the
Green and the Ashley expedition depended upon them for
food. But suddenly all^sigiis of. beaver disappeared and the
party found itself in a rushing current on a canyon-locked
river and for miles there was no escape. They knew not what
lay ahead as they continued downstream, their boats over-
turning in the rapids and their supplies lost or exhausted.
After one day they realized that their plight was dangerous.
On the second day it became desperate. There was nothing
to do but go on for they could not turn back against the cur-
rent and the sheer canyon walls held them as securely as any
prison. For six days they endured starvation, and the French-
Canadians decided to draw lots to see who should be killed
and eaten to sustain the others. This horrified the ex-governor
of Missouri and he begged the men to hold out one more day.
The gamble looked bad indeed, as the river cut deeper into
the earth and the canyon walls rose ever higher. In Red
Canyon where they were nearly wrecked by rapids so large
[no]
ASHLEY
they have been called waterfalls, the party halted by an over-
hanging cliff. Here Ashley painted a record of the trip on a
rock. It was a short-short story and no words were wasted.
He wrote only "Ashley 1825." And the party went on.
If it was meant to be an epitaph it was premature. When
all looked hopeless, and some were resigned to death, they
came to a break in the canyon walls. It was a small glen, or
park, known as Brown's Hole. Here they could leave the ter-
rible river, but even at that they might all have perished of
hunger had they not run into providential luck. Camped at
Brown's Hole was Etienne Provo (or Provost), a trapper, who
was well supplied with provisions and horses, and the perilous
journey was ended.
Back in St. Louis, Missouri, and pinching himself to be
sure that he was still alive, Ashley wrote an account of the
trip that nearly cut short his career. He recalled the scene
thus: << The river is bounded by lofty mountains heaped to-
gether in the greatest disorder, exhibiting a surface as barren
as can be imagined," and he doesn't advise anyone to go boat-
ing on the Green. He did return to the river, however, in
1826 but looked at it only from its banks. That summer a
great "rendezvous" was held, as Ashley brought many supplies
from the East. There was much whooping and horseplay
assisted by the firewater imported from St. Louis. Under the
influence of these stimulants, enthusiasm and optimism blos-
somed and Ashley tactfully let it be known that he would like
to sell out. And while most of the trappers celebrated, a young
and alert group bought Ashley's share of the company. These
men were Jedediah Smith, David E. Jackson, and William
Sublette. Ashley wished them well and took a last look at the
rendezvous and returned to Missouri. He was cured of his
Western fever at last. In 1831 he was elected to Congress and
he continued his career in Washington instead of on the tribu-
taries of the Colorado. It was a wise choice for the fur trade
[nil
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
collapsed in the early eighteen forties and finis was written to
a little-known prologue to the history of the American West.
The trappers served their unintentional purpose; they
opened the frontier to the emigrant and colonization. They
left scant records. In fact, they were men of action and not of
words. Ashley's episode on the river was almost forgotten, and
years later, even as late as the twentieth century, men dis-
covered the provocative and enigmatic message "Ashley 1825"
and wondered who or what he was. And about all that can be
added to the terse record is that he was a gentleman from
Missouri who came first.
[112]
Powell
AFTEI
Ashley's abortive at-
tempt to explore die West by river there were no other efforts
that could rightly be called expeditions until 1869. The name
D. Julien
1836
3, Mai
is carved on the walls of Labyrinth Canyon, and it appears
again much farther downstream in Cataract Canyon, There
is no further record of Julien, and it is supposed that he was
a French-Canadian, who, with others, went down the river
to trap in unknown country. No doubt the river did the trap-
ping, for no more was ever heard of the trappers. That they
got as far down as the Grand Canyon before disaster overtook
them is very unlikely.
John Wesley Powell was a studious young man and, at the
age of twenty-four, deeply interested in the study of con-
chology. In this pursuit he worked for the Natural History
Society of the state of Illinois. Few people were similarly
interested, however, and as a conchologist had never been
known to amass fame and fortune, young Powell's future
seemed headed for obscurity and poverty.
Then came the Civil War and Powell volunteered and
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
became a major. But never during the conflict did he lose in-
terest in his chosen profession. At Vicksburg he collected
fossils from trenches, and from the Mississippi's banks he
gathered river shells. Wherever his regiment went he studied
the geology as well as the tactics of the enemy. At the battle of
Shiloh in 1862 he lost his right arm. This tragedy would seem
to seal the future of the young scientist, but Powell was
made of stern stuff. His thirst for knowledge was never satis-
fied and he refused to be thwarted by adversity.
Mustered out of the service when he was twenty-eight,
he married his cousin, Emma Dean, and the couple went to
Colorado where Powell wanted to study the geological his-
tory of the West. At the headwaters of the Colorado he be-
came fascinated by this stream.
By 1869, the general course of the river was known, but
there were huge gaps that white men had still not seen. There
were stories of all kinds that it plunged over cliffs and created
falls like Niagara, that it went into a cave and never came out,
that it went underground and left boats high and dry, that
it disappeared into the interior of the earth, and such poppy-
cock. This was just the thing to appeal to the scientist. He
would find out, traverse the river throughout its unknown por-
tions, and publish the facts.
Toward this goal Powell gave the upper tributaries careful
study. He understood at once the hazards of the under-
taking, and he was, no doubt, the first man to challenge the
Colorado properly equipped and with an appreciation of the
power of his opponent.
The financing of an expedition of this type was not easy.
Powell was unable to provide the funds himself, but he made
a trip to Illinois and secured the backing of the Chicago
Academy of Science and won contributions from lesser state
institutions. In Chicago he had four boats built under his
supervision. Three were twenty-one feet long and made of
POWELL
oak, and one wis sixteen feet long and made of pine. This
last was to be the scout, the advance boat, and was more
maneuverable than the others. All had watertight compart-
ments to make them unsuitable and to hold and protect
scientific instruments. Ten men, including Powell, were en-
listed for the adventure, and the Union Pacific Railroad, in-
terested in the project, provided complimentary transportation
for boats and men to the starting point, Green River, Wyo-
ming.
At the start on May 24, 1869, the party was organized thus:
The small advance boat, Emma Dean, held Powell, John
C. Sumner, and William H. Dunn. Sumner had been a
soldier in the recent war and Dunn was a trapper.
The second boat, called Kitty Clyde $ Sister, carried Walter
H. Powell, a young brother of the one-armed leader; and
G. W. Bradley, a sergeant from the Union Army,
The third boat, No-Name, carried O. G. Howland, who
had been a printer; Seneca Howland, his younger brother;
and Frank Goodman, an Englishman who had never been
West before.
The fourth boat, Maid of the Canyon, carried William
R. Hawkins, the cook; and Andrew Hall, a Scotch lad of nine-
teen.
All four boats were loaded with supplies in such a way
that if any one of them were lost the others would still have
a variety of all necessities intact.
The town of Green River, Wyoming, was a cluster of
shacks beside the railroad in 1869, and there was little fan-
fare for the start of this expedition. The boats were cut loose
and in a few minutes they drifted downstream and were out
of sight. Unfortunately, the explorers had nobody appointed
to the job of daily chronicler. Powell made notes but most of
his story was written later from memory. Jack Sumner kept
some notes on foolscap but these have never been published.
[US]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
After incidental vicissitudes of the first few. days, they came
to a bad place which was more waterfall than rapids. On a
rock overhanging the torrent they found that somebody had
preceded them. Clearly somebody had painted the name
"Ashley" and beneath it a date which time and the elements
had obscured. It was 18-5, and they surmised that it was
1835, missing the correct date by ten years. None of the party-
had ever heard of Ashley, which is not odd when it is under-
stood that the trip of the ex-governor of Missouri, made forty-
six years earlier, had never been recorded. Later on, the party
found traces of wreckage and decided this was the remains
of Ashley's attempt. Powell wrote it up later with a pinch of
imagination and describes poor Ashley struggling overland all
the way to Salt Lake City and being aided by the Mormons
and given work on the construction of their tabernacle. He
never knew Ashley had been a man of means and a congress-
man. A pinch of imagination is sometimes more dangerous
than none at all.
As most of the country through which they were to pass
was unknown and many of its features unnamed, Powell
showed a remarkable aptitude for nomenclature. Dozens of
his names of canyons, creeks, rivers, buttes, mountains, and
peaks were colorful and arresting and have remained per-
manent. Early in the trip Powell named the Canyon of Lodore
for Robert Southey's poem 'The Cataract of Lodore" and here
the party had its first real taste of what lay ahead.
Powell, in advance in the Emma Dean, noted bad rapids
downstream and signaled to the following boats to pull in for
shore until they could investigate the danger. The two How-
land brothers and Frank Goodman in the No-Name were a
second late in obeying the signal. This was just what the river
had been waiting for* Those in the No-Name, traveling at
two or three miles an hour, suddenly found their craft sucked
into a swift current and drawn by the unsuspected rush of
POWELL
water downstream at ten or twelve miles an hour straight
toward the rapids.
Nobody could do a thing but watch while the men in the
No-Name were shocked by the suddenness with which the
river reached out and clutched them. Faster they went, turn-
ing sideways, then rear-end-to, and were slammed against a
rock. The boat rebounded, careened, shipped water, hesi-
tated, and then was swept again downstream through rapids at
a rate of twenty miles or more an hour. A few seconds later,
the No-Name hit a second rock broadside, and the impact
smashed the boat in two halves as if it had been struck by a
giant cleaver. The three men were tossed into the air and
then plunged into the roaring, swirling torrent. They clung
to pieces of the boat and were carried on for a hundred yards*
Here more rocks and rapids smashed to kindling all that was
left of the No-Name, and a bend in the river carried the sto>
vivors from the view of their electrified companions upstream.
That was that, said the river. Would they like to play some
more?
Fortunately, at this spot in delightful and poetic Lodoie
Canyon it was possible to scramble downstream over the
rocks along the shore. By this means Powell managed to reach
a point on the bank where he could see his three men. Good*
man was clinging to a rock in midstream and the two How*
lands had been thrown onto a tiny island. They were lucky to
be alive. Of the No-Name there wasn't a splinter in sight. The
problem was to rescue the men and not lose another boat do-
ing it. The answer was found by the others controlling a boat
from shore by ropes, and it took the combined strength of all
to get the marooned men to safety. Of this, Powell wrote, <r We
were as glad to shake hands with them as though they had
been on a voyage around the world, and wrecked on a distant
coast."
That was the end of boating for that day, and the next
[H7]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
morning Sumner and Dunn went downstream to see if there
was anything left of the No-Name worth salvaging. Their re-
turn was greeted with cheers for they had salvaged a three-
gallon keg of whiskey which had miraculously escaped de-
struction and lodged between two rocks half a mile below. It
had been smuggled into the boat and up to that moment
Powell hadn't known there was any whiskey along. Powell
named the place Disaster Falls, and by overcrowding the three
remaining boats, the party proceeded downstream. The How-
land brothers, battered and buffeted, weren't any too happy,
and Goodman, chilled by his experience in the water, was
morose.
They advanced for several days without major difficulties
and reached the mouth of the Uinta River. Here it was pos-
sible, by means of a forty-mile walk, to reach the Ute Indian
agency. This hike looked extremely attractive to Frank Good-
man and he quit on the spot. No more rapids for him. What
had been four boats and ten men was now three boats and
nine men. And on they went into the unknown.
Their experiences followed the general events of those
in Lodore Canyon. The river was always unpredictable and
they had to be ever on guard. It drenched them with waves
and soaked their food and spilled them overboard and
slammed the boats into rocks and broke oars and gave them a
constant battle. There were clear stretches of fair water but
there was never any way to tell what was around the next
bend. For all they knew they might come to a Niagara at any
time. But on they went, naming their surroundings Desola-
tion Canyon, Gray Canyon, Labyrinth Canyon, Stillwater
Canyon, Cataract Canyon.
Just below Stillwater Canyon, the Green River is joined
by the Grand, and on early maps these two streams formed the
Colorado. This is confusing to strangers to the Colorado who
can't tell why there should be several names or which is
[US]
POWELL
which. It Is a situation like that created by the joining of
the Allegheny and the Monongahela to form the Ohio. In
later years the name Grand was dropped, and it now appears
on most maps that the Colorado River begins in the Rocky
Mountains of Colorado and flows to the sea. The Green is
one of its tributaries. Thus all the early river parties, except
one, have had their beginnings on the Green and have joined
the Colorado proper below Stillwater Canyon. It is all very-
arbitrary and manmade terminology. The Powell party was
thinking up more specific names such as Hell's Half Mile*
After battling rapids and rising tempers and discovering
a new prank of the riverto become so muddy that it is unfit
for drinking they noted a new stream coming in from the
right. Sumner was ahead in the Emma Dean, and one of
those following called to him, "How is she, Jack?" hoping that
the new stream might be fresh and clear.
"She's a dirty devil!" Sumner yelled back. And thus the
river was named. Subsequent attempts to change it to the
more dignified name of the Fremont River have failed. A dirty
devil It was and the Dirty Devil it remains, and it is an ex-
cellent and proper name indeed* In passing, it is worth noting
that the Dirty Devil breaks up at its headwaters into three
tributaries, and these are known as the Muddy, the Stinking,
and the Starvation.
By this time the Powell expedition had lost all contact
with civilization. The event had attracted national Interest,
and as stories of calamity are always more sensational than
prosaic progress, a few newspapers printed unwarranted ac-
counts of the expedition's collapse.
But the best racket of all occurred on a Union Pacific train.
A weary and disheveled man boarded an eastbound express
at Green River, Wyoming. Almost at once he started talking
and he explained that he was the sole survivor of the ill-fated
Powell expedition. Fellow passengers were interested and
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
sympathetic. And the "survivor" explained how all the brave
men except himself had been caught in a gigantic whirlpool
in an awful canyon. The river spun them until they were
dizzy and then a yawning hole sivallowed the entire party,
boats and all. The "survivor" had been on shore to investigate
a side cleft, and had witnessed the horrible fate of his com-
panions as they were sucked screaming to death before his
eyes. He preferred not to talk about it any more; it was all too
awful. He himself had lost everything, of course but at least
he had his life. The passengers commiserated, and one of the
more magnanimous canvassed the train and took up a collec-
tion for this poor brave man. He didn't want to take the
money, but at last he was prevailed upon to do so* And with
that he quietly slipped off the train at the very next stop and
was never heard of again.
An indignation meeting was held but it could do nothing
more than express indignity. Where had this so-and-so said
the awful whirlpool had drowned the men? At a place called
Brown's Hole. But when the victimized got in touch with
Mrs. Powell, they discovered that the party was far below
Brown's Hole, for she had heard from them after they passed
that spot, and that Brown's Hole was a small green park and
the water there was the safest on the river. It is, in fact, the
place where Ashley escaped. So some opportunist had made
the most of his opportunity; and he was not, incidentally,
Frank Goodman, who was the only man who had quit the
party at that time.
The long stretch of peaceful water in Glen Canyon was a
welcome respite. The three boats passed the Crossing of the
Fathers without knowing it and at last reached the confluence
of the Paria River. Two years later this was the site selected
by John Doyle Lee as his hideaway. Lee called his place
Lonely Dell, but it was even more lonely when the Powell
expedition arrived in 1869 just ahead of him.
[120]
POWELL
It was rough going from there through Marble Canyon,
past the mouth of the Little Colorado and on into the mighty
depths of the Grand Canyon. The loss of the No-Name and
numerous upsets had played havoc with the food supply.
And now they were locked in the granite vise of Grand
Canyon and conditions were serious. They came to a small
beach deep in the rocky fastness one mile below the rim. Here
they rested and tried to dry their food, An inventory revealed
that all that was left for nine men for what must be a journey
of at least another two weeks to the tiny Mormon town of
Callville far helow Grand Canyon, was musty flour, some
dried apples, and plenty of coffee. It was a grim prospect
Rippling down from a huge side canyon,, itself a scenic at-
traction had it not been dwarfed by the magnificent Grand
Canyon, came a dear Hue, sparkling creek. Its clear waters
poured into the muddy Colorado and were quickly absorbed.
Powell was far more worried than he allowed his men to
know. He was, in fact, almost ready for prayer, and he re-
called his Methodist father who had tried in vain to make a
preacher out of a son horn to science. Yet here was a situation
that called for faith. While his men explored signs of former
Indian settlements in cliffs adjacent to this pleasant little
creek, John Wesley Powell gave a thought to his pious father
and to his religious-minded namesake, and he called the little
creek the Bright Angel. Standing beside its dear Hue water,
he said aloud, "And if this expedition has any right ,to success
or survival, then listen to a scientist's prayer, O Bright Angel
of Immortality/'
On they went into country more f ortidding than any they
had yet encountered and the river, as if sensing their exhaus-
tion, became more vicious than ever. The Emma Dean was
thrown over a rock and landed upside down, and Powell,
Sumner, and Dunn were tossed into the churning mess and
battered and punched through rapids, half drowned in the
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
muddy waters, and finally thrown onto sharp rocks. They
managed to save the boat, bailed it out ? and went on. It was
all in the day s work, and that Powell, a one-armed man,
could survive this speaks well fox his endurance and nerve.
This was the heart of the Grand Canyon deep in the
Granite Gorge of Archean rock* In later days Powell wrote
vividly of the scene in a style somewhat flamboyant, but none-
thdess accurate. He describes it thus:
There are cliffs and ledges of rock not such ledges as you may
have seen where the quanymaa splits his blocks, but ledges from
which the gods might quarry mountains , . . and not such cliffs
as you may have seen where the swallow builds its nest, but cliffs
where the soaring eagle is lost to view ere he reaches the summit
* . . wherever we look there is but a wilderness of rocks; deep
gorges, where the rivers aie lost below the cliffs, and towers and
pinnacles; and ten thousand strangely carved forms in every direc-
tion; and beyond them mountains blending with the douds.
This- is second-thought description. At the moment there
was no time for literary musing. The whole party was too
busy fighting a river which had only played before and now
was really getting rough. Some rapids were impossible to run.
The boats had to be carried portaged over the boulders
on the shore. Where the canyon walls were sheer and there
was no beach, as is often the case in the Granite Gorge, the
boats had to be 'lined" that is, paid out on ropes controlled
by those who remained at the last vantage point and these
men would have to climb as much as a thousand feet in order
to get over the granite and down to another beach just to do it
all over again. Conditions of this kind plus lack of food
brought tempers to the breaking point.
And then they reached a place that seemed to be utterly
impassable. They made one portage and found that there was
no way to make another. To run the furious river at this point
[122]
POWELL
looked suicidal. The drop was over a fall of eighteen or twenty
feet, and immediately after that there was a second drop with
jagged rocks below. They camped for the night and to some
in the party it was the end. All that remained was to abandon
the boats, try to climb out of the depths of the canyon, and
walk toward the nearest settlements, Mormon towns which
might be forty, fifty, or sixty miles away, provided they could
live long enough to make such a hike.
Powell, however, would not give up, and he determined to
explore the river until he reached the known lower section
or die in the attempt This meant another eighty or ninety
miles. He outlined a plan for lowering the boats down the
fall. O. G. Howland and Seneca Howland said it was fool-
hardy. For several days they had thought that Powell had
been "touched" by the journey. Plainly, now, they regarded
him as insane. They said flatly that they would go no farther
down this terrible river. To do so was sure death, and they
preferred to gamble on their chances of getting out somehow
by climbing overland. Arguments were of no avail And the
mutiny gained a convert when William Dunn joined the in-
surrectionists. They were split six to three.
There was no sleep for Powell that night. He awakened
O. G. Howland about two in the morning and they talked
again. It was plain talk in the dark of that canyon bottom.
Powell was counting on the Bright Angel; Howland could
see only the Dirty Devil. The schism was final.
At dawn there was a tense and sullen breakfast of mil-
dewed flour, dried apples, and black coffee. With three men
quitting, a boat had to be abandoned by the remaining six.
So they left the Emma Dean which had taken a bad pound-
ing. The deserters took rifles and a shotgun but refused their
share of the food, saying they could kill game on their
journey. And with that they separated. What had started as
four boats and ten men was now two boats and six men.
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Miraculously, Powell and his men did get through what
they called Separation Rapids and lived to tell of it. Bradley
was nearly drowned and they all had hairbreadth escapes, but
thirty-six hours after the schism, the six who chose to see
it through were out of danger. They had emerged from the
west end of the two hundred and seventeen miles of Grand
Canyon, and they were in the comparative safety of Grand
Wash. They were the first men to pass through the Grand
Canyon and credit for this heroism is justly theirs. Some
days- later they passed the confluence of the Virgin River and
just below that was the Mormon town of Callville. Captain
Johnson and other men of the lower Colorado had ascended
the river this far and now Powell had completed his journey
through the unknown. It was August 30, 1869, just ninety-
nine days from the time they left Green River, Wyoming.
Brigham Young had advised the residents of Callville to be
on the lookout for the party, but the Mormons had long since
given them up for dead.
"The relief from danger and the joy of success are great/*
wrote Powell. "Ever before us has been an unknown danger
heavier than immediate peril. Every waking hour passed in
the Grand Canyon has been one of toil."
Callville is no more, and it is not possible to visit the spot
where the expedition met civilization because the Boulder
Dam has backed up Lake Mead and many feet of water now
cover the site of the former Mormon town.
Meanwhile, the two Howlands and William Dunn had
climbed the five thousand five hundred feet from the river
to the canyon rim and this in itself was a worthy achievement.
They were sure that the six well-meaning fools were drowned
by this time and they congratulated themselves on their own
wisdom. But Fate had a cruel trick waiting for them. They
should, by all odds, have arrived at one of the distant Mor-
mon towns; they were well on their way when they met some
[124]
POWELL
presumably friendly Indians. They camped for the night with
the Indians, and later that night more Indians arrived from
the north. They were all Shevwits, a branch of the Paiute
nation, and the latecomers told of some brutal attacks by
white men farther north. Indians had been ruthlessly beaten,
killed, and their cached supplies stolen. A council was held
and they decided that these three sleeping white men must
be the culprits. The white men had told a fantastic story of
having come all the way down the great river, and they were
surely lying because no man, red or white, had ever done
such a thing. These were bad white men and they must be
punished. While the Howlands and Dunn slept, their fate
was determined. Awakening in the morning with no sus-
picion that all was not well as it had been the night before,
they filled their canteens at the spring, they were shot in the
back without being given a chance to fight for their lives.
This story was a long time in leaking out, and it was over
a year before Powell learned of the fate of the deserters. It
was a totally unexpected outcome, but the Bright Angel had
proved a better guide than the Dirty Devil. The fate of the
three men might never have been known if Jacob Hamblin,
the Mormon scout and frontiersman, had not unearthed it. He
discovered Ute Indians wearing white men's clothes, and one
Ute had a dented and useless watch. This property was iden-
tified as the Howlands' and the Utes had traded it from the
Shevwits. Thus the Utes were exonerated, and the actual
murderers were never found.
John Wesley Powell was not through with the Colorado
River and the Grand Canyon. In fact, he devoted the rest
of his life to it. In May, 1871, he made a second trip from
Wyoming to the Grand Canyon. It was more leisurely and
included many side trips and layovers, and was not completed
until September, 1872. With Powell on this expedition were
ten men, some of whom dropped by the wayside. One, how-
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
ever, was Frederick S, Dellenbaugh who later wrote two ex-
cellent books packed with detailed information, A Canyon
Voyage and The Romance of tke Colorado River, which are
out of print and hard to find but well worth a perusal. They
have become, along with Powell's report, the bible for sub-
sequent river expeditions and are rich Americana from a nine-
teenth-century point of view.
Powell's work had attracted national fame. His energy
and patience had filled in an unknown piece in the topo-
graphical puzzle of the West. He was to the Colorado River
what De Soto was to the Mississippi or what Hendrik Hud-
son was to the river that bears his name. The town of Green
River, Wyoming, is more than six thousand feet above sea
level; Callville was less than one thousand. The river touched
both and Powell discovered how and why and accounted for
the terrain in between and especially devoted himself to a
thorough investigation of the entire Grand Canyon area and
much of southern Utah. Because of this vast experience in
field work Powell was appointed by Washington as director
of the United States Geological Survey. He and his col-
leagues and assistants carried out a detailed exploration of
the Colorado River watershed in the eighteen eighties, and
Powell widened his field to include studies in the archae-
ology and ethnology of the area. The wild guntoting West
was gradually being taken over by the scholar and the scien-
tist, and in 1894 Powell became chief of the Bureau of
Ethnology, an office which he held until his death in 1902.
Thus, a youthful and amateur collector of shells and fossils, in
spite of physical handicap., pursued a brilliant career unpar-
alleled in the history of the American West.
On the West Rim Drive of the Grand Canyon, not far
from El Tovar Hotel and Bright Angel Lodge is the Powell
monument. It commemorates in a few well-chosen words the
first river expedition of 1869 and names the six men who com-
[126]
POWELL
pleted the dangerous journey* Many tourists inspect it as
they view the Grand Canyon from this point. Some do not
know who John Wesley Powell was even after reading the in-
scription and explanation, and it is often taken as the marker
showing the spot at which Powell "discovered" the canyon,
which, of course, he did not do.
But the strangest commentary of all came from a party of
three young ladies who arrived in the summer of 1945, all
carefully decked out with the hallmarks of the dude slacks
and shirts and handannas and cameras in a mistaken belief
that they would not be taken for dudes. They couldn't make
the monument out. One of them said the Spaniards had dis-
covered the canyon so this man couldn't have been the dis-
coverer for who ever heard of a Spaniard named Powell?
(General laughter, and the gag was so good that they repeated
it at once.)
Then a great light dawned, and one of the young ladies said,
"Oh they went through on boats!"
The second, with a look of surprise which could have
been no greater if she had been told they went through on
roller skates, said, "Boats in this country?"
"Not up here on the rim down below," explained the
first girL
"Oh," said the third, silent so far. "Is there a river in the
bottom?"
The carved face of John Wesley Powell, staring in grim
determination on the monument, never smiled.
[127]
Brown-Stanton
JL HE transcontinental rail*
roads were spanning the country in the second half of the
nineteenth century. The Union Pacific and the Central
Pacific met at Promontory Point, Utah, and the last spike,
made of gold, was driven in 1869. The rails linked East and
West.
The Southern Pacific was completed to Yuma, Arizona, in
1877. The Atlantic and Pacific filled the gap between the
upper Rio Grande Valley in New Mexico and Needles in
California in 1883, and is today a part of the great Santa Fe
system. This is the railroad that runs to the rim of the Grand
Canyon today.
Farther north the Denver and Rio Grande Western crossed
Utah and the Green River at the Gunnison Valley.
All these railroads were, of course, coal-burners, and coal
was hard to obtain on the Pacific Coast. In this era of the rails,
Frank M. Brown, a Denver capitalist, had a great idea. The
solution to the problem of railroading is the grade or better,
the absence of grade. Mountains are the bane. Note the New
York Central's "water-level route" from New York to Chicago.
It is anything but direct, yet is the fastest and most efficient.
Absence of grade is the reason for the route's success. Frank
M. Brown decided that what succeeded in the East would
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BROWN-STANTON
succeed in the West He declared that the answer to Western
railroading was to find the "water-level route/' The idea was
a good one. It had only one fault. It wouldn't work.
In western Colorado there was plenty of coal; in California
there was none. The coal had to be carried to the Pacific
Coast. And Frank Brown found the way to get it there. It
was simple and obvious and, if he hadn't thought of it, some-
body else would have. It was a route made by nature. Simply
start at Grand Junction in western Colorado and follow the
canyon of the Colorado River. This gorge cuts its way deep
across the American West through innumerable long canyons,
one known as the Grand Canyon, and comes out at Needles
in California. Nature had made this great cut following a
gentle grade for man's ingenuity to use. Here was the West-
em water-level route.
This would indeed be a railroad's railroad to supply all
the others, and it would only be a matter of time until it
would be plain to the traveling public that here was the safest
and fastest and levelest roadbed across the continent. It was
foolproof on paper.
A company for the immediate construction of the Colorado
Canyon and Pacific Railway was incorporated. Brown was
president of the company, and in 1889 he organized an expe-
dition to survey the route.
One major factor was overlooked* In the bottom of this
long chain of canyons was a wild beast that had never been
tamed. With all the visualizing of a railroad in a canyon,
nobody had thought of the temperament and character of the
Colorado River. The time came when the river had to be
considered. This dragon had never been saddled with a rail-
road; Frank Brown failed to saddle it in 1889; and it has not
yet been done today. And as for that hindrance called Boulder
Dam well, the river is going to take care of that in its own
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
good time. In fact, in something less than a hundred years,,
the river will see to it that there isn't going to be a trace of-
hut this is about a boating party.
On March 25 ? 1889, Frank Brown and two of his construc-
tion engineers drove the first stake for the great Colorado
Canyon and Pacific. It was a very expensive stake indeed.
Brown went East to attend to the multifarious business
details and the first survey party started down the Colorado,
This is the only important river expedition that did not begin
on the tributary of the Green, although for all intents and
purposes, it might just as well have. The first part)'- went down
the Colorado and up the Green, having a hard time of it as
they ran out of food, but finally made Green River, Utah,
where the Denver and Rio Grande crosses the state. Here they
waited until Brown had made final preparations.
Dellenbaugh, in The Romance of the Colorado River,
points out that time and again expeditions have run out of
food. And the successors never seem to profit by this error,
largely due to the fact that supplies are difficult to transport
in small boats and the amount is usually underestimated in
wishful thinking. Brown's party made this common mistake,
and made many others as well.
On the twenty-fifth of May, 1889, Brown's expedition was
ready to conquer the river. It never entered the heads, ap-
parently, of any of the sixteen men who made up the party,
that they could possibly fail. Powell had done it twice, and
that was almost twenty years ago. Powell had four boats; they
had six. They had his records and their expedition outmanned
his. They didn't even bother to carry life-preservers.
Powell, and A. H. Thompson, a geologist and geographer
who was on Powell's second trip, tried to explain the dangers
and difficulties- to Brown some weeks before his expedition
began, but Brown never understood the hazards that lay
ahead. With Brown was Robert Brewster Stanton, the chief
[130]
BROWN-ST ANTON
engineer of the railway-to-be, and had Stanton been in au-
thority over the president, it is probable that much of the
tragedy might have been avoided.
Brown labored under the idea that six boats were safer
than four and that there was safety in numbers. The river
doesn't compute that way. Moreover, Brown's boats were all
too small and too narrow, being only fifteen feet long and
three feet wide. This type of craft looked fast and rakish and
would have been ideal for an Adirondack lake. On the Colo-
rado they had the seaworthiness of canoes in a typhoon. And
not a life-preserver in the crowd. The river must have smiled
when it saw this coming. The only explanation for such sui-
cidal preparations is that Brown's thoughts were concentrated
on his objective and he never understood that his every
thought should have been devoted to besting the river.
Then the amount of luggage and supplies proved too heavy
for the boats and when loaded they were down to the gun-
wales. To correct this, three of them were lashed together to
form a kind of awkward raft. And this contraption carried
half the supplies and all emergency accessories such as rope,
extra oars, tools, and so on. Brown had expected these light
boats to be maneuvered easily; but when three were lashed
together, they were most difficult to control, and if anything
Were to happen to this improvised craft, half the boats and
half the supplies would be gone at one stroke. Things were
now beyond carelessness; they were stupid. And so they were
off.
Through Cataract Canyon Stanton recorded seventy-five
rapids, most of them within twenty miles, and waterfalls of
sixteen to twenty feet. Within the first two miles they were
in trouble. With bad rapids ahead, the raft and one boat went
to one shore, and the other two boats to the other. Brown
signaled to bring the raft over to his side. Since they were
still half a mile above the roaring rapids, it looked safe enough.
[131]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
But, halfway over, the strong suck, or undertow, caught the
raft and pulled it downstream. The boat towing it could not
pull it back* Slowly, sadistically, the terrible river was reach-
ing for that raft, and gradually it pulled it toward the rapids.
The tow boat cut the raft loose in order to save itself, and
down went the raft, smashed, broken, splintered, with its
precious stock either at the bottom of the river or its wreckage
strewn for twenty miles along the canyon, while the party
looked helplessly on. In two miles of bad water the river had
halved the expedition. And still they would not learn.
Somehow they struggled downstream fighting the seventy-
five rapids. By June fifteenth, three weeks after the start, they
were still in Cataract Canyon and reduced to strict rations.
One of the party made a gruesome discovery. He found the
wreckage of a wagon and a human skeleton. No wagon
could get within a hundred and fifty miles of the place where
it was found, which meant that the ill-fated team and driver
must have been swept into the river far upstream and washed
all the way down. The skeleton had been crushed into the
wagon box, and the whole thing was a grim warning. Even
the river was trying to tell them to quit, but Brown would not.
Just below the confluence of the Dirty Devil it is possible
to get out of the canyons. Later this spot became the minus-
cule settlement of Hite, Utah, a base for miners who later
sought gold in Glen Canyon. Its population was usually
three, sometimes two, and occasionally only one. There were
two prospectors there in 1889 and Brown was able to procure
a little food and a few supplies from them. The battered
party rested a few days, and three of its members quit and
walked out through the wilderness over the miners* trail to
civilization. In the case of this expedition, what had begun as
six boats and sixteen men was now three boats and thirteen
men.
The work of survey for the railroad had gone on and Stan-
[132]
BROWN-ST ANTON
ton was accomplishing his part of the trip in spite of the
difficulties. The one hundred and fifty miles of Glen Canyon
is almost all fair water. Brown went ahead to arrange for
further supplies at Lees Ferry and Stanton came more
slowly, continuing the survey work. There was a long lay-
over at Lee's Ferry while Brown went to Kanab, Utah, and
back, for essential supplies. One more member quit at this
spot, reducing the number to twelve, and on July 9, they
began again.
The first of the vicious rapids in Marble Canyon was
avoided by portage and the party spent a night at what is
known as Soap Creek. Stanton later reported that Brown was
in a pensive mood and could not sleep. He talked to Stanton
about the project under survey and when they had exhausted
that subject, Brown continued about his wife and children
who were traveling in Europe. In the morning Brown was
still in a disturbed frame of mind and he admitted that the
strain of the trip was affecting his nerves. The river already
had him and he sensed it.
In the very first rapid that morning Brown's boat was hurled
over and over and the men thrown into the river. Brown sank
into a whirlpool and was never seen again. Stanton, in the
following boat, was on the scene a few seconds later and all
that was left was Brown's notebook floating around and
around in the whirlpool. The rest of the men were saved.
This tragedy ended travel for that day, and the others
beached the boats below the rapids and deployed along the
shore hoping to recover Brown's body. But the river never
gave up die remains of the man who had thought to saddle it
with a railroad. Darkness came and it was a lugubrious camp
that night. Stanton now took charge of the expedition. To go
back was impossible, to go on was perilous, to stand still was
to starve. Under Stanton, the party, now reduced to eleven
men, tried once more.
[133]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
They battled the rapids of Marble Canyon for three days
and were almost at the beginning of Grand Canyon when the
river struck again. This time, instead of the leader boat,
which was Stanton s, it took the second boat. Stanton and his
men got through a particularly bad rapid with no more than
a drenching, but the second boat was thrown against the
canyon wall It shuddered, cracked open, and sank. Two men,
Peter Hansborough and Henry Richards, were drowned
Hansborough at once, and Richards after a desperate battle
to swim out of the undercurrent.
This double tragedy was the end. Stanton surrendered and
the river had won. The survivors sought a side canyon nd
found one at Vesey s Paradise, a cleft in the walls named by
Powell for a botanist friend because of the lush growth in a
small area. The miserable party now reduced from six boats
and sixteen men to two boats and nine men huddled that
night in the slight shelter of the cliffs while the canyon put
on an exhibition of hell in the form of a terrific electrical
storm. Lightning struck the cliffs and the rain came down in
a cloudburst. Thunder boomed and reverberated back and
forth through the sheer walls and the river rose two feet In a
few hours. The schizophrenic was Mr. Hyde that night and
his soul belonged to the Dirty Devil. The Brown-Stanton
party never met the Dr. Jekyll personality or the Bright
AngeL ''Nowhere," wrote Stanton at a later date, <r has the aw-
ful grandeur equaled that night in the lonesome depths of
what was to us death's canyon." The next day the suicidal
boats were abandoned and the men climbed out over the rim.
By nightfall, in a state of exhaustion, they reached a cattle
ranch.
Brown was dead and Stanton was defeated. But Stanton
was alive to challenge the river again. He had implicit faith
in Brown's scheme and he vowed that the Colorado Canyon
and Pacific railway would emerge from a dream into reality.
[134]
BROWN-STAN TON
Understanding at last the problems that confronted him, Stan-
ton organized a new expedition, built stronger boats provided
with watertight compartments, and had his men wear cork
life-preservers. Then he tackled the job again, and after a
series of typical river incidents, near-calamities, desertions,
injuries (one member sustained a broken leg and had to be
carried out of the canyon and up to the rim on a stretcher),
smashed boats, and the discovery of the body of Peter Hans-
borough, they finally got through to Grand Wash. Stanton,
and a few -others, continued all the way down to tidewater
where Alarcon had first seen the river in 1540.
At last Stanton had his survey and it was complete. All
lie needed now was to find somebody with the faith of Brown
to finance and build the railroad. He refused to believe the
project impractical, and for a man of his engineering skill and
intelligence, this seems just over the mark into stubbornness.
The idea of a railroad following a watercourse is perfectly
practical in cases such as the Hudson Valley and the Mohawk
Valley. But to build a railroad in the bottom of the chain of
canyons created by the Colorado is ridiculous for many rea-
sons. First of all there could be hardly a mile of straight track
without great expense; the sheer rock canyons would have to
be straightened, cut through, tunneled, filled, and bridged.
The river rises and falls at various seasons and the tracks, for
safety, would have to be suspended in many cases well above
the high water mark. Beaches and talus slopes and rock spills
would be useless as roadbed, since the water sometimes inun-
dates them by as much as fifty feet. And beyond all these
natural difficulties there is not, and can never be, a single
town capable of contributing to a railroad's support through-
out the length of the canyons. It was all a pipe-dream that
seemed practical only on paper, and a first-hand knowledge of
the Colorado and its canyons called for the rejection of the
plan.
[135]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
And so the plan for the costly Brown-Stanton expedition
evaporated into the rarefied western air. The Colorado Can-
yon and Pacific is now entombed in the graveyard o lost
hopes. The river won.
[136]
The
T7
l!/LLSWQRTH and Emery
Kolb came to the rim of the Grand Canyon and looked across
and below in 1901. What they had thought to be the pattern
of their lives was changed instantly. They didn't know it at
the time, but the most important milestone of their lives had
been reached.
The impact of the canyon on the consciousness of the
brothers was no stronger, perhaps, than on many people. But,
unlike many people, it registered just as strongly on their sub-
conscious. It can be said that the Kolb brothers loved the
canyon from the instant they saw it. They reacted to it with
their intellects and their emotions; and they felt even more
strongly the immense supernatural and mystic pull of this
obviously natural phenomenon. It wasn't a case of their being
unable to leave it; they simply didn't want to leave it. Others
could come and go but they stayed on*
In 1901 it was possible to own property at the Grand Can-
yon, and the Kolbs built a house at the edge of it. They se-
lected a magnificent spot at the very head of the Bright Angel
Trail. The brothers were interested in photography and die
house became studio as well as residence. It clings to the
Kaibab limestone, a kind of aerie on the canyon wall. From
any of its windows the view is breathtaking. As far as loca-
tion is concerned there is no other house in the world like it.
[137]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
And now that the Grand Canyon is a National Park and be-
longs to the people of the United States, the Kolb house Is
destined to "remain unique. For a much longer time than is
generally supposed, the Grand Canyon was not federally ad-
ministered. That it should be is absolutely proper for this
great work of natural art could not have remained in the
hands of private or corporate exploitation, although few
people realize that the area was not created a National Park
until 1919. The transition from private interests to federal
control caused a pinch now and then to property owners along
the rim. A few islands of private land remain intact today
within the park* The Kolb house is one and the Kolbs deserve
the privilege.
From 1901 to 1941 the brothers explored the area. There
never was a project too difficult for them and they ranged up
and down the canyon walls from the Kaibab limestone at the
rim to the Archean granite of the inner gorge, and from
Marble Canyon on the east to Diamond Creek on the west
They knew as much of and about the Grand Canyon as any-
body and possibly more. Remote sections that few tourists
ever see, such as Thunder River and Cheyava Falls, were
visited by them, and the Cheyava Falls were named by Ells-
worth, at the request of the United States Geological Survey
in 1923. It is a Hopi word meaning off-and-on, or intermit-
tent, as it was first supposed the falls occurred only at certain
seasons. Later it was found that they are permanent, but the
name was not changed.
These falls are extremely difficult to reach and the Kolbs
were the first ones there. It was a hard climb and a matter of
going down the wall of the Supai formation hand over hand
on a rope. A cave was discovered back of the falls an$ within
the cave a lake. Until Ellsworth and Emery got there at the
risk of their necks, this was an isolated part of the United
States that no American had ever seen. And the difficulty of
[138]
THE AMAZING KOLB BROTHERS
exploring this section of the Grand Canyon may be under-
stood when the Kolbs explain that they first tried to get to the
falls in 1908 and it was not until 1930, after several inter-
vening attempts, that Ellsworth, lowered on a rope by Emery,
set foot where no man had ever set foot before. The cave
is sixty feet high at the entrance and six hundred feet deep.
Today there is a trail from Bright Angel Creek to the base of
these falls, and the average tourist considers even this too ar-
duous an undertaking just to see and hear some roaring water.
He has little or no concept of what the Kolb brothers have
gone through in a labor of love to explore their pet waterfall.
Thus it is obvious that the Kolbs came to know the Grand
Canyon in a way that no others did. They had their house and
the canyon was their estate. In this demesne roamed a wild
beast called the Colorado River. The brothers often came face
to face with him. They respected him and he let them alone.
They became distantly acquainted and they often snapped his
picture. They got to like the beast, and they discovered that
he had moods. He could be calm and placid and play like a
kitten; or he could spring in bestial fury and ruthless cruelty
like the inhuman thing that he was. They came to see that
he had in his nature a dualism and that he was motivated
always by one of two forces that of an angel or that of a devil.
And the transition from one to the other could be instan-
taneous.
The Kolbs came to resemble that Maharajah of India who,
when told that a man-eating tiger was living in his park,
said, "How courageous of him! But of course he doesn't know
1 am a man."
Emery says it was Ellsworth and Ellsworth says it was
Emery probably it was both at once but each thought that
they knew the beast well enough to try to ride him. Once
this desire was acknowledged there was no way to overcome
it. They would, sooner or later, have to have their experiment
[139]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
witt the river. They read Powell's reports and Dellenbaugh's
account of Powell's second trip. They noted the mistakes of
the Brovra-Stanton party. And at last they ordered two boats
to Be built and shipped to Green River, Wyoming. They
resolved to add a pictorial record to the history of the canyon,
and, since they were photographers by profession, they took
along the first motion-picture camera to make the journey
down the river.
Theirs was not the first attempt to follow that of Brown
and Stanton. Nathan Galloway, a trapper, made several trips
on the river, and two of them, one in 1895 and another in
1896, were from Wyoming to Needles, California. There
were adventures but no casualties.
Also in 1896, George F. Flavell and a companion who is
not identified went from Green River, Wyoming, to Yuma,
Arizona, in one flat-bottomed boat. The trip received no
publicity and has been forgotten. It is assumed that Flavell
was either a prospector or a trapper. About all that is known
today is that the trip was made successfully.
In 1907 three young men, Charles S. Russell, E. R. Mon-
nette, and Bert Loper tried it in three steel boats. Loper's
boat was wrecked in Cataract Canyon. Russell and Monnette
took a severe beating, and the river got another boat in the
Hance Rapids. Farther down, at Hermit Creek, the beast
literally tore the third boat out of their hands as they were
lining it downstream. The men climbed out and found help
from Louis Boucher, the hermit of Hermit Creek (see later
chapter, 'Trail-Wise and Trail-Weary"). They located the
smashed boat and managed to repair it well enough to get to
Needles, but the expedition can be called only partially suc-
cessful.
Julius F. Stone and a party of four Cone of whom was the
previously mentioned Galloway) left Green River, Wy-
[140]
THE AMAZING KOLB BROTHERS
oming, in 1909, In four flat-bottomed boats and made a suc-
cessful run to Needles. This trip was remarkable In as much
as none of the boats was badly damaged and two of them went
through without a single upset. The beast was quiet that year*
Then came 1911 and the Kolbs with their motion-picture
camera.
They decided to start from the farthest possible point up-
stream, where Powell began in 1869. This is Green River,
Wyoming. Most expeditions have started here but a few have
begun at Green River, Utah. For the sake of clarity It must
be understood that on the Colorado's tributary called the
Green there are two towns, each called Green River. One Is
In Wyoming and one Is in Utah, and unless an expedition
begins at the Wyoming town It cannot be said to ttave run
the entire river,
On September 8, 1911, the Kolbs pushed off. They tad
a lad with them who could not stand the gaff, and after a few
canyons and rapids, he unceremoniously quit The brothers
really didn't need him, anyway.
The Kolb boats were fairly small, but flat-bottomed which
Is Important. They were very maneuverable, and the brothers
perfected a new technique In running rapids. They let their
boats go Into the violent water stem first. This meant that
the oarsman, with his back to the bow, was facing down-
stream with a clear vision of what was ahead. Also he was
rowing, at the same time upstream against the current, which
broke the downstream speed of the boat. It sounds very com-
plicated but Is Ingenuously simple. The Kolbs had their up-
sets and near-drownlngs, but they had a great advantage over
the old "hang on and hope for the best" attitude of earlier
attempts. They were one up on the river to start with.
In Red Canyon they found a landmark. It was some paint
on a rock under an overhanging ledge. It read only "Ash
[141]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
. . ." and nothing more could be made of it. But history had
caught tip with facts by 1911, and the brothers knew that this
was all that remained of Ashley's record painted on that
rock eighty-six years before.
The river in 1911 was just as much of a threat as it had
been back in Ashley's day in 1825. But in those eighty-six
years some slight trace of the civilization beyond the canyon
walls had crept in. Where nobody had explored below the
Green in Powell's day, there had been trappers and pros-
pectors and even escaping criminals by 1911. The brothers
worked their way downstream and thought of those who had
gone before under differing circumstances.
One of the most desperate cases in the river's history had
been the flight of one Phil Foote and partner. Foote was a
robber and a gambler and had tangled with the law more
than once. He broke out of jail in Salt Lake City and, with
his partner, fled to Green River, Utah. Fearing that officers
were following him from the west, and that others would be
waiting to intercept him in Colorado to the east, he stole a
boat in Green River, and in the night he and his partner
started downstream. They didn't know what lay ahead and
they didn't care. Anything was better than the law.
Their boat, of course, went out of control and was smashed
to pieces in Cataract Canyon. But the Dirty Devil was taking
care of his own that day, and he caused the wreckage of a
tent and some poles to be waiting on the rocks where the two
criminals scrambled ashore. The canvas was rotten and there
was'no telling from what point upstream the river had brought
this flotsam and dumped it there where two desperate men
could find it.
They tore the tent into strips and made a raft out of drift-
wood tied together by the canvas. And on this insecure craft
they sailed on. By all rights they should have drowned in ten
minutes, but the devil carried them safely through Cataract
[142]
THE AMAZING KOLB BROTHERS
Canyon where It had cut the Brown-Stanton party in half.
Unpredictable are the likings and moods of this river.
Still the convicts had no sinecure. The river might spare
their lives, but it could not feed them. Days went by, and
when the agony of starvation was no longer endurable, Footers
partner said he would plunge into the river and drown him-
self. Foote was a tough hombre, and such resignation to suffer-
ing enraged him. He said he would take pleasure in killing his
partner instead. Whether Foote was motivated by homicidal
mania or cannibalism It is impossible to say, but the partner
decided he didn't want to die after all and begged Foote to
spare him. In disgust, Foote did.
Later that day, they passed the mouth of the Dirty Devil
River. For them It was a good omen. For a short distance
farther downstream they came to the tiny settlement of Hite 7
and here Cass and John Hite were living at their base of
supply for mining operations in the adjacent canyons. Hite
has offered succor to more than one starving soul whom the
river has brought to Its shore, from a railroad president as In
the case of Frank M. Brown to an outlaw and cardshark In
the person of Phil Foote. The criminals were fed and, after
a day of rest from their ordeal, they disappeared overland.
Whatever happened to the partner Is not known, but Phil
Foote was Incorrigible. Six months later he was quite properly
shot and killed while holding up a stage in Nevada. He had
roamed out of range of his protector, the Dirty Devil. Good
sense should have warned him never to leave that river. It
liked him.
With the story of Phil Foote In their minds, the Kolb
brothers plunged Into Cataract Canyon, rowing upstream but
moving downstream in their peculiar technique of relativity.
And to their surprise they came upon a solitary boatman. He
was on shore and he saw them but gave no sign. He appeared
to be a trapper and he had some coyote skins, a battered boat,
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
and no interest whatever in the brothers. In fact, his be-
havior was slightly antagonistic. And again they thought of
Phil Foote.
The brothers landed and prepared to camp for the night
They introduced themselves and asked the stranger's name.
He hesitated and then said, "Why ah Smith/'
He was of medium size and had but one light gray eye.
But he seemed utterly at home and self-sufficient in this
desolate spot. The brothers camped for the night a hundred
yards below the taciturn Mr. Smith but invited him to share
their supper. He said he had just eaten, but a can of pineapple
for dessert tempted him and the aloofness began to melt away.
Smith added Charles to his name and verified the fact that
he was a trapper. His boat was an old skiff that looked as if
it might fall to pieces if it were so much as kicked* But
Smith said it was a good boat. He had been through a few
rapids and upset a few times but accepted that as normal
river travel. The brothers told him of the danger and death
that lay ahead, but Smith was unimpressed. He said he didn't
mind the rapids as long as he could keep his tobacco dry. And
when he went back to his own camp the brothers noted that
he slept on his gun.
In the morning the relationship was still friendly and Smith
was given a short ride in one of the Kolb boats. He was
deeply impressed with the skill with which the brothers
handled the rapids. And he was able to be of great help to
them in running the motion-picture camera so that the film
would include both the Kolbs. Up until that time one of
them had had to take the pictures while the other performed
with the rapids. Since conditions were improving consider-
ably, the brothers suggested that he come along with them,
but Smith thought about it and declined, saying that he was
traveling more slowly and that he wanted to stop and trap
at will. He also intimated that while his skins were all coyote,
[144]
THE AMAZING KOLB BROTHERS
there might be some others, and that his first reaction to the
brothers had been cool for that reason. Then they under-
stood. There were such things as game laws in 1911 laws
which had been nonexistent in the days of Ashley and it
was an offense to trap beaver out of season and without a
license. Smith, If not a poacher, was close to that status, and
he had taken the brothers for a couple of game wardens.
Now that all misunderstandings had been removed they were
good friends. Again the brothers warned him of the dangers
ahead and he promised to send them a postal card if he got
through.
Cataract Canyon has always been one of the most difficult
sections of the river, but the Kolbs came through in record
time by conquering all of its vicious rapids in four days, a
journey that took the Brown-Stanton party several weeks.
Wherever the going was particularly bad they thought of the
lone Charles Smith and wondered how he would fare. Even-
tually they found out.
Below Cataract Canyon they came to the Dirty Devil and
like all others, they agreed that because of its muddy, sul-
phurous, odoriferous, alkaline water, this river was well
named. They tried one taste and that was enough.
Below the Dirty Devil was the tiny settlement of Hite
and when the Kolbs arrived the population was just one Cass
Hite alone was there to welcome them. He was an "old-timer"
who had gone to California with the gold rush and had seen a
lot of the West and a lot of life with it. He had many stories
with which he regaled the brothers, and one of his favorites
was that of "Sweet Marie." Those who can remember far
enough back will recall that "Sweet Marie" was once a popu-
lar song. And the author, Cy Warman, believe it or not, wrote
the song at the lonely spot of Hite, Utah, while the guest of
Cass and John. The complete absence of "Marie" from the
environs was doubtless the source of inspiration for the song,
[145]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
for Cass Hite told the Kolbs that only one woman had ever
arrived at Hite In the past twelve years. "It's just not a
female's country," he summed it up; the brothers concurred.
From Hite there are a hundred and fifty miles of fair water
through Glen Canyon to Lee's Ferry and here the brothers
had time for more than a concentrated fight for survival*
They found many petroglyphs Indian carvings in rock-
throughout Glen Canyon and they wondered what the signi-
ficance of the aboriginal art could be. These Indian drawings
are pre-Columbian and are remarkably uniform in their exe-
cution throughout the American Southwest. Those on the
walls of Glen Canyon depicting warriors, animals, trails,
mazes ? and seemingly abstract designs are essentially the same
as those found in Nevada and in the Mojave Desert region of
California. They are generally supposed to be about six hun-
dred to eight hundred years old and are just as strange to the
modern Indian as they are to the white man. They prove
one thing for a certainty: the Colorado canyons were in-
habited by an unknown race, which has since disappeared,
long before most of Europe had discovered that the world
was round.
Farther downstream the Kolbs camped at the Crossing of
the Fathers and visualized the scene in 1776 when the Esca-
lante party made its famous ford. And another days run
brought them to Lee's Ferry and the end of the quiet waters
of Glen Canyon. From here on there were some very bad
rapids: the Soap Creek Rapid which had drowned Frank
Brown, the famous Sockdologer, and the vicious Hance Rapid.
This was the very heart of Grand Canyon, but the brothers
felt more and more at home. For high up on the rim above
Bright Angel Creek were their relatives who were hopefully
waiting for news. Theirs was the first and only river expedition
to enter upon familiar ground with evexy increase in danger.
A huge signal fire in Bright Angel Canyon carried the news to
[146]
THE AMAZING KOLB BROTHERS
the rim that they had arrived safely; and the next day they
cached their boats and ascended the Bright Angel Trail to
their home one mile straight up. It was October 17, 1911.
But this was only an interlude. The ride on the beast's back
was far from over. Some of the most dangerous sections of the
river lay below Bright Angel Creek. The Kolbs took two
months for a *%reather n and then, resupplied, trudged from
the snow-covered rim down to the river and pushed off once
more. Two new men had joined them; another brother,
Ernest, went a short distance^ and Bert Lauzan, now in the
Park Service at the South Rim, accompanied them all the way
to Needles.
This section of the Granite Gorge is replete with thrills
and hazards, and the brothers battled their way through rapids
known as Salt Creek, Monument, Hermit, and Boucher.
There were adventures every minute, but nothing could
deter them and they were buffeted through swirling waters,
razor-edged rocks and fifteen-foot waves with excitement and
high spirits. Once a boat was badly smashed, but they repaired
it on Christmas Day and continued on their way. They knew
the beast now; they could judge a rapid by its very sound;
they were professionals.
They passed Tapeats Creek and Thunder River, and
reached Kanab Creek. Here Major Powell had terminated his
second expedition, and from this point on the Kolbs had no
literary material to guide them, but by this time they didn't
need it. Later they came to the mouth of Havasu Creek with
its sky-blue water gushing down from the home of the Hava-
supai Indians. It was zero weather on the rim and here they
were in desert country of the lower Sonoran life zone with
ocotillo and cactus in bloom. But the beast was not docile.
He still had a few tricks to play. Lava Falls was one and here
he was in such a devilish mood that even the brothers dared
not defy him. They astutely 'lined" their boats from the shore.
[H7]
LISTEN, .BRIGHT ANGEL
Eventually they, passed Diamond Creek, the spot where
Deutenant Ives had stood and marveled at his first view of
Grand Canyon in 1858- This is a section seldom visited hy
tourists as it cannot be reached from Grand Canyon village,
nor does the water from Lake Mead extend up far enough
so that it can be visited by boats from Boulder Dam. It is one
of the wildest sections of the Grand Canyon country and was
the scene of a tragedy of another river party at a much later
date, a story of a honeymoon with an unhappy ending in
which the Kolbs played the part of rescuers who came too
late (see later chapter, "A Bride and Groom").
Very bad rapids are below Diamond Creek and at certain
stages of water the worst section of the river is waiting for
the unwary. Two lateral canyons pour streams in from each
side, there is a sharp fall, below this a huge rock, and below
the rock extremely vicious rapids. For the weary river-runner
the Colorado has been saving not his aces he has played all
of those but, here, the wild joker that means the game.
This is Separation Rapid, so named by Major Powell in
1869 when three of his party refused to go on. There is no
way to 'line" it; the river says, "Run it or else."
It was a battle but the Kolbs, battered and drenched, got
through alive. There was little doubt now that a successful
end was in sight. But the river wasn't quite ready to let them
go; he slipped a last joker out of his sleeve. He dared the
Kolbs to trump this one; it was an especially dangerous
cataract. Wisely they refused his challenge. They made a
last portage and declined his final dare. From that point on
the rapids grew less and less severe and at last they came to
the comparatively calm waters of Grand Wash. The battle
was over; the beast was purring, and quietly he bore them
downstream past the Virgin River, the ghost town of Call-
ville, Black Canyon which now grips Boulder Dam, and on to
the broad and calm water at Needles on January 18, 1912.
[148]
THE AMAZING KOLB BROTHERS
Powell had been on the river ninety-nine days and had quit
at Callville; the Kolbs ended farther downstream, and their
running time was one hundred and one days.
In the flood of excitement, exuberance, and satisfaction
they opened their stack of mall. One letter, a surprise, de-
lighted them. It was mailed at Hite, Utah, and it read:
KoTb Bros.
Dear Friends: Well, I got here at last after seventeen days in
Cataract Canyon. The old boat will stand a little quiet water but
will never go through another rapid* I certainly played "ring-a-
round" some of those rocks; I tried every scheme I had ever heard
of, and some that were never thought of before. At the last rapid in
Cataract I earned aE my stuff over the cliff, then tried to line the
boat from the narrow ledge. The boat jerked me into the river, but
I did not lose my hold on the chain and climbed on board. I had
no oars, but managed to get through without striMng any rocks,
and landed a mile and a half below the supplies. I hope the movies
are good.
Sincerely yours,,
CHAS. SMITH
The brothers rejoiced. The odd friendship with Smith,
formed under unique conditions, was genuine. Nothing could
have made them happier than to know that Smith, too, had
made it to his destination. In 1913, however, they received
different news. A letter from John Hite told them of the death
of his brother Cass. So the story of "Sweet Marie 9 * would be
told no more. And, sorry to relate, John Hite wrote that
Charles Smith had made another trip south from Green
River, Utah, that same year. All that was ever found was half
of his wrecked boat. The Kolbs saluted the intrepid indi-
vidualist with the words "a full heart pays tribute to the
memory of Smith" in their own book called Through the
Grand Canyon from Wyoming to Mexico by Ellsworth
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Kolb, (Ellsworth later went from Needles to the tidal bore
of the Colorado and hence the book's title.) For anyone who
has lost his heart to the sport of running rivers, this book is a
u . >
must.
Their trip ended, the brothers returned to their studio,
and developed the pictorial record of their adventures. But
neither of them was through with the river and both re-
turned to it, singly and together, a number of times. In 1923
Emery was chief boatman for another expedition of the
United States Geological Survey. This party went from
Lee's Ferry to Needles under the leadership of Claude H.
Birdseye, and while it had its spills and adventures, it accom-
plished its scientific ends with great success.
But the 1911 trip of the brothers is the pictorial journey
which they like to exhibit in their studio to the thousands of
visitors who call upon them. The records are there today and
are well worth seeing, and even if you have come only to
browse in the studio and peer through the telescope and do
not care to see the "movies," Emery Kolb will be there to
welcome you. If he should choose to talk to you about the
Grand Canyon in general, or any phase of it in particular,
you will be privileged to hear an authority. You will be lis-
tening to a man small of stature and fastidious in dress, and
it may seem incredible to you that this soft-spoken gentleman
has tamed the beast that prowls the canyon bottom. But the
longer you listen, the more you will understand that the
Emery Kolb of the rim and the Emery Kolb of the river are
two different men. He has secrets that he shares with the can-
yon and the river, and these are not to be heard for the ask-
ing. He is a twentieth-century Paracelsus who has touched
both the alchemy and the mysticism of Grand Canyon and
between him and this phenomenon are esoteric thoughts that
he never quite puts into words. Perhaps there are no words to
explain the transcendent meaning of both the Bright Angel
[150]
THE AMAZING KOLB BROTHERS
and tie Dirty DeviL Perhaps the full significance of this dual-
ism steps out of space and time limitations. But Emery Kolb
comes as near to understanding the behavior of the beast as
any man. He has put his mark upon it, and it has put its mark
upon him. Together they know something; be sure to listen
for it; you could do no better*
[151]
EXPLORERS WANTED
Volunteers are wanted far an important geological-geo-
graphical expedition scheduled to leave New York City
about June 10, to be gone six or eight weeks. Preference
will he given to -men who have had outdoor experience, and
no one will he accepted who cannot $wim y handle a hoat,
do his share of camp chores, and handle himself in the
woods. No one should apply who is afraid of cold, or of
high altitudes. A fine opportunity for geology students, or
young members of teaching faculties, to do field work in
virgin territory.
No salaries will he paid, hut rations, transportation and
camp equipment will he supplied. Each member of the ex-
pedition will have to furnish his personal equipment, and
will have to pay his own fare to the point where the ex-
pedition leaves the railroad. In applying to join the party,
state whether or not you are an American citizen.
Send photograph and complete biographical information
in your first letter.
In the spring of 1927 the above advertisement appeared
!n university newspapers, fraternity papers, and on college
1152}
EDDY
bulletin boards, The person to communicate with, was a Mr.
Clyde Eddy of New York. Where Mr. Eddy's expedition pro-
posed to go was a secret.
Interested?
More than a hundred college men were eager to learn more.
Mr. Eddy sifted the volunteers down to forty and explained
that the great adventure was a river trip down the Colorado
from Green River, Utah, to Needles, California. At least half
the applicants withdrew, and from those remaining, Eddy
selected three young men from Harvard, two from Coe Col-
lege, two from Notre Dame, and one from Northwestern, A
ninth man joined the party through the American Museum
of Natural History. A tenth was a cameraman. The eleventh
was Parley Galloway of southeastern Utah. The twelfth was
Eddy himself. And at the last minute a lucky thirteenth was
added in the form of a tramp who joined at Green River,
Utah.
This hater's dozen was an odd group. They were for the
most part well-educated young men who had never seen each
other before and who never intended to run the Colorado
River, who were thrown into a group faced with daily dangers
for six weeks, and who then separated and never functioned
together or ever even met in a group again.
There was an impromptu, ridiculous, collegiate-prank as-
pect to the whole thing. Adventure beckoned and dared
them; so they took the dare. Why not? What else was there
to do?
The "geological-geographical" serious note never amounted
to much. This expedition had no reason for being beyond the
fact that Clyde Eddy wanted to go down the Colorado River
by boat. In 1919 he had visited the Grand Canyon and had
descended to the river at the foot of the Hermit Trail. The
roaring stream caught his fancy and the germ incubated. He
[153]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
would not T>e satisfied until lie had tried it. After eight years
of incubation the germ became symptomatic. He had the river
disease, and in 1927 he took the only cure: he ran the river.
The collegiate crew arrived at Green River, Utah, and
became acquainted. Each of them would have given a reason
for what he was doing, but none of the reasons would have
been basic* They were not there for geology or geography or
cartography or engineering or photography.
The real reason was that they had answered an ad tantaliz-
ing in its promise of adventure. Their spirits said let's go!
On the surface it was all very mishap and misfit. But under-
neath it was well prepared. Clyde Eddy may have had a river-
obsession but he was no fool. Three good boats had been built
and carefully stocked. They were named the Powell, the
Dettenbaugk, and the Coronado, after the river's explorer,
recorder, and indirect discoverer.
At Green River the boys were warned of the dangers. "It's
nothing our boats are unsinkable/* they replied. One citizen
of the town said morosely, "In two weeks youll all be dead,"
It was so funny they laughed in his face. Imagine any river
stopping them! Who was this hick, anyway? Just a trapper
who had been in the canyon country for sixty-odd years. What
did he know about it? Let him go shoot a cat!
Eddy himself was older than his crew. He had served in
France in the first World War when the rest of the party
were playing soldier with wooden guns, but he was not lack-
ing in the spirit that prevailed. It was all very simple and easy
and later Eddy wrote casually:
On our last day in Green River a hobo asked me for a job. He
told me ... he had been a sailor. He professed to know all about
boats * . . and had accompanied an expedition through the upper
canyons of the Euphrates River and, therefore, knew all about
rapids. I decided he might prove a valuable addition to the party.
[154]
EDDY
I bought him a pair of shoes, a shirt, a blanket, and some overalls,
and he Joined us.
It was as easy as that. Anybody else want to come along?
But the party was not yet bizarre and Eddy continues:
Knowing that a cub bear would be a picturesque addition to the
party I brought one with me from New York. To serve as a mascot
I had a dog which had been sent to me from the dog pound in Salt
Late City, The party was then complete, thirteen men, three
boats, a dog, and a bear.
Certainly. And it wouldn't be complete without that dog
and the live bear. Eddy continues, a The citizens of Green
River turned out, to the last man, woman, and child, to see
us off."
Of course. Who wouldn't? But they missed the camels,
the giraffes, and the elephants.
All went well for a week; the river was too amazed by this
strange party to do more than stare incredulously. Some odd
expeditions had tried to ride the beast, but this one was the
limit. The chap from Northwestern had a stack of blank
paper. It was to take notes on, he said. A man from Notre
Dame tad brought a harmonica; he had figured there
wouldn't be much to do while floating downstream day after
day and he wanted something to while away the hours. A
man from Harvard, majoring in English, brought a volume
of E. A. Robinson's poems. And everybody was well supplied
with cigars, cigarettes, and pipe tobacco. This was a cinch;
all they needed were some co-eds.
They continued well on their way and one of their chief
sports was to yell, "Hey, Ruth/' The canyon walls echoed
and re-echoed and the unidentified Ruth was paged all the
way to the confluence of the Green and the Colorado.
[155]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Then the river caught the spirit of the thing. It began to
play, too. It could not yell, "Hey, Ruth/ 1 but it had its own
kind of fun. It decided to try drowning five of them.
Wouldn't that be a lark?
The party had entered Cataract Canyon, and up to 1927
Cataract Canyon had taken the lives of almost one third of
the tnen who had tried to run it. The Eddy party encountered
its first rapids. It was a sobering experience and they battled
through the first group, the second, and the third, with the
going getting rougher all the time. Rapid number four was
a vicious one, but Eddy decided it could be' run. Their tech-
nique was that of the Kolb brothers: stern first downstream
wMe rowing upstream. It was the best possible method, but
just to make it sporting, the river was throwing up waves
twenty feet high.
Two of the boats got through safely and were beached be-
low the rapid, but the third, containing five men, went out
of control and came through spinning and whirling and was
sucked into the main current and sent downstream at thirty
miles an hour into rapid number five. Undaunted, the cam-
eraman continued to take pictures from this wild boat until
the river reached out a wave and knocked him flat into the
cockpit and took the camera away from him and sank it to
the bottom. A few seconds more and the lost five were out of
sight of the others.
They plunged through rapids, the boat filling with water,
and the men rowing for life in order to avoid crashing into
rocks. And, miraculously, after a mile, they regained control
and managed to make the shore. That was all for that day, and
the party was reunited by lining the other boats from the
banks. A strong boat, quick thinking, youthful muscles, and
refusal to stop fighting had saved five lives. The river laughed
and granted them that round. The boys made light of the
[156]
EDDY
"incident/ 1 but they had learned a lesson and their attitude
toward the river was respectful and guarded from then on.
The total clay's travel was only three miles. Camp was
serious that night
The next day the river cut loose with everything it had.
They were buffeted and whirled and soaked and spilled and
smashed. It was the Dirty Devil at its dirtiest and it gave the
boys plain hell. It played rough, it embraced no rules, it
kicked and gouged and clipped and fouled) and its fury in-
creased with every hour. It left the boys gasping and panting,
bleary-eyed and groggy, and the river loved it. The total run
after fourteen hours of hell was just three quarters of a mile.
The boys had run a total of seven rapids; the river had exactly
two hundred and ninety-three more in store for them, and all
the really bad ones were still ahead. Come on, Harvard, Coe,
Notre Dame, Northwestern! Ail-Americans, eh? So am I, said
the river, an All-American from way back. There's the whistle;
play is on; the river has the ball; he shifts, and pours through
for a first down smashing boats, oars, and rowlocks as he goes.
Great game, eh, fellows?
The boys called time out for the night but the river didn't
know any rules. He played the game twenty-four hours out
of the day. A dreary camp was made on a small beach. Thir-
teen drenched and bruised men, a waterlogged bear, and a
bewildered dog tried to catch their breath. During the night
the river rose and went after them. A flash flood came roaring
down from upstream and the small beach was inundated.
Still the water rose, and by midnight many supplies were
lost and the boys were crowded back against the canyon's
sheer walls and the river was swollen by a driving rain. At
dawn the river fell a few feet, not enough to remove the
threat, but just enough to encourage them to come on and
fight. In the bleak gray light he showed them a new trick;
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
small rocks and large boulders, loosened by the rain, came
tumbling and crashing down from the canyon walls. A direct
hit would be enough to kill a man. While they thought about
this a new day dawned; the river let them have the ball and
went on the defensive.
The college team went into a huddle. It was a long huddle
back on their own goal line. They came out of it slowly,
grimly, fight written all over them. There wasn't a smile in
the crowd. Forgotten were expensive sleeping bags, the latest
waterproof ponchos, poems, notebooks, and harmonicas. No-
body called, "Hey, Ruth." This was doordie. This was
fight and they meant it. Eddy called the signals and the team
went into action.
Perhaps the most interesting contribution of this party
is psychological. These young men were not obliged to con-
tinue this grueling ordeal. They were on a vacation. They had
nothing to gain, not even a salary, by fighting for six hard
weeks through to Needles. Life lay before them and the river
offered nothing but a senseless risk of an early death. They
had no obligations to Eddy; he had been a stranger to all of
them. If not drowning, they daily faced the danger of injury,
maiming, chills, fever, dysentery, and pneumonia. And all
for what? Nothing. Nothing but the challenge of the river
who dared them to fight or quit. And rising out of the psyche
of all of them came the determination to see it through. They
had asked for trouble and the river had hurled it at them.
And now, by God, they would lick this river or the river
would lick them. This was going to be a fight to the finish.
Perhaps they were fools. But also they were youths. It was
they or the river. Call those signals, Mr. Eddy.
This spirit is not new in American youth. It has been
evinced before and it will be seen again. America will never
die until it dies.
Not everybody can sustain it. Some must crack. And
[158]
EDDY
the Eddy party did not go through Intact, After emerging
from the battle of Cataract Canyon they had the one hundred
and fifty miles of fair water in Glen Canyon and arrived at
Lee's Ferry. Here there was a respite, while Eddy went to
Kanab, Utah, for fresh supplies. By far the worst part of the
journey lay ahead such now-famous rapids as the murderous
Soap Creek, the Sockdologer, Hance, Hermit, Boucher, Lava
Falls, Separation Rapids, and the particularly vicious water
at Spencer Canyon to name only a few.
Four men left at Lee's Ferrv. The first to leave was the last
*
to join, the tramp who had fought the Euphrates and "knew
all about rapids/' He had caved in early, pouted, sulked, and
belligerently quit. Bradley, the cameraman, also had enough,
And two of the college men \vere forced to quit because of
sunburn and injuries. Eddy advised them not to go on. They
were both Harvard men; but the third Harvard man, the
poet and student of English literature, went through to the
end.
It is hardly necessary to recount the experiences of the
party in detail from here on. It was simply a grim fight to the
finish, and somehow the dog and the bear survived. At Bright
Angel Creek the party rested again and Eddy went up to the
rim at Grand Canyon Village and had a talk with that past
master at running the Colorado, Emery Kolb. Kolb was ex-
tremely helpful to Eddy in describing in detail what lay
ahead. Although the river is never the same at any two seasons
of any year, the worst rapids are fairly consistently the worst,
and Eddy was able to collect some advance information. This
did not prevent their losing one of their boats in the Deuben-
dorf Rapids. And at another time the dog was left by accident
on a small strip of canyon-locked beach and the boats were
moving rapidly downstream before the men saw him stand-
ing with his forefeet in the water and barking helplessly.
There was no way to go back against the current and they
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
wait a mile downstream before they could find a place to
land. Then back over the rocks, a hundred and fifty feet above
the river, three of them climbed and, risking their necks, they
managed to rescue "Rags'" from the strip of beach. He was
hysterically grateful, and by this slim margin did he achieve
the status of being the first dog to pass through the Grand
Canyon.
Hie bear, curiously enough, seemed to accept the journey
as a matter of course and something that every bear went
through at some time in his life. He was miserable most of
the time and must have been a confounded nuisance as he
was constantly breaking loose. Not to run away did he break
his rope, but always to raid the food supplies. He was fed on
boiled rice, pancakes, and milk, but he had a ravenous ap-
petite and would eat anything he could get his paws on. He
was only a cub, but grew rapidly, and his play was so rough
that the boys named him Cataract. He and the dog got along
perfectly but all of the men bore the scars of bear claws on
their legs before they got to Needles.
Below their last rapid the men swam and sang and relaxed
as they moved on downstream. There were no dangers now.
It all returned to the 'lark" stage. They had done it, and they
had known all along that they would. Of the thirteen men
and three boats, nine men and two boats tied up at Needles
on August 8, 1927. There had been no fatalities. Now that
the party was about to break up there was a desire to "do it
again/' Several of the boys urged Eddy to plan a new trip on
the spot. They were a wild-looking lot, unshaven, half naked,
and with what clothes remained in tatters but they were
happy.
"Let's run the Yukon," somebody suggested, and "I hear
the Mackenzie is supposed to be tough how about it?"
But Eddy was through. He had conquered his river fetish.
The Colorado had been successfully run. He had had enough.
[160]
EDDY
He gave the dog to one of the boys and the bear was sold to
a Santa Fe Railway engineer. The party dissolved and the
nine men went their separate ways; they have never met as
a group since.
Eddy wrote the whole trip in detail into a book; it would
interest anybody who wanted to run the river. The London
edition is called accurately enough Danger River, and the
subtitle reads, "Being an account of the only successful at-
tempt to navigate the rapids of the world's most dangerous
river." That was laying it on pretty thick. Somebody over-
stepped in writing that line y but it may have been a last-
minute thought of the publisher rather than of Clyde Eddy.
At any rate^ it stands corrected, and it is to be hoped that if
there is another edition of Danger River, the subtitle will be
changed to: "Being an account of the only attempt to navigate
the rapids of the world's most dangerous river with a mongrel
dog and a live bear for no reason at all."
[161]
A Bride and Groom
T,
HIS is a happy story with
a sad ending. Or perhaps it has mystic or symbolic or hyme-
neal overtones which lift it entirely from the plebeian values
of happiness and sadness, of pleasure and pain, of dualistic
ephemeral nature.
Glen R. Hyde was in love.
All the world, it has been written by a sage, loves a lover.
Glen Hyde, however, had two loves. One was the girl of his
dreams and the other was rivers. He had made a careful study
of irrigation; that was the business aspect of rivers. And he had
made three important river conquests of running and ex-
ploration; that was the sporting aspect of rivers. His three
victories included the successful running of the Salmon River
in his native state of Idaho, and of the Fraser and the Peace
Rivers in Canada. By that time he knew all the tricks. But
there was one river he was longing to conquer and that was
the Colorado.
At the age of twenty-eight, Glen decided that it was time
to marry. He was in love with a pretty girl of twenty-four
whom he had met in college. She was from Parkersburg,
West Virginia. He had told her, Othello-like, round un-
varnished tales of his conquest of the Salmon, the Fraser, the
Peace, and his stories won his Desdemona.
But there was one more river, and he wanted it. It had
[162]
A BRIDE AND GROOM
been run before and the score was about fifty-fifty. Still, lie
was sure that he could conquer this river. He had his own
method. Always before men had attempted it in boats of the
skiff type. And they were tossed and smashed more often than
not. Glen had invented the perfect boat to whip the Colorado,
It looked cumbersome but was not; it looked awkward but
was readily maneuverable; it looked like a scow but it had
the speed of a ketch. He wanted to build this boat at Green
River, Utah, and run the Colorado. He wanted to marry the
girl and take her with him on a honeymoon. Would she ac-
cept his proposal?
She did.
And so, in October of 1928, they were married.
Glen built the boat himself, for he knew exactly what he
wanted. It was twenty feet long, five feet wide, and three feet
deep. It had two eight-foot bladed sweep oars at bow and
stern, and the trick was for Glen to stand amidships and
operate both oars at once. This gave him full control of the
boat at all times in all kinds of water or so he said. No other
oars for propelling were necessary. This was purely a river
boat and would conquer any river.
Mr. and Mrs. Glen R. Hyde were very happy. They began
their honeymoon trip on October 20, 1928, and they rejoiced
as they dropped quickly downstream and the town of Green
River, Utah, was soon out of sight. The honeymooners were
alone, and they would be alone for many weeks while travel-
ing through the most remote and desolate country in the
United States. It was the highest moment of Glen's life; he
had his river and he had his bride.
The ketch that looked like a scow completely vindicated
its designers faith. The run from Green River, Utah, to
Bright Angel Creek was made in twenty-six days. This is
very good time indeed when you recall that Cataract Canyon
not only retarded, but annihilated many a party, and that
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
the Soap Creek and the Sockdologer and the Hance Rapids
were also lurking along the way, not to mention many others.
On November 15, Mr. and Mrs. Hyde moored their scow
at the spot where Major Powell had appealed to the Bright
Angel, and ascended to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.
And here they called at the Kolb Studio and had a long talk
with Emery Kolb. He was amazed at their success and the
speed of their trip, and they confided that often, in order to
make record time, they cooked and slept in the boat.
Glen was quite confident that he would tame the Colorado,
although he admitted that there were times when the previous
rivers he had run seemed mild in comparison to this one. He
stated that the trip was purely personal, that he had no
scientific interests beyond proving that his type of boat was
the answer to river-running, and that he wished to give his
wife a thrill. Why, just think, in another two or three weeks,
she would not only be the first bride to make the canyon voy-
age, but she would be the first woman in history to ride the
Colorado River. They looked at each other and smiled.
Emery Kolb had a moment of trepidation. Had the beast
thought of this, he wondered. Was it going to be an angel
about it, or was the devil grinning and waiting. He knew this
river too well. It had been all too easy with that scow and its
eager twosome crew* What did it mean? Twenty-six days
from Green River, Utah, to Bright Angel Creek. That was
not like the river that Emery Kolb knew; he sensed duplicity.
Something was going to happen, something that these happy
bright-eyed people might not suspect.
"Of course," he said, trying to make it casual, "you are
carrying life-preservers?"
"No," said Glen. "Now about Separation Rapids, I under-
stand that there is a"
"No life-preservers at all?" asked Emery slowly.
[164]
A BRIDE AND GROOM
"Don't want ? em/' said Glen.
"But haven*t you been spilled overboard or pulled into the
river at any time? 9 *
s
"No no " said Glen, discounting the Importance of these
tangent remarks.
"Qh f yes/' said Bis wife. a Once in the Sockdologer Rapids
don't you remember, Glen?"
"Oh y that/' said Glen, "That wasn't anything. I slipped
that's all/'
"And I just did get a rope to him In time," she said wist-
fully to Emery Kolb. "He barely caught the end of It."
Emery Kolb was studying them carefully. He had listened
to their story with Interest, but his mind was turned to the
river. He was hearing its roar, Its crashing rapids; he was let-
ting his Intuition function. He was trying to read the beast's
mind. And the beast spoke to him then and there. It permitted
him to visualize a scene that was not pleasant. It was only a
flashing second, a quick visualization, but it stirred Emery into
action.
"You must have life-preservers," he said, rising and pacing
across the room. He stood with his back to the Hydes and
stared out into the depths of Grand Canyon. Far across the
abyss was Bright Angel Creek. And down there In the bottom
was that scow, and lapping beside it was that river. He turned
back to his guests. "You must have life-preservers/* lie
reiterated. "I have some; I'll give you mine."
He watched the Hydes, Their expressions changed. A trace
of a frown passed over Glen's face.
' ' *
don't need them, Mr. Kolb/* he said calmly.
Again Glen and his wife looked at each other. They both
smiled as if they shared a secret, and then they looked politely
back at Emery Kolb. And Emery knew then what the story
would be, and there was nothing he could do about it. Only he
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
and the river knew that each had had a glimpse into the
future* And all that tlere was to do was to let destiny catch
up to that future moment and play its scene.
Still Emery would not give up. Perhaps these were marked
children floating do\vnstream until the river had prepared an
altar of sacrifice, but there was still time; they might yet he
dissuaded. He exhorted them to take his advice. He could not
ask them to give up the trip for they would think him crazy.
But if they would not accept his life-preservers andxork life-
belts, would they not at least walk the few yards to the Fred
Harvey garage and buy or borrow some inner tubes? These
were not as good as life-belts, but they would do in an emer-
gency. Would they please do that?
Glen said they would of course, they would and about
Separation Rapids* . * .
And the talk went on. - .
The next day the Hydes were ready to descend to their
boat. Emery Kolb's wife and daughter went with them to the
head of the trail. There everybody stopped for a brief good-
bye* Glen was ecstatically happy. The second half of the trip
was about to begin. If it turned out as well "as the first half
they might set all kinds of canyon records. But Mrs. Hyde
was quiet. Something had registered in her woman's intuition:
some message, some mood, some warning. Had she picked it
up from the talk with Emery Kolb or was it from the river?
She could not say, but she knew something that her husband
did not yet know. She was his bride, and yet, the river had
never taken a woman to its bosom. She was the wife of Glen
Hyde and she would go wherever Glen Hyde went and yet,
there was another bridegroom waiting. She was the first to
tempt the beast. Would he want her? Already she knew. It
was something about which it was not possible to be articulate
at that moment. She wanted to say> "Glen, let's not go any
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A BRIDE AND GROOM
farther. Let's give it up. Let's never go down to that river
again! But lie would not understand. He wanted her to
go, and so she must. He was starting down the trail and call-
ing farewells and thanks to the Kolbs. She wanted to say
something nice to them, too, but all she could think was, "I
don't want to go, I don't want to go."
She looked down at her feet. They were encased in heavy
hiking boots. And Mr. Kolb's daughter was wearing such
smart new shoes. She caught her breath and looked up. "I
wonder/' she said to the Kolbs with a smile, "if I shall ever
wear pretty shoes again. 1 * And she turned and followed her
husband down the trail
That was November sixteenth.
The Hyde's method of keeping track of the days was very
simple. They cut a notch for each day on the gunwale of the
scow with a cross for every Sunday. And Mrs. Hyde kept a
brief diary with dots indicating rapids and dashes for the quiet
stretches in between. Occasionally she made notations in the
diary, such as "November 17, left Bright Angel Creek/'
On the eighteenth she recorded, "Left Hermit Camp/* On
the twenty-second, "Passed Tapeats Creek." On the twenty-
fourth, "Smashed a sweep oar. Glen repaired it/ 1 And on the
thirtieth, "Ran sixteen rapids today/'
Thus it can be seen that they were doing very well indeed.
They had conquered most of the rapids; they were nearing the
western end of Grand Canyon; and there were forty-two days
recorded on the gunwale. It looked as if they might break the
record. There remained only Lava Falls, Separation Rapids,
and Spencer Canyon. After that they would be in die calm
waters of Grand Wash and victory would be theirs with a
triumphant journey on to Needles and the most unusual
honeymoon in the world would be over*
Up on the rim of Grand Canyon everyone was wishing the
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Hydes the best of luck. No news had come from them, of
course, and there couldn't be any before mid-December at
the earliest. Any time after that date they might be expected
to emerge from the chain of canyons. There was no Boulder
Dam in 1928 to shorten their journey, but on the fifteenth
of December those who had followed the expedition began to
look for word.
Christmas came and still there was no news. They should
have been in civilization by that time. Something must have
delayed them.
December went by and 1929 came in. It began to look
serious. And after the first week of January had gone by, it
was serious. The only report was "Overdue at Needles/'
Mid-January came and then everybody knew that tragedy
had struck. Somewhere in the canyons the Hydes had
vanished. But all anybody could say was the meaningless
"Overdue at Needles."
Then Glen's father arrived from Idaho to instigate a search.
But how and where to search? All the father could do was
to stand at the head of Bright Angel Trail and wonder where
in that great gorge were his son and daughter-in-law. He
appealed to the Park Service, to the United States Army, and
lastly to Emery Kolb.
Emery Kolb had gone to Phoenix to a hospital to have
an appendectomy performed. But as soon as he received the
elder Hyde's plea he postponed the operation and hurried
back to Grand Canyon. There is a curious sidelight to this.
For Emery Kolb has not yet had the appendectomy and, while
he was part of a searching party, his doctor, who had declared
the operation imperative, died.
Meanwhile the United States Army had gone into action.
Lieutenants Adams and Plummer of the March Field Air Base
in California flew over the canyon country the length of the
[168]
A BRIDE AND GROOM
lower river in a single-motor six-hundred-horsepower Douglas.
Deep in the lower Granite Gorge they sighted a boat. It
seemed to be stationary in the middle of the river* They
brought the Douglas down at Grand Canyon airport.
But nobody could be sure that this had been the Hyde
boat Only Emery Kolb knew enough about the scow to be
able to recognize it from the air. And at the insistence of the
two lieutenants and the elder Hyde, Emery Kolb ? presumably
ready for hospitalization and a serious operation, bundled him-
self up in a flying suit, braved the zero weather in an open
cockpit ship, and flew with Adams to the unidentified boat.
Describing this trip, Emery says:
In going over the canyon Adams flew the ship as if it were an
eagle, swooping and diving over the peaks. And when he arrived
at the scene he dived lite a bullet into the inner gorge just over
the boat. He passed back and forth many times so that I could get
a good view, and instead of climbing out of the narrow gorge to
the "wider plateau, or Tonto Bench region, he would link up
sideways and make the turn in the inner gorge. The cold wind fcot
by my goggles and my eyes were streaming. My dothes wert so
heavy that I loosened the safety belt so that I might turn around
far enough to get a good view of the boat Adams saw that I was
having difficulty, and not knowing that I had loosened my belt,
turned sideways right over the boat and nearly dumped me out.
But I was able to determine without any doubt that the craft
"below was die Hyde boat. There was no sign of life. In the dark
we returned to Grand Canyon airport.
The next morning an expedition set out to reach the beat.
It consisted of Emery Kolb, Chief Ranger Brooks, M. J. Har-
rison of the National Park Service, and the elder Hyde. They
followed the highway south to Williams and west to Peach
Springs. Here Kolb and Brooks walked the nventy-two miles
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
to the river at Diamond Creek, the exact spot at which Lieu-
tenant Ives had first seen the Grand Canyon in 1858.
Harrison and Hyde went with supplies by wagon*
At the mouth of Diamond Creek there was an old flat-
hottom boat which had been used twenty years previously by
a mining company. It was rotten and full of holes. Brooks
and Kolb found some old canvas and with the few supplies
that arrived by wagon, completely reconstructed the boat.
Emery had wired his brother Ellsworth who was in Los
Angeles, and, drawn by the same irresistible force as that
which played upon Emery, Ellsworth turned up at the mouth
of Diamond Creek in time to help finish the boat. The follow-
ing morning Ellsworth, Emery, and Chief Ranger Brooks
pushed off. Again the brothers were riding the beast, and
this time in a cockleshell boat that soaked up water like a
sponge. ^ /
Fourteen miles below Diamond Creek and two miles aoove
Separation Rapids they came to the scow. It was right side
up, had shipped a foot of water, and was securely held by its
own rope which had caught on the river bottom. So firm did
the rope hold that it had to be cut in order to release the
scow. The two sweep oars were in working order and all
bedding, clothes, food, and utensils were in place. The rescue
party salvaged what equipment they could, including Mrs.
Hyde's diary, a gun, and a copy of the Kolbs's own book
which the Hydes had used for a guide. There were forty-two
notches cut into the gunwale so the rescuers could figure to
the day when the last record had been made. Moreover, there
was the diary* These facts left no doubt that the Hydes had
disappeared on December 1, 1928 or more than seven weeks
before.
In spite of the tragic mood that prevailed, Ellsworth could
not resist a try at this strange craft. He ran the waterlogged
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A BRIDE AND GROOM
scow over a rather bad rapid and reported that the two sweep
oars were so perfectly balanced that a child could operate
them. It had not been their that had failed the bride
and groom,
It was* impossible for the rescue party to return upstream to
Diamond Creek in their old boat. They had foreseen this and
had arranged to have horses meet them farther downstream at
Spencer Canyon. But in order to get there they had to run
Separation Rapids in their old tub. This was as hazardous as
any experience the brothers had yet had on the river. It was
impossible to control the old boat and one sound crack against
a rock would mean the end of it. As it was they had a nasty
spill in Separation Rapids and Chief Ranger Brooks was
nearly lost. Then, in frozen clothing, they traveled six miles
to Spencer Canyon where they were met by a party sent
on ahead with Walapai Indians and horses. This kind of thing
wiH either kill or cure a man with appendicitis, and happily,
in the case of Emery Kolb, he was cured.
Meanwhile, those left at Diamond Creek had worked up-
stream in an attempt to find any trace of the Hydes in that
direction. The last place their tracks appeared was seven
miles upstream above Diamond Creek. Thus twenty-one
miles separated the last trace of the bride and groom and their
scow. What had happened to them?
There are three or four suppositions, and each is a guess as
good as the other. Emery Kolb thinks it is likely that they
were trying to 'line** their scow over bad rapids, and the
heavy boat pulled them into the river and they were drowned.
Another theory is that they had landed on a canyon-locked
beach and a flash flood came downstream and took the sow
with 'it, leaving them to starve. Another is that a sudden jolt 1
or shock threw them both out of the boat into the river,
though this last is unlikely as there would have been no drag-
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
ging rope under those circumstances, and furthermore, such
a bump would have upset the orderly arrangement of their
effects within the boat.
But nobody really knows. Only the river can say what hap-
pened to the bride and groom. It is to be hoped that the beast
was merciful and took them unto himself quickly and to-
gether. But it is possible that he disposed of the man first,
for he was not interested in him, leaving the girl on a strand
of beach. It is not a pleasant thought. For either she hsd
a slow death of exposure and starvation, or the river rose,
slowly and Inexorably, and claimed his bride.
The Hyde case has been used by the Park Service as a
warning. Pleasure trips on the Colorado are discouraged, and
the government insists that no such expeditions be attempted
except in the interests of science and insists that even these
be accompanied by experienced overmen with the best pos-
sible equipment.
But this is not the answer. The Hydes were well equipped
and the scow was a capable craft. They had almost made it
and by all odds they should have come through successfully.
The Hydes are not to be blamed. It was the river. Nobody
thought in advance that the beast had never seen a girl before,
that he would study her for a long time, and that finally he
would take a wife.
[172]
White
LFTER all the fanfare and
honors and plaudits Bad been spent on the heroes of the Colo-
rado River, the Inevitable argument came out of its hiding
place and a question was posed. That great bugbear, doubt,
entered the picture.
Who was the first man to conquer the Colorado River and
pass through the Grand Canyon? Who gets the credit, the
honor, the glory? And all the heroes from Major Powell to
Buzz Holmstrom had the props pulled out from under them
by a small and loyal band who insisted that all of the adula-
tion heaped upon the brave, from Powell to Holmstrom, in-
clusive, was misplaced. Powell, this clique insists, was not the
first man to run the river, nor was Holmstrom the only man
who ran it alone. That double honor, they declared, is reserved
for James White,
And who is James White?
He was a young man from Kenosha, Wisconsin, who went
west in 1865, and who, in 1867, two years before Powell, ran
the Colorado alone. At least that is the claim on the part of
White's adherents. The story, from White's point of view, is
simple and harrowing, but a great many claims and counter-
claims have since cluttered it up. Poor James White did not
know what a mare's nest he was destined to expose. He was a
simple ignorant prospector and the fact that his adventures led
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
to long and bitter arguments for more than fifty years, reach-
ing a climax with vindicatory forensics in the United States
Senate, was a great surprise to him. After all had teen offi-
cially done and recorded, he was pushed forward with the
claim that he had done it first. It became a bitter farce, and to
the general public it was something in the nature of the argu-
ment that it wasn't Homer who wrote Homers poems at all,
but another man by the same name.
But White's story is not fiction. Only in the final interpreta-
tion was there error. White began by telling the truth and
what is more he stuck to it. Here is what happened to him:
, After a start, which he admitted began by stealing horses
from Indians, he arrived with three friends in Colorado. There
was some dissension about who had title to the stolen horses,
and in a fight White shot one of the party. The wounded man
was left behind and the others including White, three in all,
pushed on to southwestern Colorado. From there they
traveled through unknown country. None of them had any
knowledge of the geography of the Southwest, but that didn't
bother them. They were rough frontiersmen looking for gold
and they wanted to get into a land as untouched as possible.
They knew that they followed the Mancos River out
of Colorado into New Mexico near the only place where four
states come together at a point: Colorado, Utah, New Mexico,
and Arizona* From there on they traveled southwest into
Arizona, but just how far White was unable to say. As they
were prepared for a long trip, it must have been a considerable
distance and White's estimation was anywhere from sixty
miles to two hundred and sixty.
He did not know the first name of one of his companions
and called him simply Captain Baker. The other man was
George Strole. They were in canyon country. At one time
White thought he saw an Indian but the others were not ap-
prehensive. The following day they were ambushed by
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WHITE
Indians, Captain Baker, who was in the lead, was shot dead,
the bullet passing through his heart. White and Strole led
in panic down a box canyon. They abandoned their horses,
believing the Indians might find the animals and stop to cap-
ture them rather than pursue two white men. After a Journey
of what seemed to be fifteen mi!es 7 they came to the mouth of
the canyon, and here it joined another and larger canyon In
which there was a surging river. It was sunset, and White and
Strolej fearing pursuit, built a raft of cottonwood logs, which
they lashed together with their lariats, and pushed off down-
stream in the dark. They had no idea where they were and all
that was imperative was to escape the Indians.
White thought, in retrospect, that they traveled four days
on smooth water and he recalled that they sat on the raft and
dangled their feet in the river. Rations were low as they had
been able to carry little food during their flight. Then they
came to a small rapid which tipped the raft over and White
was saved from drowning by Strole who held him by the hair
of his head.
They camped at night and the next day continued float-
ing downstream as there was no other means of escape. The
canyon walls were sheer and composed of yellow sandstone,
and this fact White swore to many times in later questioning.
It was a most important point.
That day they came to furious rapids with falls of fifteen
feet, and George Strole was pitched off the raft and drowned
while White looked helplessly on. In order to save himself,
White lashed himself to the raft.
Then followed an indeterminate number of days (White
thought fourteen days altogether were the total number he
spent on the river) during which the raft was tossed and
smashed and White expected every moment to be his last He
declared, however, that there were no more bad rapids like
the one in which Strole was lost, but that there were many
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
lesser ones and that once the raft was caught In a whirlpool
and went spinning round and round for two hours. White,
who never in his life had prayed, then resorted to a plea
to God to save him, and shortly after that, the raft was freed
from the whirlpool and continued downstream.
By this time White was in a famished condition and by
good fortune he met some Indians who waded out from shore
and pulled him to land. He declared that there were seventy-
five of them, which seems unlikely at that spot, and that an
old squaw gave him some mesquite bread. He knew that one
was a Walapai (how he could know this when he had never
heard of Walapais he never said) and that the rest were Utes.
When they would give him no more food he returned to his
xaf t and went on down the interminable river.
He insisted that there were no more rapids. His condition,
however, was serious. Most of his clothing had been torn or
worn to shreds and he was suffering from sunburn and
blisters.
A day later he met more Indians and traded them his
revolver for the hindquarters of a dog. At the Indians' camp-
fire, he cooked one quarter of dog and ate it. He slept beside
his raft and in the morning he pushed off again, with the re-
maining quarter of dog for breakfast,
After another day he was in such a starving condition that
his mind wandered. The sunburn was constant torture and
he suffered from boils. Emaciated and half demented, he no
longer knew anything except that he was instinctively cling-
ing to the raft. When he was delirious and beyond hope he
realized that strangers were nearby and that his raft was
being pulled to shore. He learned that this was the Mormon
town of Callville, more than a hundred miles downstream
from Grand Canyon, and that he was saved.
It took James White a full week to recover from his ordeal
and the men at Callville took care of him. He told them his
[176]
WHITE
story In detail, as as he could remember it, and they took
it for granted that he must have on a raft through
the canyons of the Colorado River. Since White never knew
where he was at any time during his adventures he could not
say exactly where he had teen. But the men at Callville could
tell him. Nobody had ever come through the long chain of
canyons before, but now White had proved that it could be
done. He had been the first man to complete a journey down
the Colorado River.
This fact meant nothing to White, "but, as he recuperated,
he saw that his hosts were immeasurably impressed with his
exploit. It was told and retold and the details became more
vivid and dramatic -with each telling. White, however, stuck
to his original story; it was strong enough without further em-
bellishments. Being without funds or friends, except the men
at Callville, White remained at this small settlement at the
head of navigation on the Colorado, and when he had entirely
recovered he went to work for his benefactor, James Ferry.
News of his remarkable exploit spread from Callville to San
Francisco.
E. B. Grandin wrote a letter to the daily Alto California,
and on September 24, 1867, this paper published Grandin's
letter telling of White's adventure. Grandin placed the start
of White's river journey at the confluence of the Green River
with the Colorado River in Utah a journey of some five
hundred and fifty miles! And he took it for granted that White
came through in fourteen days. As nobody knew anything
about the intervening country and canyons, this was accepted
by all, including White himself. They told him that that was
where he started so he got that fixed in his mind. No matter
how his story varied, he always insisted that he began his
river journey that far upstream.
The story continued to spread. Dr. C* G Parry, who was
attached to a party making railroad surveys in 1867, heard
[177]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
the story at Hardyville, farther down the river, and wrote an
account of it to General William J. Palmer who was chief of
the survey. Dr. Parry accepted the White story in itself, which
is just, hut unfortunately he also accepted the interpretations
as to distance which were so erroneously assumed at Callville.
The total facts in the case were that James White arrived
in a dying condition at Callville, having come from some dis-
tance upstream though nobody could say just how far,
Callville's amazement and enthusiasm made it a five-htin-
dred-and-fifty-mile' trip.
Some months later, Dr. Parry accepted this and based a
report on it which he regarded as more accurate than that of
Lieutenant Ives and J. S. Newberry, although at the time he
had not talked to White. Later he did meet White, and made
notes from White's remarks, but by this time White himself
had become convinced that he had passed, through the can-
yons of the Colorado and he told Parry he had come all the
way from the Green River in Utah.
Parry passed this information on to General Palmer who
accepted it since Parry had got it from White himself.
Thus the legend grew. At first there were a few men and
finally a dozen and then twenty and then many more who
said James White was the first man through the Grand Can-
yon.
In 1869 Major Powell made his first trip and there was no
doubt about where he started, where he went, and where
he finished. He went from Wyoming to Callville and when
he got to the latter place he heard the White legend. He said
that it was obviously impossible, that no raft could last through
the three hundred bad rapids, that no man alone could sur-
vive, and that it would take not fourteen days but six weeks at
the least to run from the Green River to Callville. He knew;
he had just done it. And he summed it up by calling White a
"monumental prevaricator/' and just in case that was not clear,
[178]
WHITE
once and for all, he It in simpler English and called
White "the biggest liar that ever told a tale about the Colorado
River. n With that, the Major closed the door on the White
legend and never deigned to mention it in any of his writ-
ings.
But slamming the door in the face of the legend was not
enough. White's advocates rushed to the rescue. Their man,
they pointed out, was prospecting near the confluence of
the Green and the Colorado. He was chased by Indians; he
built a raft; and he came out at Callville five hundred and
more miles downstream. Let Major Powell, or anybody else,
explain that if they could.
Still the pro-White faction was denounced by every man
who ever went down the river from the Major on up to Emery
and Ellsworth Kolb. One after another, those who ran the
river and lived to tell it, repudiated White. No matter what
he said or what proof existed, it simply could not be done and
White never did it*
It settled down to a bickering of 'lie did he didn't; he did
he didn't." And in the heat of the argument everybody forgot
to ask White. When they looked for him he had disappeared.
The greatest Colorado River controversy remained unsolved.
But the correct answer lay somewhere. Some logical and
satisfactory explanation for all parties concerned had to be
found. And it remained for the orderly and painstaking mind
of Robert Brewster Stanton to find it. Stanton, it will be re-
membered, was second in command of the tragic Brown-Stan-
ton party who went through the Grand Canyon and the adja-
cent canyons in 1889 to survey for a railroad. Though it all
came to nothing, Stanton's interest in the river and the can-
yons never flagged. He wrote a long and meticulous manu-
script presenting an engineer's point of view on every aspect of
the area. And he included the long-argued White controversy.
After White appeared at Callville in 1867, the "he did
[179]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
he didn't" issue lasted for forty years. In 1907 Stanton found
James White, who was then seventy years old, in Trinidad,
Colorado, and he called on him and they had a long interview.
From this discussion Stanton solved the riddle to his own
satisfaction, hut his solution did not satisfy the pro-White
faction. The fight went on for another ten years. And in 1917,
when White was eighty, the battle reached Washington and
a round was fought in the United States Senate. The White
faction won the round; the United States Senate in 1917 ac-
cepted the evidence that James White was the first man to
pass through the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Thomas F.
Dawson and Senator Shafroth of Colorado carried the banner
for White and apparently they settled the long quarrel in
White's favor once and for all. And the anti-White sup-
porters, especially Major Powell, Frederick S. Dellenbaugh,
Robert Brewster Stanton, and the Kolb Brothers, were severely
rebuked in Thomas Dawson's report and pamphlet printed by
the Government Printing Office in Washington. There was
much talk of removing the Powell monument at Grand
Canyon and replacing it with one to James White.
But Stanton would not be licked. The same spirit that en-
abled him finally to run the Colorado from the canyon regions
to tidewater, prevented him from surrendering in 1917. He
collected all his evidence; he culled those parts from his un-
printed manuscript that bore upon the issue; and he set to
work to bring the true facts to the public. It was a labor of
love on the part of a mind devoted to the truth, the plain
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The fight
went on until 1922 and Stanton was unable to get his work
published. In that year, at the age of seventy-six, he died. Still
living was Frederick S. Dellenbaugh, of the second Powell
expedition, who had also written to prove that the White
story was a fallacy. But Dellenbaugh, too, was in his declining
[180]
WHITE
years. There seemed to be none of the older generation of
Colorado River heroes left to carrv on the fight.
* o
But Stanton's manuscript came into the hands of James
M. Chalfant who proceeded to cam 7 on with Stanton's zeal
And in 1932 Chalfant edited Stan ton's work called Colorado
River Controversies and it was at last published in New
York.
It was just sixty-five years since the controversy had begun,
and most of the participants were dead. But the issue was none-
theless hot. Stanton's book concludes the argument. It leaves
no room for doubt. It answers every question. It is final. James
White did not pass through the Grand Canyon at any time in
his life and Major Powell's monument stands.
But what James White did and where he went and how lie
got to Callville by raft, these, together with Stanton J s infinite
patience in setting the whole story to rights, are another
chapter. It concludes a Colorado River and Grand Canyon
epoch. It rings down a curtain; if it were not for Stanton, the
farce or tragedy might be going on yet, and that would be too
bad. For this long argument and the human bickering that
went with it, not to mention the time and money wasted in
proving for posterity that on the one hand it was Tweedle-
dum and on the other it was Tweedledee, bring to a close a
pioneering chapter in the history of the Grand Canyon. It
can never happen again and now the truth can be told.
[181]
Tweedledum and Tweedledee
HE long fight over who first
passed through the Grand Canyon is not the only argument
that has come out of the great chasm. Men have quarreled
over many other points and one is the question of why the
three members of the first Powell expedition quit at Sepa-
ration Rapids and went out of the canyon overland instead of
seeing the voyage through to the finish. Some say this deser-
tion was not caused by fear of the rapids, but was ordered
by Major Powell himself, and that tension between the
members and Powell had reached a breaking point. Some
say that Powell and the two Howland brothers and Dunn had
fought continuously and that Powell called the Dirty Devil
River by that name simply because he said it reminded him
of Dunn who was a dirty devil on all accounts.
If such bellicose conditions existed, Powell very properly
kept them out of his records. There was no place for calumny
in his reports to Washington. The Major may have made
mistakes, but the purpose of his trip was to present a scien-
tific report and he was not interested in vilification. Attempts
have been made to reopen the case and expose the human
problems and tangles, but most of these have been unsuccess-
ful. It may be safely said that Major Powell was too big a
man to dwell upon the human frailties. The canyon was his
interest and no petty personal problems were worth con-
[182]
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE
sideration. History and science have approved the policy of
the Major.
But the case of James White could not be so forthrightly
dismissed. If he traveled through the length of the Grand
Canyon in 1867, history wanted to know it and pay him
proper homage* If he had not made this Journey, history
wanted to know it and put White in the niche he deserved.
The whole discussion depended upon White who did not
know what he had done or where he had been at any time,
and thus the protagonist was an impossible witness either for
or against himself.
A number of factors in the case, however, helped point
to the truth. The first and most important of these was a
letter that White wrote to his brother in Wisconsin eighteen
days after he had been pulled off his raft at Callville.
This letter was the only honest account In print and
was written when the events were fresh in White's mind, al-
though much of what he went through was a confused phan-
tasmagoria of impressions, and actual figures such as number
of days, and time of day, cannot be relied upon at all.
The letter was published (after proper editing and correc-
tion of grammar and spelling) by a Colorado newspaper, the
Rocky Mountain News, in February, 1869. It was printed
again, with photographic reproduction, in Outing magazine
for April, 1907. It was printed a third time in 1920, in a pam-
phlet by William Wallace Bass, a well-known character and
long-time resident of the South Rim, who accepted the story
and was strong in his support of White. And it was printed
for a fourth time in Robert Brewster Stanton's final analysis,
Colorado River Controversies, in 1932,
Since the letter is unquestionably first-hand and authentic,
and since it offers such an intimate introduction to James
White himself, it is reproduced here as accurately as his pecu-
liar style of composition can be approximated in print.
[183]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Callville September 26. 1867
Dear Brother it lias "ben some time senCe I have heard frome you
got no anCe from the last letter that i roat to you for I left soon
after i rote i Went prospeCted with Captln Baker and gorge strole
in the San Won montin Wee found vry god prospeCk but noth
that wold pay then Wee stare down the San Won river wee
travel down about 200 miles then Wee Cross over on Coloreado
and Camp We lad over one day We found out that Wee Cold not
travel down the river and our horse Wass Sore fite and Wee had
may up our mines to turene baCk When Wei Was attaCked by
15 or 20 utes indis they Kill Baker and gorge strole and my self
tok fore ropes off from our hourse and a ax ten pounds of flour
and our gunns Wee had 15 millse to woak to Calarado Wee got to
the river Jest at night Wee bilt a raft that night Wee had good
sailing fro three days and the Fore day gorge strole was wash off
the raft and down that left me alone i thought that it Wold be my
time next i then pool off my boos and pands i then tide a rope to
my wase I wend over falls from 10 to 15 feet hie my raft Wold tip
over three and fore times a day the thurd day Wee loss our flour
flour and fore seven days i had noth to eat to ralhhide nife Caber
the 8. 9 days i got some musKit beens the 13 days a party of indis
frendey they Wold not give me noth eat so I give my pistols for
hine pards of a dog i ead one of for super and the other breakfast
the 14 days i rive at Callville Whare i Was tak Care of by James
ferry i was ten days With out pants or boos or hat i Was soon
bomt so i Cold hadly Wolk the ingris tok 7 head horse from us
Joosh i Can rite yu thalfe i under Went i see the hardes time
that eny man ever did in the World but thatk god that I got
thught saf t i am Well a gin and i hope the few lines Will fine you
all Well i sned iny beCk respeCk to all Josh anCe this When you
git it
DreCk you letter to
Callville, Arizona.
Josh ass Tom to anCy that letter i rote him sevel yeas a goe
James White
[184]
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE
There are two important points in die letter. The first
Is his statement of traveling two hundred miles down the
San Juan. From the place where they struck the San Juan it
would not be possible to "travel down" the river for two
hundred miles for It empties Into the Colorado long before.
The San Juan Is canyon-locked most of its way to the Colo-
rado and cannot be followed at all. What White meant was
that they traveled In what he thought was the general direc-
tion of the San Juan* Two hundred miles of that would con-
ceivably put them as far down as the Little Colorado some-
where near what Is now Cameron today. In fact, It would
take them a little farther, or onto the Coconlno Plateau
country near the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.
As White had as little conception of time as he had of
geography, he was never able to say how long it look the three
of them to cover these two hundred miles. But in checking his
dates, Stanton discovered that the three traveled for at least
three weeks. As they were capable of making an average of
twenty-five miles a day, and allowing half the time for pros-
pecting as they went, die party could have made two hundred
and fifty to three hundred miles which Is just about what
they did. This would put them even farther west, or roughly
around the head of EHamond Creek on or about the end of
August, 1867.
Somewhere in this area ite Indians killed Baker. White
said they were Utes, but obviously they were not because
Utes never roamed south of the Grand Canyon. White called
them Utes because that was a name with which he had be-
come familiar in Colorado. It Is possible that a roving band of
Apaches had discovered the three white men. The ambush
attack Is symptomatic of Apache technique, and often these
central Arizona Indians came north to the canyon country to
raid the Havasupais and the Walapais who lived in terror of
diem.
U85]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Dawn either Diamond Greet or Spencer Canyon, then, fled
White and Strole. They reached the Colorado eighty or a
hundred miles above Callville, and either at the western end
of Grand Canyon or twenty miles "below. The rest of White's
trip to Callville is told test in his own words except that he
probably was on the river from eight to ten days. This re-
tracing of the journey accounts for his later remarks about
canyon walls of yellowish limestone. Had he passed through
the Grand Canyon he would have seen no Hmestone but
plenty of dark igneous schist and granite instead and he knew
enough about types of rock to be able to recognize them,
Moreover, had he passed through the Grand Canyon or any
part of it, he would have experienced dozens of bad rapids.
Since White reported only one really bad rapid it must have
been the last of the series of man-killers, the vicious Lava Cliff
group. These rapids drowned George Strole and after that
White's trouble was not rapids but exposure and starvation
until he reached Callville. Thus he probably first saw the
Colorado at Spencer Canyon rather than Diamond Creek or
he would have reported two bad rapids Separation as well
as Lava Cliff.
AH of this information was carefully extracted from White
in 1907, forty years after it happened, by Stanton who had
it taken down by a stenographer and sworn to by a notary. It
completely knocks the props out from under the Senate ac-
ceptance of White's five-hundred-and-fifty-mile journey from
the Green River in Utah to Callville, White traveled less than
a hundred miles on the Colorado and never saw the Grand
Canyon. White himself was not to blame for the legend that
grew up around him* He was totally ignorant of all the ex-
tenuating circumstances and he only repeated what other
men told him he had done. If they had told him he had started
on the Mississippi, he would have taken their word for it.
Stanton gave him twenty-five dollars to tell the truth in 1907
D86]
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE
anc3 he told in detail the same story that he wrote to his
brother in 1867. But it was not until 1932 that Stanton's evi-
dence was presented to the public.
So the year 1932 brought to a conclusion the pioneering
and explorative period of Grand Canyon and Colorado River
history. It wrote the last paragraph, punctuated it, and closed
the book.
Both the river and the canyon had ? as far as men were con-
cerned, entered the second period which might be called the
tourist era. There is no date-line of demarkation between the
two, but the fact that the tourist period is now in its prime
is proved by many bits of evidence. One is the Norman
Nevills expeditions. In recent years Mr. Nevills has been
through the Grand Canyon a number of times. He takes pas-
sengers, for a price, and if you wish to follow the trail of the
pioneers, Mr. Nevills will be your guide* You will get wet
and enjoy a few thrills but you will be comparatively safe and
you will not even have to row your own boat unless you want
to,
And as to further evidence there is an advertisement of one
of Mr, Nevills* rivals in business which has appeared in the
Desert Magazine which reads:
COLORADO RIVER
200 miles of the finest scenery outdoors. See Rainbow Arch,
Gregory Bridge, Crossing of the Fathers, HoIe-In-the-Rock, and
other historic spots. Explore for cliff dwellings, petroglyphs, and
early Spanish inscriptions. No "bad rapids. Personally conducted*
everything furnished. Two weeks on the river. . . .
Compare that with White, Powell, Rrown-Stanton, and
all the others. How times have changed! Nevertheless, the
beast is still there. He will decide whether he is going to offer
you bad rapids or not. Row your boat gently down the stream,
and trust him at your peril.
[187]
IV
South Rim
GRAND CANYON REGION
Tes I've Seen the Grand
Canyon
VJREATNESS in any art is
not necessarily simplicity; but great art invariably calls for a
simple reaction. No matter how complex the sutject, the au-
dience-response should be pure and uninvolved.
Such statements are semantically dangerous as words such
as "greatness" and "simplicity" are boundless, yet relative,
and have no absolute meaning when used so glibly. To avoid
the quicksands of meaningless verbiage it might be wiser to
be more specific. Thus: the music of Beethoven and Varese
is to be heard; the painting of El Greco and Klee is to be seen;
and the art of the Grand Canyon is to be experienced*
The reactions of people to the Grand Canyon are interest-
ing. Most of them are honest. They just give up. There is
nothing to say; it is there and it is to be experienced. The im-
pact on the consciousness when a visitor takes a look from
either rim for the first time is stunning. Charles F. Lummis
put it succinctly in these words: "I have seen people rave
over it; better people struck dumb with it; even strong men
who cried over it; but I have never yet seen the man or
woman that expected it/*
It is often the case that those who appreciate the Grand
Canyon most make the mistake of trying to put it into words
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
or paint. Their intentions are good; they want to pass their
pleasure on for the enjoyment of others. Probably that can't
be done. Paint won't do it and words won't do it; and as for
the reams of poetry that have been written about it, they are
best forgotten. Ferde Grofe made a bold and laudatory effort
in music with his Grand Canyon Suite. The first time you
hear it, it is good, but somehow it doesn't hold up. The best
thing in it is the rather too obvious, little worceati- caract&r~
istiqtte called Down The Trail. This is mule music, and the
mule rhythm is amusing and accurate. If you go down the
Bright Angel or the Kaibab Trails, your mule's jogging gait
will recall the music to you at once. It is clever. But it might
be about any mules anywhere. One might as well call Pacific
231 Grand Canyon music because the Santa Fe engines come
rolling up to the South Rim every day.
So it is not possible to transfer the greatness of the Grand
Canyon to any other medium. The most successful attempt is
probably in photography. Some excellent work has been done
in this line, along with many failures. It takes a master tech-
nician with a camera. Give him a week and a good instru-
ment and enough film or plates for a hundred pictures and his
chances of getting two or three good ones are first-rate.
It will never do to discourage people from commenting on
the Grand Canyon in whatever medium they choose. But that
it unbalances most people's values people of sensitivity and
taste is unfortunately true.
Try describing the Grand Canyon as an exercise in literary
composition. The student who writes "The Grand Canyon is
the Grand Canyon/' period, and the one who turns in merely
a blank sheet of paper, should win the highest grades.
Nevertheless, we all must try, and in this book I am leaving
myself open to criticism time and again. Just as an example
of what can happen, however, a few appreciative comments
will illustrate the futility of words.
[192]
I'VE SEEN THE GRAND CANYON
Charles R Lummis wrote very well. His appreciation of
the Southwest was deep and profound. His words, quoted
above, are a fair sample. But overboard he went with this
conglomeration: "Come and penitent ye of the United
States, to marvel, upon this chief est miracle of our own land/'
He doesn't accomplish his end, I'm afraid, by an impera-
tive, old English, and an archaic adjective.
And then there was John Muir who loved nature and wrote
about nature and made fine observations. See what the Grand
Canyon did to him;
'Wilderness so Godful, cosmic primeval, bestows a new
sense of earth's beauty and size. But the colors, the living,
rejoicing colors, chanting, morning and evening, in chorus
to heaven."
Obviously he is trying to say something. But it is neither
fact nor fancy, realism nor impressionism.
But the winner, to put a stop to Grand Canyon descriptions
for a long time to come, is this:
"There is yellow tawny, creamy golden yellow. There is
orange warm, glowing, gilded orange. There is white-
frosted, silvery white. There is brown hazel, fawn, cinnamon
brown. There is red and scarlet and cardinal. There is ver-
milion and cerise, maroon and cherry. There is purple. There
is blue. That is the Grand Canyon at mid-day, when the sun
flattens the peaks and destroys the shadows.
"But look! that vermilion now is russet, that cerise has
turned to bronze, that maroon to copper, that cherry to
sorrel, that yellow to dull gold. That whiteness now is ashen
gray. That orange is brass, burnt, tarnished. That plateau is
cast in copper. That gorge is set in iron. Those buttes are red,
the temples are capped with red, even the air within is red!
"All other things failing, the Grand Canyon is red."
If I were to tell you the name of the author of that spectral
binge you'd be surprised. A curtain of anonymity is charitable.
[193]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
If description will never do, there is only one piece of advice
left for those who are interested in the Grand Canyon: go see
it for yourself.
It is not difficult to get there. The South Rim, open all
year, is only sixty miles north from Williams, Arizona, which
is on the main transcontinental line of the Santa Fe Railroad
and U. S. Highway 66. Train service is daily and highways
are excellent. Also one or two transcontinental flights send
airplanes over it. You may also reach the canyon by driving
north from Flagstaff, Arizona, and entering the park by way
of the Navahopi Highway. Then you can leave by way of
Williams. For westbound traffic this prevents duplication of
route and is a highly spectacular approach. Do it in reverse if
you're going east. Once you are there you will find accommo-
dations at Grand Canyon village of all kinds for all pocket-
books.
If you want to go to the North Rim you must drive as there
is no rail service. And you must do it between June first and
October first because heavy snows close the roads in winter.
The Union Pacific has a supplementary bus system which is
first-class. You leave your train at the little town of Lund,
Utah, and your bus detour may, if you wish, include Zion
and Bryce National Parks, along with Cedar Breaks National
Monument, and the Grand Canyon's North Rim. Accommo-
dations, again, are of all kinds. If you come in your own car
you may bring your camping equipment, or you may live in
the sumptuous Grand Canyon Lodge on Bright Angel Point.
Occasionally the merits of the two rims are debated. The
truth is that they are so totally different that there is little
comparison. See them both. If not at the same time, then come
back another time.
If put in a comer and asked, "I can only visit one rim,
which shall I choose?" I believe I'd say, "See the South Rim
first/' Not that there is anything to choose from, and if I
[194]
I'VE SEEN THE GRAND CANYON
were going back right now for a month, I'd pick the North
Rim. This is only because I have visited the North^Rim fewer
times than I have the South. I think the stranger gets a better
and quicker understanding of the Grand Canyon at the
South Rim. And it is more accessible. The North Rim is a
postgraduate course; you'll want to take it; but don't begin
beyond your depth. But again the choice is personal and again
the answer is "Go and see for yourself."
Another question the stranger wants to know is "How long
shall I stay?" Stay as long as you can. Stay an hour or a day or
a week or a year. A lifetime won't begin to exhaust the place.
One peek over the rim is better than not going at all. A day is
better than a peek and so on.
Sometimes visitors come in the morning, stay for a few
hours, and leave in the afternoon. These are the people who
say confidently, "Oh, yes I've seen the Grand Canyon."
They've seen something. Probably they'll never forget it. But
they've not really experienced the Grand Canyon. Ask Emery
Kolb; he's been there since 1901; he hasn't seen it all yet
In recent years the canyon has averaged more than a quarter
of a million visitors annually. The rate will doubtless increase.
The first white men arrived in 1540, but the first brown-
skinned man arrived long before that. The rims of the canyon
seem a barren and hostile place for gregarious-minded man,
but oddly enough this area was first visited, and even in-
habited, by a dark-skinned race long before there was a Euro-
pean civilization. The date that the first pair of human eyes
looked into the great gorge can never be established. But an-
thropology and ethnology prove that the Grand Canyon has
been receiving visitors for at least sixty thousand years.
A race which science calls the Proto-Australoid migrated
from southern and central Asia, perhaps forcibly driven by
the Mongoloid stock, and crossed the land bridge from Asia to
North America by way of the Bering Straits. This was about
[195]
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eighty thousand years ago. They were primitive men but they
had developed the power of speech and the idea of taboo. As
the migratory waves washed over the continent, these people
became some of the first families of Arizona. One of their
number is doubtless the first unsung discoverer of the Grand
Canyon. When you stand on the South Rim and watch the
play of the light and the changing forms and colors, remember
that a long-headed, short-statured, brown-skinned man did the
same thing sixty thousand or more years ago.
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A,
iRIZONA has had four dis-
tinct cultures. The first was the Hohokam. Since these people
Cthe name is of recent Indian extraction and means "the an-
cient ones") lived mostly in southern Arizona they had little
or no contact with the Grand Canyon, though it is highly
probahle that one of their kind may have heen the canyon's
first visitor.
If, however, the Hohokam did not reach the canyon area
of Kaihat and Coconino country, then, without doubt, the
first people on the scene were those of the Proto-Australoid
migration, who are called, locally, and pedagogically, the
Basketmakers. And even if the Hohokam were there first, they
did not remain, and the Basketmakers were the first to make
a habitat of the North and South Rims. These Basketmakers
were the long-headed type, and they are known anthropo-
logically as dolichocephalic. That sounds very impressive, but
it simply means that their heads were longer in proportion
to their width than those of later races, and that due to this
elongation the cranial content of these people was not as great
as that of those who followed them.
The name Basketmaker is pleasant-sounding and only par-
tially accurate. They made a crude kind of basket, of course,
but the greatest baskets of all time were not produced by
them. The name has been given them because one of their
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obsequies consisted in placing a basket upside down over the
face of a dead person.
About seventy thousand years ago there was a migration
route between Asia and Alaska. In time this disappeared until
today the distance between the continental tips is fifty-five
miles at the Diomede Islands. But even now a crossing can be
made on foot, it is said, when the intervening water is frozen
solid, if you don't mind a fifty-five mile walk over ice. The
Proto-Australoid people, however, had a land bridge, and fol-
lowed the waterways into Canada, and on by way of the Great
Slave and Great Bear Lakes and southward until they reached
the Mississippi Valley. Here they fanned westward through
Oklahoma and Texas to the American Southwest. Others
of their kind moved on down the east coast of Mexico to
Yucatan, Central, and South America. A lesser route is sug-
gested down the Pacific Coast all the way from Alaska to
Panama but was held pretty close to the seacoast by high
mountains. The people of this age had contact with animals
of the Pleistocene period such as the mastodon, the mammoth,
the ground sloth, and the camel. It was a North America
difficult for us to visualize today.
The migration route was closed about fifty thousand years
ago, but again became practical about forty thousand years
ago. This opening and closing of nature's "immigration law"
occurred again about twenty thousand years ago. Thus there
were three distinct waves of human beings appearing on the
North American continent. And perhaps, apart from the gen-
eral waves, there were smaller isolated groups coming in from
time to time. The people of the latter waves were Mongoloid,
Caspian, and Palae-Alpine races who moved on to Mexico
and became the Mayans, the Toltecs, and the Aztecs^
For the long period of time extending from about seventy
thousand years ago up to five hundred B.C., there is little
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evidence beyond artifacts to give an intimate picture of the
inhabitants of continental United States, although there is no
doubt that the Pioto-Australoid stock evolved into such Indian
tribes as the Iroquois and the Algonkins.
In the Southwest, the first of the Basketmakers stalked
animals, lived in caves, and left very little in the line of evi-
dence. These were called the Hunters and they reached their
peak about 200 B.C. Without doubt they used the cliffs and
caves of the Grand Canyon region.
The race grew a little more intelligent as the centuries
rolled on, and the second period is that of the Farmers. Like
their predecessors, they were little brown men, but less no-
madic. They had corn, which perhaps came up from the more
advanced Caspian, Mongoloid, and Palae-Alpine stock in
Mexico, and they made brush shelters for storing food and in
these they also buried their dead* Their outstanding achieve-
ment, however, was the atlatl, or spear-thrower* This was a
primitive means of hurling a dart or spear at great speed over
a considerable distance* It brought down animals and was the
Basketmaker's greatest invention. This was the most advanced
life in Arizona between the years A.D. 1 and A.D. 400. From
A jx 400 up to 700, the third Basketmaker period flourished
that of the Potter. These people discovered that sand or pul-
verized rock, if baked with the clay, would hold together.
Since pottery making has long been one of the aboriginal arts
of the Southwest it is interesting to see how it began. These
people also used a pit-house, lived in small groups or villages,
grew corn, squash, and beans, and were just beginning to
perfect the bow and arrow when something happened. And
it meant the end of the Basketmakers.
But nobody knows just what it was.
There are numerous theories and at times they assume the
aspect of the argument about the Tonto Sea. In general, it
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was assumed that a new race came into the Southwest and
either killed the Basketmakers^ or drove them out, or absorbed
diem*
This new race marks the third of the Arizona cultures, and:
is called the Pueblo, and they are subdivided by ethnologists
into five distinct and progressive units. They were more in-
telligent, improved the fanning techniques, made better pot-
tery, and lived in groups as self-sustaining economic units.
They had short stocky bodies, but they did not have the
dolichocephalic head. Instead, their heads were round with
a larger cranial content the Brachycephalic and they spelled
doom to their simpler predecessors.
Another and more recent theory holds that these people
were actually of the same stock as the Basketmakers tut that
the shape of the head was altered due to the use of a cradle-
board. Babies, fastened onto a hard-backed board, grew round-
headed instead of long-headed. Thus it would be not ethnol-
ogy, but fashion, that made the Basketmakers disappear. The
argument is heated. Most anthropologists adhere to the former'
theory,, and a growing number of archaeologists is accepting the
latter. The choice is yours,
The round-headed Pueblo stock continued to thrive in the
Southwest* The bow and arrow replaced the atlatL Turkeys
were domesticated (only the dog had been previously tamed)
and the people built the pueblos for which they are named.
These small city-states evolved and their architecture and in-
habitants may be seen today at Taos, Tesuque, Zuni, Walpi,
Oraibi, Hotevilla, and numerous other places. In the Grand
Canyon region there is evidence of the Basketmakers and con-
siderable evidence of the Pueblo people. And while the flower
of Pueblo civilization, which reached its peak between 1 100
and 1300, was farther east in Arizona and New Mexico, the
Grand Canyon area was well populated. Over three hundred
pueblo ruins have been found within the national park bound-
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aries. Many of these are small, some are in caves or overhang-
ing ledges of rock, some are only food caches, and the majority
are on the flat top of both rims. There is one large pueblo cliff
dwelling on the North Rim at the base of the Coconino sand-
stone on the saddle of the Powell Mesa. It was two stories
high and was inhabited from about the year 1000 to 1100
according to the opinion of Louis Schellbach, the present
ranger-naturalist. There is another good example at Clear
Creek. But both the Powell saddle and Clear Creek are diffi-
cult to reach and are seldom seen by the tourist. Within a
few minutes* walk of Grand Canyon lodge on the North Rim,
however, is an old cliff dwelling which is in a good state of
preservation. You will probably be glad to take anyone's word
for it, as to see it you must descend the face of the Kaibab
limestone hand over hand on a rope.
The most accessible evidence of those who came before
the white man is at the Wayside Museum on the South Rim
about twenty miles east of Grand Canyon village. Here is an
archaeological display with an archaeologist on hand to ex-
plain it to you. The place is called Tusayan which was not tt:3
name given to it by its original inhabitants. Tusayan
was a name used by the Spaniards denoting the Hopi Indian
country. For the want of a better name tie scientists have
called this pueblo by the name of the province so Tusayan
it is today.
It was built in 1185. It was two stories high with living
rooms, storerooms, and an underground kiva, or ceremonial
chamber. Underground is not quite accurate in this instance.
Most kivas are beneath the earth, but in the case of Tusayan,
the ground was so hard and the limestone so resistant, that
the Tusayaners were content with a partially sunken ceremo-
nial room and they let it go at that.
Nowhere in the building were there any doors. Entrance
was by ladders and holes in the roof. This is typical of many
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pueblos and the purpose was to foil any marauders or raiders.
By 1185 the Athapascan race had moved down from the
north. These were the Navajos and the Apaches. They were
nomads, fighters, killers. The Pueblo people were afraid of
these American counterparts of the Goths and Visigoths, and
their defense was their city without doors or even a breach in
the walls. The system goes back to Troy and even earlier.
The turde perfected it first It is all right if you are not starved
out. It worked in the Middle Ages both in Europe and at the
Grand Canyon, but it is only good as long as the defensive
weapons sheer walls are stronger than the attacking power.
It is fitting that a professor of the University of Arizona
should have developed a science which enables its scholars
to determine with accuracy the age of pueblos such as Tusayan.
It is very easy to write with assurance, "It was built in 1 185,"
as I have done, but that statement would not be forthcoming
without the meticulous research of Dr. A. E. Douglass, who
developed the science of dendrochronology, or the study of
the rings of trees.
Today everyone knows that the number of rings showing
on the stump of a tree will tell you the exact age of the tree.
If the tree was a hundred years old there will be a hundred
rings, beginning with a dot or small circle at the center and
counting out to the bark. When the rings are thin and ill
defined the tree grew only slightly and thus it was a year of
litde rain. When the rings are broad it indicates that the tree
was well nourished in those years and hence they were years
of ample rain. This is dendrochronology in only its most broad
strokes; the variations and ramifications are legion. But if you
can establish a certain cross-section of log as being a hundred
years old today, there will be definite characteristics of its early
years which will show up as identical in logs which were old
when the first tree was young. For example: suppose we are
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THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE
examining a log which we know is one hundred years old be-
cause we have just felled the tree and counted a hundred
rings. And suppose the tenth ring has an unmistakable char-
acteristic setting it apart as unique from all the others. And
suppose that same characteristic occurs in another log, but
occurs in its one hundred and tenth ring. Thus we know that
both trees were growing in that same year, but that the second
tree was one hundred years older than our first specimen.
By proceeding on this basis, the 'Abridge" method of tree
rings, Dr. Douglass has, by extremely careful research, been
able to trace back through time the climatic conditions of the
Southwest as far as AJX 11.
Moreover, as the science developed, it became possible to
identify the age of logs by matching their rings to the es-
tablished scale. Under a microscope tree rings are like finger-
prints; each ring has its distinctive characteristics, and can
therefore be identified with regard to those which precede
and follow it. It is, therefore, quite possible to examine a cross-
section of timber from a pueblo and say with authority: "This
timber was cut in the year 1066~or 1492 or 517 or 1620."
And this will tell you, almost to the year, when the pueblo
was built.
Dendrochronology is no science for the amateur to pick up
in an off moment, but its authenticity is beyond question.
It has proven a great liaison-science to astronomy, archaeology,
ethnology, ecology, and on down the line. Dr. Douglass has
been at it since 1904 and his work has been of inestimable
value in shedding light on the history of the Southwest. The
science is young and its greatest contributions will conceivably
be in the future. But if you want to know when the xound-
headed Pueblo people built Tusayan, Dr. Douglass can tell
you to the year. The tree-rings of the timbers that were used
prove that the trees from which the timbers came were felled
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in the year A.D. 1185* Admirable, remarkable, and thrilling,
isn't it? Dr Douglass and the University of Arizona deserve
more than mere applause.
And now let us get back to the pueblo itself and the people
who lived in it, people who couldl never have made a guess
as to how keenly modem science would be able to read their
history.
The site of Tusayan was not wisely selected, and why it
was ever built is a bit of a mystery. There is no water near by,
the land is unproductive, and certainly the Tusayaners were
not interested in the view* Possibly it was used as a summer
community only, as the winters on the South Rim can be
severe. In order to get water the residents built a series of
check dams, an ingenious method but not a guarantee that
drought wouldn't dry up the small amount of water thus con-
served. Only about thirty or forty people ever lived at Tusa-
yan, and as there is no burial ground adjacent, it is probable
that the building was not occupied for more than one genera-
tion. The absence of broken pottery in any quantity also sub-
stantiates this theory.
A great deal of work was done on it, however., and it must
have proved a disappointment as a village because it was
abandoned fairly early in the thirteenth century, possibly
about the year 1230. The difficulties in maintaining a resi-
dence, coupled with attacks by Navajos proved too much for
Tusayan. Once abandoned it was forgotten until 1930, some
seven hundred years later, when archaeologists excavated the
ruins, codified and classified the artifacts, built the present
museum, and reconstructed the original community in a
model done to scale. You may walk through the ruins today,
and with a long stretch of the imagination you can recapture
the life of seven hundred or more years ago. The canyon and
the rim and the forest look just the same.
Many tourists stop at the Wayside Museum during the
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THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE
summer months, and they, often without knowing it, repre-
sent the fourth of the Arizona cultures. First came the
Hohokam, then the Basketmakers, then the Pueblos, and
finally as Hopi Indian wit has very accurately put it came
the Moneymakers,
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And Those Who Came Later
J3y "MONEYMAKERS" the
Hopis mean, of course, the wealthy tourists. Actually they are
the money slenders who make the rim resorts possible and
support the Hopi and Navajo Indian crafts by their purchases
at Hopi House on the South Rim.
Those who really wanted to become the moneymakers at
the Grand Canyon came before the tourists, and some of these
have stayed on.* After the aborigines came the soldier, the
priest, and the scientist; but between this latter group and the
contemporary tourist there was another group which did not
fit into any of the above categories. They were all manner of
men and might be called the Utilitarians or the Pragrnatists
since they came to make a practical thing of the canyon:
miners, ranchers, hermits, free-lance explorers, nature-lovers,
professional liars, and William Randolph Hearst.
One of the first of these to arrive was John Hance, some-
times known as Captain John Hance, but he was captain not
of a company or a ship; he was instead a captain of mendacity,
Hance is supposed to have arrived at the South Rim about
1881. Nobody could say where he carne from or just what his
previous profession had been. In those days of the West, it
was not good taste to inquire too specifically into a man's past.
It was a vital country; only the present mattered. If ques-
tioned, Hance replied, ''I do not like ancient history." But he
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AND THOSE WHO GAME LATER
said it with a smile and lie was a warm outgoing man and
apparently everyone who knew him liked him*
John fiance loved the Grand Canyon. Its mysticism
touched him and once that happened he was destined to live
on the rim and in the Tbottom for the remainder of his life. It
was a shrine and he had come to it; it was a sanctuary and he
devoted himself to it; it was his pet and he liked to have it
perform for strangers while he told tall tales ahout it. Hance
was not a religious man. One of his friends once said, "Oh, he
believed in God I guess. But he believed mostly in the can-
yon and John Hance/ 5 If he had been told that the canyon
had appealed to his latent sense of teleological inquiry he
would have been nonplused and would have countered with
some remark intended to astound his visitor and put him on
the defensive.
His excuse for living on the South Rim was a mine. It was
an asbestos mine deep down in the bottom where the second
geological era had fused and pressed its elementary constitu-
ents some billion years ago until it had created this heat-re-
sistant mineral. Asbestos mines are not common. Hance
thought that he had a good thing, and he had. But like most
other mineralogical efforts to make the Grand Canyon pay
dividends, it failed because the cost of getting the product
out of the canyon was prohibitive, Hance came, in time, to
understand that his mine was impractical. But he never quite
gave it up. It remained his excuse for living at the South Rim,
although the real reason was his love for the canyon itself.
The first few tourists began to arrive in the late eighteen
eighties. They came by stagecoach from Flagstaff over rough
roads and there were no accommodations at the South Rim
once they arrived. Naturally, they met Hance as his camp
offered the only place to spend the night Some of the more
intrepid tourists wanted to go down into the canyon, and the
only way to do that was to be guided by John Hance who had
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built a trail down to his asbestos mine. So, inadvertently and
accidentally, John Hance found himself forced into the tourist
business.
It was a happy incident.
It was worth more to him than his mine. He became the
unofficial receptionist, guide, host, and storyteller to his un-
expected visitors. And for these offices he was well qualified.
The Hance cabin was just east of Grand View Point, or
about eighteen miles east of the present Grand Canyon vil-
lage. Hance lived on the rim in the summer, and when winter
snows made survival too hazardous, he descended his trail
and lived below for months in the wanner Lower-Sonoran
life zone of the canyon's depths. Thus by going up and down
his trail he could select his climate at will. Hance never had
any great amount of money (except for one windfall of ten
thousand dollars for a mining claim and with this he went
to San Francisco where he spent the money in ten days) and
there were times when the food problem was difficult. All
supplies had to 'come from Flagstaff and in the eighteen
eighties that was two days away. So, while life was glorious,
life was not easy, and there were times when Hance literally
did not have enough to eat. The tourist business corrected
that condition, and by 1892 other men, ostensibly miners
but destined to be drawn into the tourist trade as was Hance,
had settled along the South Rim.
One of these was Pete Berry and he built the first hotel at
Grand View Point in 1892. It was made of native logs and
was supplemented by tents and the little settlement was at
the head of what Berry called the Grand View Trail. Berry's
Trail, like Hance's was built by himself and led down to some
mines. Hance had asbestos, Berry had copper, but the Grand
Canyon had them both.
Like Hance, Berry became a "dude wrangler" and three
years later the Grand Canyon Copper Company, which was
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AND THOSE WHO CAME LATER
made up of Pete Berry and Ralph and Miles Cameron, con-
structed a three-story building at Grand View Point and went
in for the tomrist business, as well as copper mining.
The history of the Grand Canyon Copper Company is
worth a brief examination. Although it never became a great
corporation, its life was an index to American business organ-
ization and the eventual concentrating of control in the hands
of one tycoon. Pete Berry found copper. Then a group of
Arizona men formed a company. The company functioned
but needed more capital to develop the natural resources. The
original Arizona organizers sold control of the company to a
group of Eastern men. The Grand Canyon Copper Company
was reincorporated in New England. The president became
John RL Page and the general manager was Harold Smith,
neither of whom had anything to do with the immediate scene
at the South Rim or the mines in the bottom, and the Grand
Canyon Copper Company found itself a Vermont corporation
with all records in Montpelier, Vermont. When the company
failed to operate at a profit the men in control were no longer
interested in keeping it a going concern. It cost twelve thou-
sand dollars a year to keep the Grand View Trail open so that
ten mules a day could each carry two hundred pounds of ore
from the mines to the rim. The price of copper collapsed in
1907, and it was not worth the expense of getting the ore out
of the mines. The company had other assets, notably the
Grand View Hotel, but the Eastern promoters were interested
in mining and not tourists. Just when the corporate super-
structure began to topple over on the little fellows underneath,
notably Pete Berry who now worked for the company that
his strike had brought into being, William Randolph Hearst
appeared on the scene and bought the entire property mines,
trail, mules, hotel, equipment, fixtures, and whatever future
prospects there might be. Hearst was now the Grand Canyon
Copper Company personified in one individual. He had no
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intention of operating the mines; he saw the rich tourist trade
that was bound to come to the South Rim. He was going to
exploit the Grand Canyon. The pattern might have run on
along this line until it became Grand Hearst Canyon, but
fortunately Washington stepped in and the area, after a long
struggle, was made a National Park.
With all these elements seething about him, John Hance
and his hit-or-miss tourist camp was left out in the cold. His
gift was lying, not promotion. So -following Ben Franklin's
advice that if you can't defeat your rival you'd better join
hands with him, John Hance became a fixture around the
Grand View Hotel, For the next twenty-five years, he was a
kind of privileged guest of the South Rim resorts. He had no
official position but lie was a "character" to the strangers and
he entertained them with his adventures which he fabricated
as he went along. He graduated to a kind of court fool or
canyon clown, and in later years the Fred Harvey Company
gave him room and board so that he would always be present
to interest and astound their guests. And of this Hance never
wearied. His method was to answer questions tirelessly and to
begin a perfectly plausible story and let it drift into the im-
possible and fantastic while still holding the listeners' credu-
lity. Then, when the tale had stretched far beyond reason, he
would let it snap into absurdity and the tourists either loved it
and enjoyed the joke, or pointed him out as a madman. At
least they never forgot him.
Children loved John Hance, and to them he always ex-
plained how the canyon came into being. "I dug it," he would
say simply. This story worked well for years until one little
four-year-old girl asked seriously, "And where did you put
the dirt?" Hance Lad no ready answer; he never used the story
again. But it bothered him the rest of his life, and when he
was dying he whispered to his waiting friends, 'Where do
you suppose I could have put that dirt?"
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AND THOSE WHO GAME LATER
One of Hance's favorite stories was the fog yam. At rare
times tlie canyon will Be filled with clouds. Both rims will be
clear, but the depths will be concealed by a sea of fog tem-
porarily locked within the walls. Hance would then bring
out his snowshoes and casually approach whatever tourists
might be at the rim.
'Well/* he'd say to himself, "she's just about right to cross/'
Inevitably somebody would ask him what he meant.
"Oh, don't you know? Strangers here, eh? Well, say, too
bad I haven't got another pair of snowshoes or you could join
me."
'What are you going to do?"
'Whenever she fogs up good and solid like this, I always
put on my snowshoes and take a walk across to the North
Rim."
The startled visitors looked aghast, but hesitated to call
the bluff for Hance was busy strapping on his snowshoes.
He'd test them gingerly and add, 'Yep, just right/' and before
the bewildered audience he would walk to the rim, stick a
foot into space, and say, "Ah, that's just fine!" Then he'd stroll
along the rim and call back to his audience, "It's a lot shorter
if I start from Yaki Point. You just keep watching and tonight
when you see a fire over on the North Rim you'll know I
made it." And off he would go, disappearing along the rim
walk in the direction of Yaki Point.
The next day he would be ''back."
"See my fire last night?" he d ask.
Once in a while somebody would say yes, and Hance
would merely nod matter-of-factly. But as the answer was
usually in the negative, he would say, 'Well, the danged fog
rose and blotted it out for you. I couldn't see your lights over
here either. You know that blasted fog pretty near fooled me?
It was good and thick goin' over but when I come back it was
so thin that I sagged with every step. Once I thought I was
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goin* to tit bottom. Just like walkin* on a featherbed only
worse. Plumb wore myself out gettin' back. You want to try
it some time. Stay around a while and 111 lend you my snow-
shoes next time she fogs good and solid/*
Other men, more famous in Arizona history than John
Hance, also belonged to this pre-tourist era. One was William
Owen O'Neill, better known as Bucky O'Neill, who died
with his boots on during the charge of Colonel Roosevelt's
Rough Riders at San Juan Hill. O'Neill had a series of excit-
ing adventures in Tombstone and Prescott during the forma-
tive period of the West and it was because of his efforts that
the Grand Canyon was at last served by a railroad. To this
day it remains the only National Park with that distinction.
O'Neill had copper interests on the Coconino Plateau near
the South Rim. A railroad was built north from Williams to the
Anita Mine, Later this road was taken over by the Santa Fe,
regraded, and extended to the South Rim. No longer was the
jolting stagecoach journey necessary, and visitors began to ar-
rive in great numbers. The Fred Harvey Company, in con-
junction with the Santa Fe, built the popular El Tovar Hotel
in 1904 and it became famous the world over for its unique
location and its sumptuous (for 1904) accommodations. It is
still functioning and while the years have somewhat dimmed
its luster, it is not at all eclipsed by the more modern Bright
Angel Lodge.
After 1904 the commercial aspect of the Grand Canyon
was pretty much in the control of the Santa Fe and Fred
Harvey. And as is customary in the tradition of both these
institutions, they did a fine job. The Park Service took over
administrative reins in 1919 and the Grand Canyon is now
under the supervision of the Department of the Interior.
People who resent the doctrine of socialism, often overlook
the fact that a form of socialism has worked in the guise of
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the Park Service for years. All National Parks are natural
phenomena socialized for the use and benefit of everybody.
The Grand Canyon is run by the government and this social-
ization has prevented its belonging to any individual from
Vasquez de Coronado to William Randolph Hearst. It belongs
to you.
Perhaps the last of the "practical" ventures at Grand Can-
yon, and one that is not without irony, occurred as late as
1937. It was not a moneymaking scheme. In fact, it was costly.
But if those who backed it were able to declare their expendi-
tures in their income tax as legitimate deductions in the in-
terest of the advancement of science, they may have put their
money to legitimate use after all.
From the South Rim at Grand Canyon village, looking
off to the northwest, there is a large flat-topped formation
known as Shiva Temple. Once it is identified for you it is
unmistakable. Thousands of years of erosion have contrived
to isolate a large section of what was once a part of the Kaibab
Plateau of the North Rim. It is 7,650 feet above sea level,
contains a forested area of six square miles, and up to 1937,
it had never been explored because of its presumably un-
scalable walls. Here was an area that had been cut off from
the rest of the plateau country for thousands of years, perhaps
as many as fifty thousand. A scientific expedition led by Dr.
Harold E. Anthony of the American Museum of Natural
History, determined to scale Shiva and set foot on a part of
the globe where no man, and certainly no white man, had
ever set foot before. Because of its fifty thousand years of
isolation it was expected that the flat top of Shiva Temple
would yield specimens of plant and animal life of a forgotten
world. If the animals that lived on this lone mesa had been
cut off from their fellow creatures for all those centuries, they
might conceivably be evolutionary freaks. Here was a section
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
where time might have stood still, or even evolved in some
unexpected manner. Anything could have happened on
Shiva.
News of the expedition got abroad. Apparently the project
was being very well done. Nothing was overlooked, and sup-
plies which could not be transported up the sheer wails were
to be dropped by parachute from an airplane. In September,
1937, the ascent began* It was extremely difficult and danger-
ous. And it was a thrill indeed to the members of the party who
finally made the neck-breaking climb when they clambered
over the rim and stood the first human beings on a part of
the earth that had never been trod before, six square miles of
virgin soil which no man had ever seen, six square miles that
had been as remote through the centuries as if they had been
six square miles on the moon or Mars.
And then things began to happen.
One of the party found a pair of deer horns. They all looked
at each other blankly. Those deer horns were new. They had
been dropped within the last year. How had the deer got up
to this place? Nobody could say. Had they been here for fifty
thousand years? Most unlikely.
They explored a little farther.
The next find was truly startling. It was a small yellow
oblong box made of cardboard and printed on it in red letters
were the words, "Eastman Kodak panchromatic."
The jig was up. And while the daring explorers waited for
their parachute-dropped supplies they almost hesitated to look
farther. And finally, down from the skies, floated their sealed
tins of water and food. It all became a bit ridiculous; and as
one of the party declared, they would not have been surprised
to find, in this place where man had never set foot, a movie
company on location. The expedition had one satisfaction,
however. They proved the practicality of being supplied in
inaccessible places by air. A carton of eggs, among other
things, came down by parachute and not an egg was broken.
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AND THOSE WHO CAME LATER
But the expedition, no matter tow bad the dent put in Its
prestige, did explore and record a section of the Grand Can-
yon terrain which had never been formally explored before.
And as far as the fifty-thousand-year inaccessibility of Shiva
was concerned, that myth was destroyed forever. Animals of
all kinds seemed to have no trouble in making yearly ascents
and descents. There was no difference whatever between the
species on the isolated Shiva and those of the Kaibab Plateau.
This was not the conclusion that the party had hoped to reach,
but in the interests of science they could arrive at no other.
The pre-exploration publicity which had been serious and
sober became somewhat derisive when the party returned.
This was not entirely fair. The expedition had set forlh in
good faith. They had no way to foretell that the deer roamed
Shiva at will. And as for the person who tossed away that
empty box of film when he reloaded his camera well, you
couldn't kill him for that* But who in the name of Shiva was
he?
His identity has never been firmly established, but those
who know the Grand Canyon and its permanent residents
smile knowingly. Whoever went up there was a photographer;
he was not a stranger to the area; and he was adept at canyon-
climbing. Does that fit anybody we know? We can put two
and two together and get four or twenty-two depending upon
how we put them together. Now the news had been bruited
about that Shiva was to be scientifically scaled. Any explo-
rations of that nature would have been bound to interest one
or both of two brothers who were photographers and who
were not strangers to the area and who were adept at canyon-
climbing. No names or inscriptions were found by the scien-
tific party on Shiva, but they might well have been, and if
they had, there are only two names that would be logical.
They are Ellsworth Kolb and Emery Kolb. If you are still in
doubt, why not ask one of the brothers the next time you
visit the South Rim?
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Trail-Wise and Trail-Weary
o,
r N THE Santa Fe train
northbound from Williams:
"Darling, wasn't it thrilling?"
"Yes, dearestest. Mother said it was the prettiest wedding
she ever saw."
"You looked lovely in her dress."
"Poor mother she said she cried because she was so
happy."
"I thought your father had a glint in his eye, tooes-
pecially when I called him Dad for the first time."
"He loved it, dearestest, I just know he did. They were
reliving their own wedding all over again. That's one reason
why they wanted us to come to the Grand Canyon for our
honeymoon."
'We're almost there, too."
"Tickets, please,"
"Oh ah yesah, conductor, my er wife and I are
visiting the Grand Canyon for the first time. What would
you suggest thatahwell, what is there to do after we get
there?"
"Go down the trail on a mule."
"And then what?"
"Come back up again."
"Darling, did you hear what he said?"
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TRAIL-WISE AND TRAIL-WEARY
'Well, I should say I did! What a strange man."
"It might be sort of fun, darling."
"But dearestest, mother and father never did that/*
"I understand the mules are very safe."
"I wouldn't touch one for the world/'
"Not even one eensy-weensy pat if I asked you to?"
"Oh, of course, I'd do anytliing for you, dearestest."
If the time was 1920 or thereabouts, they went down the
Bright Angel Trail. If it is today it is probable they used the
newer Kaibab Trail The Grand Canyon has long been a
popular resort for honeyinooners, and almost all of them take
the muleback trip from rim to river. It is, without doubt,
the most inopportune time to take such a trip, but if they
survive it, and still love each other (as most of them do), the
marriage is going to be a success.
Everybody who has ever visited the Grand Canyon is
familiar with the famous Bright Angel Trail even if he has
only stood at the rim and peered below to the halfway mark
at Indian Gardens on the Tonto shelf. But most visitors do
not discover that there are many trails in the park, some
advisable and some inadvisable. On the South Rim there are
eleven trails that lead from rim to river, and on the North
Rim there are four, and while some of these are abandoned
and dangerous, a few of them are in good condition and offer
a variation on the tourist routine. If, however, you are visit-
ing the canyon for the first time, or if you are bride and
groom, by all means stick to the conventional and confine
your explorations to one of the prepared trips.
The Bright Angel Trail begins at the full arc of the em-
bayment created by the Bright Angel Fault. This giant earth-
quake crack runs almost north and south, diagonal to the
general course of the canyon and the river. On the North
Rim the erosion has followed this fissure and created the great
Bright Angel Canyon. On the South Rim the head of the
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
trail begins literally in Emery Kolb's backyard. Thus it is
within easy walking distance of hotel, lodge, and camp
ground, and one of the favorite sports of those who do not go
down the trail is to gather at the starting point and watch the
muleback parties take off. Many of these people have never
been on a mule before, and as some of them insist upon acting
as if the mule had never been previously ridden, it is some-
times a spectacle to watch. The dude takes it for granted that
he is guiding his mule. Actually the mule has done this so many
times, for so many years, that his intelligence and savcdr
faire far surpass that of his rider. The excited and loud-talk-
ing tenderfoot can pull up on the bit or relax, but the mule
will go about his own business of navigating the Bright Angel
Trail with no more concern than if he were carrying a sack of
potatoes. The rider learns the animal's name and he likes to
say, 'Whoa, there, Yaki," or "Giddap, Nugget/ 1 and never
comprehends that Yaki and Nugget are whoaing or giddap-.
ping of their own good judgment. Some mules are more
nervous than others, some are definitely temperamental. All
of them have a sense of humor and love to play. But a mule
can be serious. He has his time for work and time for relax-
ation (watch them relax some time in the big Fred Harvey
corral at the main stables it's worth observing) and he never
suffers from a duality of purpose. He works with careful in-
tent; he plays with gay abandon. Going up or down the trail
is work and his judgment is always good. No mule ever takes
an unnecessary chance and no mule will become panicky
unless he is deliberately abused or frightened.
Some timid tourists like to pet their animal's nose and try to
get acquainted by giving him sugar or cake. He doesn't care
for nose petting and will coldly turn the other way. He will
always take the sugar or cake with indifference and ingrati-
tude, and with a look in his calculating eye which says, "All
right, if you want to feed me, sucker, I'll eat, but it's not
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TRAIL-WISE AND TRAIL-WEARY
getting you anything/' You're still just a sack of potatoes to
him.
The mules are creatures of habit. They have a routine that
they like, such as walking or trotting at certain places, drink-
ing at a specific point, and selecting a special place on the
trail to urinate and doing so without fail every time they come
to it. There is no doubt that a mule waits of his own accord
until he arrives at his favorite spot. Then he casually stops,
relieves himself, and goes on. Each mule in the party will
do the same. It is mule decorum and you can't violate it.
Other characteristics of the mule are eating as he walks and
scratching himself on certain favorite bushes. A succulent crop
of grass or a mouthful of willow leaves, or even cottonwood
leaves, are nice to chew on when you're hauling a sack of
potatoes on your back which insists upon making idle remarks
to you, calling to the people ahead or behind, and snapping
pictures as you jog along. As to scratching, if you have had an
afmoying itch on your left flank all day long, and you remem-
ber a nice scratching that you had at a certain bush near the
Devil's Corkscrew, you are naturally going to scratch yourself
there again just as soon as you come to it. So you do, and the
stout lady on your back calls, "Oh, guide he's leaning way
over the edge!" How can you be expected to explain that your
favorite scratching bush is on the outside edge of the trail
where an inch more means a five-hundred-foot drop. You
aren't going to slip youVe scratched here a dozen times in the
last month. But a sack of potatoes can't be expected to know
that. You snort and jog on with just a little more jolt than
usual. After all, even a sack of potatoes might get a headache,
and wouldn't that be too bad.
On the Bright Angel the descent is quick. The trail switch-
backs and zigzags down the face of the Kaibab limestone, the
Coconino sandstone (a section of the trail is called "Jacob's
Ladder"), the Supai formation, the Redwall, and levels off on
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
the Bright Angel shale of the Tonto group at Indian Gardens.
This is a small oasis that from the rim seems to be a patch of
green and nothing more. It is the halfway mark for mule
parties; rest, lunch, talk, and so on. from this point on, the
trail follows Pipe Creek, the Devil's Corkscrew, and emerges
through a side canyon to the inner gorge and the rushing, roar-
ing, swirling Colorado River. And just as the conductor on the
train said, the next event is to ride back up again. It is not an
easy one-day trip for tourists who are not used to the saddle*
But if the geological significance complements, for the visitor,
his exposure to the stunning adjective-beggaring scenery, he
will find the thrill worth any hardship between rim and river,
It is a trip you can never forget, and long after the weariness
from the experience has worn off with the help of a hot bath
and a neat whiskey, the memory will remain. You may say,
"Never again," but if you return to the park five years later,
or ten years later, you will insist upon doing it again and
youll sell the idea to whoever may be with you* The Grand
Canyon will always be incomplete for you without this experi-
ence. It doesn't matter which trail you use, but, some time, go
from rim to river and back.
The Bright Angel Trail has a curious history. It was begun
by animals and was doubtless a deer trail for centuries. Then
it was used by the Havasupai Indians who went from the rim
to the Tonto shelf to farm and make use of the spring at In-
dian Gardens. When this trail was first used by men it is not
possible to say, but unquestionably it is one of the oldest trails
in the area and may have been in existence in Basketmaker
times. Promoter Ralph Cameron and Pete Berry made some
improvements on the Indian efforts in 1890 and the txadl be-
came reasonably safe. Cameron had an eye on mining possibil-
ities on the Tonto shelf and the trail was private property and
remained so up until 1928. Cameron made more money from
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TRAIL-WISE AND TRAIL-WEARY
charging tolls on the Bright Angel than he did out of any
mines In the canyon. After Cameron's title passed to the
county, the tolls were continued, but in 1928, after a very
complicated deal, the trail became the property of the Na-
tional Park Service which, of course^ it should have been long
before. Today it is considered a boulevard by old-timers at the
canyon. It is broad and safe with occasional water fountains
and emergency telephones, and all its hazards lie in the minds
of its inexperienced travelers*
Pipe Creek, incidentally, on the lower half of the trail was
named by Ralph Cameron because of a joke. In 1894, four
hardy men came along the Tonto shelf from Grand View
Point to the Devil's Corkscrew area, Cameron led the way and
was considerably ahead of his three companions. Working
his way up the creek that leads to Indian Gardens he found an
old Meerschaum pipe. He scratched a date on it and left it in
such an obvious place on the trail that the three men follow-
ing him could not miss it. But the date that Cameron
scratched on it was 1794. Thus the pipe would seem to have
been lost there just a hundred years before. Of course, the
others found it and brought it along* In camp at Indian Gar-
dens there was much speculation and argument as to who had
been deep down in the Grand Canyon in 1794. Cameron saw
that the story was going to be accepted and would gain mo-
mentum, so he very wisely exposed his hand and the joke. The
men were more angry at the collapse of the yarn than they
were satisfied over hearing the truth. But the stream was al-
ways referred to thereafter as Pipe Creek. Today the Bright
Angel Trail follows Pipe Creek, and after you have rested at
Indian Gardens and wondered how much farther it is to the
river, you will descend for a mile or so along the creek named
for Cameron's jest
To the east of the Bright Angel on the South Rim there
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
are four (really five) trails that lead to the river. They are the
Kaibab, the Grand View, the Hance, and the Tanner. This
last includes an old mining trail known as the Bunker.
The Kaibab Trail is without doubt the finest in the canyon
from a standpoint of engineering skill and comfort. And, for
that matter, it takes no second place for scenery. -It lacks the
history and color of the Bright Angel. It is well graded and
wide and banked, and somebody bet that he could ride a
motorcycle down to the river and back. Rather fortunately the
bet was never taken. It was built as late as 1928, entirely
inanmade, following no animal trails, and is the shortest route
to the river and Phantom Ranch and Bright Angel Canyon
on the north side. The Kaibab and the extended Bright Angel
really merge just before the suspension bridge which is the
only means of crossing the river.
Phantom Ranch lies near the mouth of Bright Angel Creek
and this is a popular two-day trip; that is, the traveler goes
down either the Bright Angel or the Kaibab and returns by the
other after a night at the Ranch deep down in the fastness of
the two billion-year-old Archean rocks where the first live
thing met the second live thing those many years ago.
The Kaibab Trail continues on up the long Bright Angel
Canyon on the north side and here there are such sights as
Altar Falls on Ribbon Creek and Roaring Springs which come
cascading out of the base of the great Red Wall, They are
phenomena of the Grand Canyon that make beautiful and
exciting side trips, and mule and outdoor enthusiasts won't
want to miss them. The route of the Kaibab Trail from Phan-
tom Ranch to the North Rim is fascinating scenically and of
great importance to the student or scientist generally inter-
ested in geology, botany, and the. flora and fauna in particular
of the Upper and Lower Sonoran life zones as well as the
Transition and the Canadian. You can't ride up and down
these canyons, change altitude speedily, and move from desert
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TRAIL-WISE AND TRAIL-WEARY
country like that of Mexico to timber land like that of Canada
in a few ? miles without having interesting things happen. But
you must be equipped to understand what is going on around
you in nature, or you will be more preoccupied with the
hardness of your saddle than with anything else. And that
would be too bad.
The improved Kaibab Trail forces your mule to ford the
delightful Bright Angel Creek seven times between Phantom
Ranch and the North Rim. The original trail in this section
was made by Francois E. Matthes with a U, S. Geological
Survey party in 1902. This party had to cross the creek ninety-
four times in seven miles, a fact which helps you appreciate
the improved Kaibab today.
Back on the South Rim, east from the Kaibab Trail, is
the Grand View Trail, This is not in good condition today and
is not recommended for amateurs in canyon-climbing. It was
originally Pete Berry's trail to the mines of the Grand Canyon
Copper Company and for experienced hikers it is a good in-
dividual trip. But, if you attempt it, you had better carry an
alpine stock and some water and advise the Park Service of
your exploit first.
A little farther east is the Hance Trail where the lying
captain used to descend to the greatest asbestos mine in the
world which never produced very much asbestos. The trail
followed an old Indian route which was a mere foothold along
the canyon walls. It is not impossible that this may have been
the trail down which went the "three lightest and most agile
men" of Cardenas, the canyon's first white visitors in 1540.
Certainly the Spaniards used an Indian trail for there were
no others in those days. Whether this is true or not, the trail
still has claims to historical fact for it was by this route that
the first white woman ever penetrated the canyon. She was
Mrs. Edward Ayers, the wife of a Flagstaff lumberman, and
she reached the bottom of the canyon in February, 1882, for
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
whatever that data may be worth. Certainly no white woman
had ever been there before* Hance used to have a sign on his
trail reading "Fifth Avenue" which was thought to be very
funny; and be had another sign of more practical significance
reading, 'Toll on Trail: Foot Man $1.00, Saddle animals
$2.00." This abrupt message now rests in the Park historical
collection in Grand Canyon village. Since Hance had no legal
daim to the trail at all except perhaps squatter's rights, it is
quite in character that he should have charged admission to it.
The most eastern trail leading from South Rim to river
begins at Desert View Point and is the Tanner Trail, though
an earlier name was more picturesque, Horsethief TraiL This
began as a deer run and became an Indian Trail, and was used
in the eighteen sixties by the Navajo Indians who were then
fleeing before the onslaughts of the man who was oddly both
their enemy and friend, the Man Who Talked One Way,
better known to most Americans as Kit Carson. A Navajo
chief called Old Begonia led a number of his people down
this trail to escape capture by the white soldiers.
In the summer of 1889, three prospectors, Tanner, Bed-
lias, and Bunker, improved the trail and added a new section
near the rim which is sometimes called the Bunker TraiL
Again the goal was copper and again the canyon made the
hauling of the ore too difficult and too expensive.
The trail has continued to maintain its peculiar personality,
however, as a retreat for escapists, criminals, and the socially*
misfit. For some odd reason there has always been shady
activity of one kind or another associated with the Tanner
TraiL One instance of this led to its being called Horsethief
Trail, and at the time it was a hideout for renegades and
poachers and other wanted men. For one reason, this was a
remote section of the Grand Canyon country until the open-
ing of the Navahopi Highway in 1935, and the law seldom
penetrated into these wilds. The horsethieves had a good
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TRAIL-WISE AND TRAIL-WEARY
racket. They would steal animals from the Mormons in Utah,
drive them down into Arizona and into the Nankoweap Basin
on the north side of the Colorado River. This is reached by
the Nankoweap Trail which offers plenty of rough going on
the North Rim. Then the thieves had a ford at Chuar Creek
which was very dangerous and passable only when the water
was low* The stolen animals were then driven up the Tanner
Trail and taken on to Flagstaff and sold. Then the thieves,
well heeled, would steal another twenty or more head around
Flagstaff and drive them back over the same route and sell
them to the Mormons in Utah. There must have been a good
profit in this shuttling of stock for it was referred to as the
"Grand Canyon Horse and Mare Company" until some
county sheriffs armed with shotguns finally discouraged fur-
ther operations.
Throughout the eastern section of the Grand Canyon there
are rock piles and cairns and claims indicating that this area
was pretty well prospected. And during the years when Wash-
ington tried to enforce the Volstead Act the Tanner Trail
again came into its own. Some person or persons unknown
built a still in the region of Chuar Creek, It was the real thing
and a good still and it turned out liquor while its operators
scouted for "revenooers/* and the raw whiskey was sent out
over both Tanner and Nankoweap Trails. How much sour
mash was fermented there will never be known unless the
long-lost distillers will come forward. The remains of the still
were found by ranger-naturalist Edwin D. McKee in 1933.
Dr. McKee is now a professor of geology at the University of
Arizona and, while he has never been interested in the whis-
key business or the art of distilling, he knows where there is
a first-class opening in a remarkably safe location if you are
interested in taking a flier on your own.
Thus the renegade reputation of the Tanner Trail has come
down through the years. And you may be sure that more will
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
be heard of the Tanner in the future. It is too bad a boy to
remain quiet. The trail itself is in poor condition today, but it
can be traveled if you know where to look for it. Solo expedi-
tions are discouraged, but if you are properly equipped and
have the blessing of the Park Service the old Tanner may give
you an exciting outing. And don't miss the still.
West from Grand Canyon village on the South Rim there
are five trails all well known to residents of the area and little
known to the average tourist. The first of these is the Her-
mit. It was built in 1911 by the Santa Fe for tourist use ex-
clusively and to avoid paying the toll on the privately owned
Bright Angel, There was an overnight resort at Hermit Camp
which has been abandoned now that the more sumptuous
Phantom Ranch is in, operation. The Santa Fe and the Fred
Harvey Company turned the trail over to the Park Service in
1919. It has gradually fallen into disuse although it is safe
enough and can be traveled by anybody. Since the trail had no
reason for existing beyond rivaling the Bright Angel, it lost
even this excuse with the completion of the Kaibab. It extends
from rim to river and offers an excellent trip. Many tourists
used it between 1911 and 1919 and it is regrettable that this
part of the Grand Canyon is losing out in tourist appeal. The
name Hermit was given to it in honor of Louie Boucher who
was the original hermit of Grand Canyon and who looked and
acted the part. Unless the Park Service maintains the Hermit
Trail it is slated for eventual oblivion along with the Grand
View and the Hance.
A little farther west is the Boucher Trail which was the
private trail of the hermit. He built it from 1889 to 1893 and
it is an interesting trail indeed, entering Hermit Basin by way
of Dripping Springs (springs seeping through overhanging
ledges or caves). Deep down in the canyon lived Louie
Boucher, and no questions asked please. Men usually have
good reasons for becoming hermits and we shall respect those
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TRAIL-WISE AND TRAIL-WEARY
reasons, even though the Hermit of the Grand Canyon is no
more. Louie was a typical desert rat of his day. He was a
prospector and he was seldom seen without his pick and pan
and tools. He owned several burros and a white mule of which
he was very fond. He put a bell on the mule, and the tinkle
could be heard for a great distance. It was an infallible sign
of the approach of the Hermit with his prospector's trappings
and his white beard and white mustache jogging along on
his white mule. The Hermit lived in a white tent and "told
only white lies" to white strangers. Herman Melville in his
remarkable chapter on the history and significance of white
in Moby Dick might have used with considerable effect the
white predilections of Louie Boucher.
Quite some distance farther west, out of range of the aver-
age tourist, is the Bass Trail. It begins near Havasu Point and
descends Bass Canyon, "crosses" the river (that is, W. W.
Bass who built it had a boat and a crude cable crossing here
at one time), and goes up Shinumo Creek on the north side.
This trail is, in fact, known as the Shinumo Trail on the
North Rim. W. W* Bass was a Grand Canyon character who
was just as well known in his day as John Hance. But Bass
was a serious fellow. Bass really studied the canyon. It is some-
what odd, however, that with his full knowledge of both can-
yon and river, Bass came to accept the James White myth
of his trip from Utah to Callville on a raft. The palpable im-
possibility of the White yarn was so evident to canyon and
rivermen that many of them didn't even take the trouble to
scoff. Bass, however, wrote a pamphlet in 1920 defending
James White and the fantastic story which we have discussed
in full in another chapter.
The Bass Trail was originally built by the Havasupai Indi-
ans in order to get to Mystic Springs at the base of Mount
Huethawali. An earthquake is supposed to have choked off
the springs in the eighteen nineties, but this story has no
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
authentication. At any rate, Bass Improved die trail and was
led to the springs by Captain Burro, a Havasupai Indian.
Bass had located both copper and asbestos mines (going John
Hance and Pete Berry one better) and the springs were of
great value to him* He gave the Havasupai a sack of flour
and half a beef and the Indian considered himself wealthy.
Again mining proved to be too difficult in the Grand Can-
yon but Bass loved the country and continued to develop it
as best he could. As early as 1900 he put in his bid for the
tourist trade. On the north side of the river, near the mouth
of Shinumo Creek, Bass planted a fruit orchard and the place
was known as Shinumo Gardens. It was the precursor of
Phantom Ranch, which developed much the same way near
the mouth of the Bright Angel Creek. Bass continued to live
at the Grand Canyon through the years and died in 1933 at
the age of eighty-four. Longevity goes with the canyon as long
as you do not trifle too much with the river. As a tribute to
Bass and the canyon trail he loved, his ashes were scattered
over it by airplane.
Further west, so remote that it is out of the tourist category
altogether, is the Great Thumb Trail. Even the number of
park rangers who have seen this trail can be counted on the
fingers of one hand. It was, or is, an Indian trail (the Hava-
supais again) and was used by them to descend from the rim
to the red Tonto bench. It is said to be precarious indeed, and
its purpose was to allow the Indian to hunt in a remote region.
Very little more is known about it, and it is possible that it
does not descend all the way to the river. Nobody could say
for sure. Its chief interest lies in the fact that here, within
thirty-five miles of civilization, is a trail leading into a canyon
wilderness so difficult that it disappears into a labyrinthine
limbo where nothing is known about it beyond supposition.
Perhaps it has a Minotaur who devours those who follow it to
its fateful end. If so it is today still awaiting its Theseus and
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TRAIL-WISE AND TRAIL-WEARY
Ariadne. If you want adventure while you visit the Grand
Canyon, explore the Great Thumb Trail. To the best of my
knowledge it still remains to be done.
There is one more trail on the South Rim and that is the
Topocoba. This can be reached over a road leading west from
Grand Canyon village. It begins as a very good road. Some
thirty-five miles later it is merely a rocky trail which comes
to a precipitous end at Hilltop. Here the Topocoba begins.
It descends Lee Canyon and finally enters Cataract Canyon
and leads to Supai, the Havasupai Indian village in a place
of great peace and beauty. We have had occasion to mention
it previously as Father Garces in 1776, coining out of Hava-
supailand, climbed the Topocoba Trail. Lieutenant Ives
missed it altogether in 1857, but Jacob Hamblin of the Mor-
mons found it in the eighteen sixties. Since the trail belongs,
properly, to a section on the Land of the Sky Blue Water, we
need not dwell upon it here. It is possible to go all the way
from Hilltop, via Supai, to the Colorado River at the mouth
of Havasu Creek possible, but highly improbable that the
charm of Supai itself will permit you to carry out this inten-
tion if you have it. The Topocoba is in good condition, and
while it is necessary to use Indian ponies instead of the re-
liable mule, the trail is scenically thrilling and historically
exciting as you plod along, varying your gait perhaps with the
restful lope so characteristic of the tough little Indian horse.
This brings us to the end of a survey that may leave us
both trail-wise and trail-weary. But no second-hand descrip-
tion, no written words, can convey the adventures and pleas-
ures to be found in exploring Grand Canyon trails. They
come in all sizes, shapes, forms, and hazards from the tourist-
guaranteed security of the Kaibab to the mysteries of the
Great Thumb. You can do it by mule, horse, or on foot. And
you will never be properly trail-wise nor grimly trail-weary
until you try it for yourself.
[229]
One Hundred Million Customers
A
VISITOR to whom mathe-
matics was a religion was told at the South Rim that the
' Grand Canyon has been averaging a quarter of a million
guests a year. He was also told that the first visitor arrived
four hundred years ago. The worshiper of figures (and useless
information) did some lightning calculating and came up
with, 'Tour hundred times two hundred and fifty thousand
is one hundred million. The place has had a hundred million
customers! Wow! No wonder it's good!"
He then proceeded to figure out the average monetary ex-
penditure of each individual visitor. Calculating that amount
at a mean of ten dollars, he discovered that the Grand Canyon
had earned one hillion dollars gross since it had '"been in
business." He gasped, 'Why, it's one of the biggest rackets
in the country! I wish I owned a piece of it!"
The thing fascinated him and he used a large quantity of
El Tovar stationery in embellishing his conclusions and piling
up rich details, such as the amount of food consumed by guests
and on down the line to the number of pairs of shoes that had
been worn thin on the trails, the number of Ohs and Ahs that
had been uttered at the rim, and the amount of profit that
might have accrued to any one family had they kept this
monopoly in their control for four generations. He hardly
saw the canyon itself but he had an exhilarating night with
[230]
ONE HUNDRED MILLION CUSTOMERS
figures and left the next morning perfectly satisfied with his
visit, and secretly looking, no doubt, for a likely canyon in
which to invest. If ever asked if he enjoyed the Grand Can-
yon, he unquestionably said, "I certainly did, you should go
there. Why do you know that if one hundred million " and
soon.
Thus the Grand Canyon receives and accepts and sends
away all types. It has all kinds of effects on all kinds of people,
and perhaps it offers an index to its visitors' character. A barber
who cut my hair at El Tovar had lived beside it for a number
of years. He was against it. "That thing!" he said, resentfully.
"I never look at it. Makes me nervous. But I guess some people
like it. Aren't people funny? Straight back or part it?" The
man really hated the canyon and he wasn't fooling. It was
always there to annoy him and I shouldn't be surprised to
read some day that he had gone berserk and jumped into it.
The statistics worshiper, incidentally, was absolutely correct
in his mathematics, but his conclusions were wrong. The
Grand Canyon has been averaging a quarter of a million
guests per year only in -recent years. The number is steadily
growing and, just before World War II, the annual tourist
total was up to about three hundred thousand. That's a lot
of visitors. The canyon is still a long way from having its
hundred millionth customer, but the day will come when he
will arrive.
Who are these people?
Just about representative of every race, creed, and classifi-
cation of mankind on earth. Probably there is nobody who
can truthfully say, "No, I have no desire to see the Grand
Canyon." Even a number of blind people have come to "see"
it. A few years ago a blind man made the overnight trail trip
down the Bright Angel to Phantom Ranch. He said he en-
joyed it immensely and that he could sense the depth and that
it became more and more exciting to him as the mule carried
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
him deeper and deeper into the geological history of space,
time, and the earth. He became a Grand Canyon enthusiast
and probably got a lot more out of his experience than many
people with sight*
A slightly different instance occurred on the North Rim.
A woman who was going blind, an incurable case, wanted to
see the colors of the aspen forest in the fall months. She re-
garded these trees as the most beautiful sight she had ever
seen, and she wanted that to be the last image brought to her
by her failing vision. And she carried this through so that her
last visual recollection is the Kaibab Forest in October.
On the other hand, there was the New York executive who
arrived with his secretary (male) and took a room overlooking
the rim. His business of the day was incomplete and he began
dictating immediately upon being installed in his room. The
setting sun brought out the brilliant reds and yellows and
contrasting colors and it bothered him as he paced between
bed and dresser*
'Tours of the sixteenth instant in hand/' he dictated. "Re-
garding same would say , . ." and he paced to the window and
pulled down the shade to keep the glaring light out of his
eyes. He completed his dictation at ten o'clock, had a late sup-
per, and went to bed. He and the secretary left on the morn-
ing train immediately after breakfast. The man had not seen
the canyon; but at least he had been there.
These, of course, are the exceptional visitors. The vast
majority come to look and exclaim and travel on. And while
the trail trips offer the main attraction there are plenty of
other things to do which amuse and entertain the public*
There are the rim drives from the Indian Watchtower at
Desert View Point on the east, to Hermit's Rest on the west.
There are explanatory walks and talks given daily by the men
in the Park Service. There is Hopi House and die somewhat
[232]
ONE HUNDRED MILLION CUSTOMERS
brief and cursory Indian dances held late every afternoon; and
as most of the spectators have never seen Indian dances or
heard Indian songs, these seem to them to be genuine enough.
And there are museums and exhibitions and models and dis-
plays of scientific and semi-scientific nature. There is a good
research library, a naturalists' workshop, and a nightly camp-
fire talk on some phase of Southwesterniana. There are rim
walks and trails and numerous benches where one may sit
and contemplate the canyon at his feet. There are the tame
deer, always looking for food, and there are the numerous
other species of mammals, not to mention birds, reptiles, and
amphibians if you but know where to look.
The swallow and the vulture seem to be the two birds
most at ease at the Grand Canyon. The swallow sMms past
your head, startlingly close, and then <f peels ofp into space
as he sails nonchalantly over the rim. The great brink holds
no terrors for him. It is bird heaven. The swallow is so at
home that he sleeps OB the foot trails along the rim at night,
and if you stroll in the dark you feel guilty in disturbing him.
The large black vulture appears to be a small bird as he floats
lazily, effortlessly, out over the embayments along the rim*
At times he seems to hang motionless in the air, traveling
hardly at all, until one or two flaps of his powerful wings
carry him on in his course of concentric circles while his eye
never ceases to scout for carrion. There are one hundred and
eighty species of birds at the Grand Canyon and if you were
a bird you would probably be there too. A lot of nonsense has
beien talked about the inability of birds to fly the ten to twelve
miles separating the two rims. There were supposed to be
down drafts and tricky air currents and air pockets that pulled
the birds to their doom. This foolishness was ended when a
red-backed junco walked into a bird trap on the South Rim
on December 16, 1932. He was promptly tagged by the
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
ranger-naturalist as H-72850 and released. And on April 20 7
1933, this same junco very accommodatingly walked into a
trap on the North Rim and was promptly identified. This
ended all the talk of the canyon's crossing meaning death to
birds.
Of the thousands of visitors there are always a few who
differ with facts or who know better. One man explained to a
ranger that the erosion theory was wrong and that the canyon
had actually been formed when the surface of the earth
cracked under pressure. His argument has as its chief support
the fact that if the two rims were to be pushed together until
they met, the rough edges of each would fit into a synchro-
mesh. The idea was doubtless original, but its advocate had
never flown over the canyon or he would have noted at once
the utter fallacy of his most positive theory.
An4 there was the woman (and she is not alone among
the <f faundred million") who complained bitterly that the
Park Service was blasphemous and should be punished. Not
content with recriminating the local office, she even wrote to
Washington about it. It seei&ed that she was a fundamental-
ist and her ears tad been affronted at the geological lecture
held daily at Yavapai Point O n cidentally a pleasant mile and
a half walk along the rim east from El Tovar) when the
lecturer gave some facts and figures. Her Bible said that the
world was six thousand years old and was created in six days
and it was a pretty state of affairs and an outright sacrilege
when government men disputed the Bible. She wouldn't stand
for it and somebody was going to hear about it. Somebody
did, but he has not yet answered.
The ranger, of course, becomes used to the departure from
the norm. He never takes any of the visitors as seriously as
they take themselves. The psychology of the hundred million
has a hundred million variations, but there is one point in
which all agree. The canyon so dwarfs the human minimus
[234]
ONE HUNDRED MILLION CUSTOMERS
that he simply must express his ego in some manner as a sort
of psychological counterattack. He can't take it; he must find
some way, instinctive, of course, to assert himself. And the
usual means is to write or carve his name somewhere, some-
how, so that somebody, sometime, will see it and know that
he has been there and recorded that important fact.
The Santa Fe and the Fred Harvey Company have long
since understood that any and all wooden benches left on the
rim walks will most certainly be carved into oblivion. They
seem to have found a compromise method of at least retarding
this. All wooden benches are covered with a kind of heavy
and extremely durable canvas. You can't carve your name
in it. But it will take pencil or ink, and every bench along
the South Rim is written on over every available space. People
sign their names or print them, and usually give the date of
their visit and their home town. When the canvas is suffi-
ciently autographed by the visitors, and shows signs of wearing
out, it is taken off and put in the incinerator, and a fresh can-
vas is put on the bench. It will be sure to have fifty names on
it by nightfall. It is a curious phenomenon, and one that is
humanly unavoidable. Of course, there are people who come to
the Grand Canyon and react to it without the almost universal
obsession to put their names on record except in the hotel
register. But these people are greatly in the minority. The
hundred million simply must assert their egos with a force as
driving and as compelling as the instinctive urge which made
the first animal life in the Algonkian rocks, two billion years
ago near Bright Angel Creek, divide itself from a one-celled
creature into a two-celled creature and thus begin the whole
evolutionary chain.
The psychology of the hundred million is not strange at
all. It is natural. Among the thousands of inscriptions on the
canvas-covered benches there are many that run something
like this:
[235]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Joe and Josie Doakes
227 Wotta Street
Paterson, N. J
Here 3/7/28 Write to us and well write to you.
But what for, Joe and Josie? What for?
[236]
V
Land of the Sky Blue Water
Where Nothing Ever Happens
HERE is a sunny peaceful
place on earth, in Arizona, in f act, where nothing ever hap-
pens. And as in all such idyllic spots far from the madding
crowd, something usually violent is going on all the time. But
it seldom shows on the surface.
If you have never been to Supai the chances are that you'd
like to go. Everybody who has ever been there raves about
it. There is nothing else like it in the United States, perhaps
in the world. And since it is within the boundaries of Grand
Canyon National Park, it is, supposedly, no trick at all to get
there. Yet it takes a full day to make the journey from Grand
Canyon village; you start about six in the morning and it is
four or five o'clock in the afternoon before you reach your
destination. And it is a trip of only fifty miles.
About thirty-five miles of this can be done in your own car,
though it is inadvisable to do it unless you are used to battling
poor roads. Moreover, you will have to leave your car at Hill-
top where the Topocoba Trail begins, and as there is abso-
lutely nothing at Hilltop your car will have to stand exposed
to the elements for the three to five days that you are thou-
sands of feet below in Cataract Canyon, or Havasu Falls or
Supai all the same place. (In passing, it should be mentioned
that this is not the same Cataract Canyon which played such
havoc with the various river parties; the same names are used
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
for different places frequently in the West.) It is therefore
wiser to arrange your trip with the Fred Harvey officials at
Grand Canyon so that you travel to Hilltop in the mail truck.
A Havasupai drives the truck to the head of the Topocoba
Trail twice a week and your Indian atmosphere begins the
moment you leave Grand Canyon village.
The young Havasupai Indian, a gentleman with the un-
Indian name of Foster Marshall, has been driving this route
for several years and it is probable that he will be doing so for
some time. He is understandably proud of his record, for no
matter how bad the weather, he has always brought the mail
through. He whips the Ford truck through mud and picks his
way over rocks with true automotive skill. You will have sev-
eral hours to spend with Foster Marshall in the cab of the
truck, and you will learn a little Havasupai speech. The road,
which begins as pavement at Grand Canyon village, becomes
dirt, mud, tracks, rocks, and finally two tire marks in a small
canyon. The last fifteen miles is slow going and then you are
at Hilltop.
This is the jumping-off place. The Topocoba Trail, up
which Father Garces worked his way in 1776, is unmistakable.
And far below as the ground' falls away at your feet is a great
gash in the earth. It is Lee Canyon, supposedly named for the
renegade Mormon John Doyle Lee (who was never actually
here, although the story persists that he hid for three years
among the Havasupais), and it winds and cuts deep into
Arizona's red earth.
You eat your Fred Harvey lunch and -drink from your can-
teen and watch Foster Marshall unload the mail sacks from
the truck. You wonder why so much mail goes to Supai until
you are told that most of the sacks contain crated foodstuffs
as there is no store of any kind at the tiny community far
down in the canyon. There is no sign of life on the Topocoba
Trail bu* Foster Marshall is confident that the pack train will
[240]
WHERE NOTHING EVER HAPPENS
arrive momentarily, a^d of course he is right. Around a bend
come four burros and two Indians on horseback with extra
horses for you and your party. The horses are Indian ponies,
scrawny, docile, and tough, and the little burros are servile
and resigned to their jobs. All conversation is in HavasupaL
One of die men is "Mac" who has come up the trail to be your
guide. The other is Toby to whom Foster Marshall consigns
the mail. Then Foster climbs into the truck and drives away
to Grand Canyon village. You are alone in a strange world
with strange people who speak a soft guttural language, Mac,
who is fat, smiling, and sporting a bright red shirt, comes over
to you and says something that sounds exactly like, <c Umpha~
You smile in your ignorance and offer hinran orange left
over from your lunch. He takes it and stuffs it inside his shirt*
What country is this, you wonder, and then you realize this
is a strange land called America. Toby, meanwhile, is loading
the saddlebags of mail onto the patient little burros. In a half
hour or so you get the idea that the pack train is about ready
to start for Supai Mac tries again, this time in English which
he can speak reasonably well, and he says, "Thees wan is your
horse. He sick." Whereupon he leaves it up to you to consider
whether you look like a man who would be expected to ride a
sick horse, or whether the sick horse is expected to die under
you and toss you off the precipitous trail. There being no al-
ternative, you mount. The horse is unmoved.
Toby mounts; Mac mounts; the loaded burros walk to the
head of the trail. Everything has started except you and your
sick horse. You use horse talk and horse persuasion, but appar-
ently he is good and sick for he just stands.
"See I toF you," says Mac, smiling.
"I think he just died, Mac," you say. Now Mac has quite
a sense of humor, but it is never your kind.
"No. He still living" says Mac, and he speaks to the horse
[241]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
in Havasupai. It turns its liead and looks at him. "Now you
tell him to giddap/' says Mac.
"Giddap," you say, but your heart isn't in it.
"Kick 'im/' advises Mac. "Kick 'im hard right in the belly/'
"I can't kick a sick horse, Mac not even in the belly."
"He ain't sick/' says Mac. "1 get words mixed up. I say sick
when I mean lazy an' lazy when I mean sick. He lazy. Kick
'im hard/'
You try a few peremptory kicks, and slowly the horse walks
to the trail
"Jus' keep kickin' 'im/' advises Mac, riding ahead, and im-
mediately the descent begins. The Topocoba zigzags and fol-
lows ledges, skirts sheer precipices, and finally reaches the
floor of Lee Canyon. Most of the journey of fifteen miles is in
canyon bottom and dry washes, but there are a few hazardous
spots where the going is decidedly steep and tricky. Deeper
and deeper into the depths of the earth goes the trail with the
canyon walls rising ever higher. Occasionally the main canyon
is joined by side clefts and fissures. When you look back, the
land is a maze of rocky defiles and to get out of this place alone
would not be easy. You recall the adventures of the Ives's ex-
pedition of 1857 and you appreciate them more fully. And as
for Father Garces in 1776, coming in alone over the Walapai
trail and finding his way back over the baffling terrain that you
are now descending well, of such mettle are heroes. The red
cliffs refract the sun's rays and the trip is hot. Once or twice
the stench of dead animals permeates the air. Everything is
rocks and sand and the desert flora of the lower Sonoran life
zone burro brush, cat's claw, sagebrush, mesquite, yucca, and
varieties of cactus.
After four hours in the saddle, or possibly five, almost all
of which has been at a slow walk with rarely a jog-trot or a
lope to break the monotony, the canyon bends abruptly and
[242]
WHERE NOTHING EVER HAPPENS
you see cottonwood trees, the first green things in miles and a
sure sign of water. At last you have reached the beginnings
of Havasupailand. A clear bubbling creek comes out of the
sand from nowhere and the growth becomes lush. There are
reeds, willows, and many more cottonwood trees. Small fields
of com and squash and sunflowers take the place of the dry
sandy wash. There are peach trees and apricot trees. Every-
thing is rich and burgeoning, although the canyon is narrow
and deep between its sheer red walls.
The first of the natives greet you. They are stocky brown-
skinned people for the most part, with ready smiles and shin-
ing white teeth. You recall the Havasupai words that you
learned in the mail truck.
"Tchew ko-mew" you say in an attempt to be pleasantly
casual to a man coming toward you on horseback. He smiles
back and says, "Hallo, butch," and rides on.
You are justly startled. You have come to a place as canyon-
locked as Mr. Wells's Country of the Blind; you have come
to an American Shangri-La; you have come to the end of the
earth and a citizen responds to your careful native greeting
with "Hallo, butch." And that, you will discover, is a typical
anomaly of Supai. In some respects it is the most remote civi-
lization in North America, difficult to reach, and quite un-
touched; in other respects, modernity and slang and the twen-
tieth century have also found their way down the tortuous
trail. A native custom of 1400 will be enacted by an adolescent
girl while she reads Life magazine. In her first puberty cere-
mony Deanna Spoonhead (whose Indian name is really
Kokadiaba, meaning The-Girl-Who-Eats-Too-Many-Pinons)
will not be allowed to touch meat, scratch herself, or see the
males of her own age; and she will be put in seclusion for five
days at the first evidence of her maturity. But there was noth-
ing in the Havasupai code of five hundred years ago that for-
[243]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
bade tier to look at Eric SchaaTs photographs of "The Great
Electro-Mechanical Brain," and Deanna Spoonhead likes
pictures.
Supai is a beautiful remote oasis with its roots embedded
in the soil of pure Indian culture, and its flowers blooming
from the stimulus of the twentieth century.
The pack train winds on to the Indian village which is not
a village in the American sense, but really a series of small
farms, their boundaries contiguous. There are small elliptical
huts made of rocks and mud and cotton wood logs which seem
to be the most popular type of dwelling. There are also a
number of incongruous and ugly one-room frame shacks hav-
ing a door and a couple of windows cabins that look as if
Uncle Tom might have inhabited one of them just before the
Civil War. These don't seem to be used at all. Later you
discover that the government has built these misplaced cabins
as a kind of Havasupai housing project. Since the Hava-
supais have never lived in houses, they stick to their huts and
brush shelters, and sometimes store food and keep domestic
animals in the houses or else abandon them altogether.
As you reach the end of your journey the trail crosses and
recrosses the blue sparkling Havasu Creek. And at each ford
the water seems to become more and more blue. Travertine
in the water is supposed to be the scientific answer and the
name of the Havasupai country, the Land of the Sky Blue
Water, is no misnomer.
Ahead you see a few small frame houses painted white.
They are the post office and agent's residence, the hospital,
and the school. This is the civic center and heart of Supai.
Here all things come and any emergency may be expected.
The agent in this peaceful little retreat where nothing ever
happens puts in a good sixteen-hour day. But well come to
the life of that overworked man in good time. As you ride up
to the houses along a lane of soft earth lined with cottonwood
' [244]
WHERE NOTHING EVER HAPPENS
trees and bordered with green fields you note that the canyon
has widened perceptibly. This is the heart of the oasis whose
life is dependent upon the blue waters of Havasu CreeL And
high on a rocky ledge of the canyon walls stand two mono-
lithic towers left by the erosion that created the canyon ten
or twelve million years ago. They are huge shafts of red
sandstone, the same stuff as makes up the Grand Canyon's
Redwall. They appear to be natural sentinels petrified for all
time, and the Havasupais revere them as gods. They are called
the king and the queen, or the prince and the princess, de-
pending upon your preference for translation from the Hava-
supai language which belongs to the Yuxnan division of Indian
tongues.
These two giant pillars of red rock hold and guard the
destiny of the brown-skinned people who live constantly
within their sight. According to George Wharton James, who
wrote several books on the Grand Canyon area about 1900,
the Havasupai names for these two gods are Hue-pu-keh-eh
and Hue-gli-i-wa, and according to H. G. Franse of the Fred
Harvey Company who visited the Land of the Sky Blue
Water in 1938, their names can be freely spelled Wiggle-ee
and Wiggle-eye. One is a god and one is a goddess and when
you look at them it is possible to tell which is which*
Wiggle-ee, the lady, has a rounded form and a suggestion of
curves about her rocky figure. Wiggle-eye, the man, is taller
and more severely erect. Moreover, he stands at a pinnacle
and his wife is just behind him* According to the legendry
of the tribe, these figures were once a chief and his spouse who
decided to leave the canyon for pastures new. Tochopa, the
granddaddy of Havasupai gods and the all-powerful one, saw
them in the nick of time and turned them both to stone as a
warning to all good Havasupais never to follow the call of
wanderlust but to remain forever in the god-given canyon that
is to be theirs for eternity. So, to this day, Wiggle-ee and
[245]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Wiggle-eye are petrified warnings to the faithful to keep peace
with Tochopa and preserve the sanctity of their little valley.
All will be well as long as the two monolithic recalcitrants
watch over their brown-sMnned children, hut should one or
both of them ever fall, it will portend the end of the Land of
the Sky Blue Water and the end of the Havasupais' days on
earth. As it is unlikely that erosion can cause them to topple
within a few thousand years, the tribe is reasonably safe. And
perhaps by that time the legend will be revised so as to have
a less tragic and fatalistic ending.
Under the watching eyes of Wiggle-ee and Wiggle-eye you
arrive at the post office and home of the government agent.
The Indian population of Supai is a little more than two
hundred. The white population is usually three the agent,
his wife, and a registered nurse.
It is late in the afternoon when you arrive and the long'
shadows are spreading across the fertile fields. You are glad
to part company with your Indian pony, but whether he be
"sick" or 'lazy/' he has done a good job of picking his way
over a rough trail
At the post office you discover there is much activity. Both
the agent and his wife are busy sorting the mail and crated
goods. Your arrival is accepted but of no importance. Several
dozen Indians will be waiting for the post-office window to
open. You are a bit surprised at their eagerness. It is unlike
the Indian to be excited over the arrival of mail. But they are
apparently anxious and they crowd about the doorway of the
tiny post office which is said to be the most remote and in-
accessible in the United States. The agent assures them 'Tes,
a package for Lemuel Paya, another for Dirty Face Siyuja, a
crate of oranges for Melvyn Sinyella, a box of canned goods
for Ora Little Jim, some cigarettes for Willie Uqualla" and
so on. Whereupon Lemuel, and Dirty Face, and Melvyn, and
Ora, and Willie, and a dozen or more others, are pleasantly
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WHERE NOTHING EVER HAPPENS
satisfied and they mount their horses and ride off to their
respective homes (nobody ever goes anywhere in Supai except
on horseback), leaving the packages and boxes in the post
office. They hadn't come to get them; they just wanted to
make sure they were there. One reason for this is that most
of the packages have come C.O.D. Now Willie Uqualla may
not have the dollar and some cents required to claim the
cigarettes he ordered last week. Once he knows they have
arrived he can claim them any time, and the cigarettes may
remain in the post office for a month or two until Willie finds
some way of earning a dollar or so. But at least Willie has
peace of mind; the purchase is there. It has been a busy day.
Being established as a guest in Supai means being put in
the hospital. Next door to the post office is a frame building
with a screened porch, a bathroom with plumbing, and seven
beds. The house has a perpetual odor of iodoform and you
may have any one of the seven beds you wish because the
Indians never use the hospital. You choose the bed on the
screen porch as it is pleasant to sleep out of doors in the warm
night air and the odor of iodoform is less prevalent. You may
have no fear that an emergency case will arrive before mom-
ing. Accident and tragedy never follow tjie conventional pat-
tern in Supai. Something will probably happen during the
night but it will not concern you.
About ten o'clock the agent turns off the motor which
supplies the power, and a candle or a flashlight will be the
only illumination thenceforth. But after five hours in the
saddle, you will be happy to lie in bed in the screened dark-
ness of the porch and listen to the night sounds of Supai. A
horse whinnies and far up COT down) the canyon another
horse answers. Then silence. A dog trots by. More silence. A
jackass heehaws far away. Deep silence finally broken by a
sound that you can't identify. It is a kind of ripping or tearing
and then munching. At last you make sense out of it; a horse
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
or a mule is eating the grass just outside your porch. During
the night he will eat his way along the lane for several hun-
dred yards, gradually working his way out of earshot. Then
complete, profound silence. Just as you are falling asleep you
hear the soft thud-thud of horse's hoofs galloping along the
lane* The rider stops at the agent's house. You hear him clump
\xp to the entrance. After a moment there are voices. You
snap a~ flashlight on your watch. It is one-thirty in the mom-
ing. The agent and the Indian talk. You can't make it out.
You sit up in hed and peer through the screen. By the arc of
the agent's flashlight you see that he has partially dressed.
The Indian has remounted. The agent -swings himself up
behind him. Together they ride off double, and bareback, into
the warm night, redolent of damp grass, horse sweat, and
iodofonn. Something has happened. You wonder what. It is
all very mystifying. Thinking about it you decide this is a
typical night in Supai, and it is, You sleep.
[248]
Sunday in Havasu Falls
s.
> UNDAY comes once a week
in America, be It in the land of the Sky Blue Water or Cicero
Falls, Vermont. In fact, the Sunday In Cicero Falls, as por-
trayed In the musical comedy Bloomer Girl is no more quaint
and nonetheless American than Sunday In Havasu Falls,
Arizona, Both communities recognize the Lord's Day, genu-
flect, atid pay homage. There Is a difference, but It Is a varia-
tion In method rather than theory. Cicero Falls may sing
Beulah Land or Shall We Gather at the River, while more
than three thousand miles to the Southwest, Havasu Falls
sings:
Baya ha tigavaikawi
Baya ha tigavaikawi
Gaki yapa taofa hikyumuu
JESUS inyivame e,
and perhaps the same end is achieved.
Mr. Lonnle Hardin was the government agent when I last
saw Supai and he courteously asked me if I should like to
attend church services. Following the cliche when In Hava-
supailand do as the Havasupais do I agreed that I should
like nothing better, although the number of times I had at-
tended formally orthodox religious services could be counted
[249]
LISTEN, fiRIGHT ANGEL
on the fingers of one hand. So, as became two Christian
gentlemen on a Sunday morning, whether they found them-
selves in Vermont or Arizona, we strolled to church.
Services are held in the schoolhouse. We were not early,
but we were the first to arrive. In fact, Mr. Hardin rang the
schoolhouse bell. This "terrible summons" aroused a stalwart,
sober, and good-looking gentleman named Jim Crook.
Preacher Crook had been sleeping on a bed under a near-by
cottonwood tree, resting and gathering strength for the ser-
mon he was about to deliver. He wore a pair of dark trousers
and a green shirt. His hair was black, his skin was brown, and
his teeth were white. He must have weighed two hundred
pounds. On the whole his serious and dignified mien inspired
respect and confidence. As he approached the house of God
lie evinced no interest whatever in me, a stranger, but said,
"Good morning" to Mr. Hardin.
"Mr. Crook, this is Mr. Code/' said Mr. Hardin. "Mr.
Corle, this is Mr. Crook/'
"Good morning, Mister," said Mr. Crook.
"Good morning, Crook/' said Mr. Corle.
"Mr. Crook is our preacher," said Mr. Hardin.
"Fin happy to know you, Mr. Crook," I said.
"Yep," said Mr. Crook
There was an awkward pause, yet there seemed to be noth-
ing any of us could say.
"I ah IVe just arrived," I said, hesitatingly, to Mr. Crook.
A more banal remark could not have been conceived, and un-
less Mr. Crook were blind and deaf, he could not help know-
ing that superfluous fact.
"Yep," said Mr. Crook.
"He came in last night," said Mr. Hardin, not being much
of a help.
"With the pack train," I said, although how else I might
tave got there except by parachute I cannot imagine.
[250]
SUNDAY IN HAVASU FALLS
"Yep," said Mr. Crook
"Nice day/' said Mr. Hardin, and added, "Mr. Corle is
a writer," although a relation between the weather and my
profession seemed irrelevant to me.
"Acts, Chapter nine/' said Mr. Crook.
"Acts, Chapter nine/' said Mr. Hardin to me.
"Oh Acts, Chapter nine/' I said, gayly and self-consciously.
'Yep/* said Mr. Crook.
By that time I was more than ill at ease; I was embar-
rassed. And I was embarrassed for the worst of all reasons-
no reason at all, unless it could he that I had never chatted
with a minister of the gospel just before he preached. Such
a state of mind invariably demands a defense mechanism of
some sort. The obvious method is self-assertion. I at once
followed that line of psychological least resistance. I did a
stupid and egoistic and idle thing yet I followed instinctively
the laws of human nature. I asserted myself. I drew out my
wallet and did something that was so far from my intention
that it was done as a drunkard drives a car without thought.
I opened my wallet and presented Mr. Crook with my card.
He took it and he looked at it. Probably (I thought) no-
body ever gave him a personal card before. And I, who have
been proud of myself for behaving well with Indians from
Isleta to Oraibi, from Oaxaca to Montana, was acting like a
damned fool. Mr. Crook put my card in his pants pocket He
said nothing.
"It's time for church/' said Mr, Hardin, charitably*
"Yep," said Mr. Crook.
Both walked into the schoolhouse and I followed.
Mr. Crook went to the teacher's desk, took from a drawer
a green cloth, and tacked it up over the blackboard. From a
closet he took a small squatty wooden cross, standing upright
on a wooden base, and plunked it on the desk. The stage
was set.
[251]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
Mr. Hardin and I sat in cramped discomfort in students'
desks intended for ten-year-olds,
'Where is the congregation?" I asked Mr. Hardin in a
whisper.,
"His kids will he here in a minute/' he said, "Nobody else
ever comes."
And he was right. Three young Havasupai children entered
from the rear almost at once. One was a girl of nine or ten,
and the others were hoys about eight and seven. They sat
down at the rear of the room and the boys were all too eagerly
waiting for their big sister to finish perusing a comic book
about Bat Man. The three gave no he> 'd to Mr. Crook what-
ever.
"What denomination is this?" I asked Mr. Hardin in a
whisper.
**E-pis-co-pal-ian," he whispered back.
"Ee-ga-yava-kiwa-sa-do-ee^ intoned Mr. Crook. Mr.
Hardin was seriously attentive. I was the same.
"I now read the Bible in Glish," said Mr. Crook. "Acts,
Chapter nine."
A pause. Mr. Crook took a deep breath and began 4:0 read
very slowly.
"And Saul get britk ga-ntha out from slawga a\awal the
dleih-ka-wa Lord went to priest." He looked up and said:
"That mean Saul he not trust God." Then studying the book,
he continued, "And dezeh gawa "haya Damascus to syngowa >
gla-wo-so men or women Ua-ga Jerusalem." With a pause he
appended, "That mean the same thing."
And then:
''And then he gawa-'ko-no lini-tchew-ga Damascus gletka
Ikfrfo^eglfa-ee-tlak-do-ee-ya heaven."
The sermon continued in this slowly paced guttural speech,
punctuated only by the rattle of a turned page of Bat Man
[252]
SUNDAY IN HAVASU FALLS
coming from the rear. At times Preacher Crook would vary
the service by singing a hymn. In this the congregation was
supposed to join, but Mr. Hardin was unable to sing in Hava-
supai and I was unable to sing in any language. And there
were no notes printed in Bat Man,
Once during the sermon, Preacher Crook broke the narra-
tive of his story and spoke directly to his daughter. She put
Bat Man aside, and left the schoolroom. Mr. Hardin, who
understood enough Havasupai, whispered to me, "He sent
her home."
"Is he displeased?" I asked.
"No. He told her to go get a card for you."
"A card?"
"Yes you gave him yours. He sent for his."
The sermon continued, and in the course of a few minutes
more it turned out that Saul was completely converted to the
teaching of Jesus and that he defied all recalcitrants. There
was a hairbreadth escape when Saul was let down a wall in a
basket, and finally Barabbas spoke up for Saul's cause to the
apostles; and Saul, entirely vindicated, preached boldly at
Damascus in the name of Jesus. It was not an unpleasant story
at all, and the novelty of hearing it in the Havasupai language
with something resembling English interpolations for my
benefit was interesting and flattering.
Mr. Crook sang another hymn, and the services were over.
He took down the green cloth and returned the cross to the
closet and the nave was a schoolroom again.
Miss Crook came forward and gave her father a card and
Mr. Crook gave the card to me. I thanked him and said that I
had enjoyed his sermon and that I was sure he was doing good
work. He thanked me, and I put his card in my wallet. I carry
it there permanently for it is the only card I have ever re-
ceived from an Indian and am always glad to produce it on
[253]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
demand for anyone who doubts the story. The card reads
simply:
JIM CROOK
Havasupai, Arizona
and down in one corner: "via Grand Canyon" Mr, Crook, I
learned, was one of the few members of the tribe who have
wandered from the native heath. He traveled as far as
Phoenix, and there was converted to Episcopalianism which
he brought back with him. Every Sunday with calm and de-
termined zeal he preaches. The fact that nobody ever listens
bothers him not at all.
After church, it still being early Sunday morning, I walked
on through Havasupailand, considering the anomaly of
coming to this remote corner of the United States which com-
paratively few Americans had ever seen, and running abruptly
into an aboriginal society whose roots, pagan and pure, put
forth not the flower of an Indian culture, but a Jewish story
conceived almost two thousand years ago on the other side of
the world.
All that was needed to complete this farrago of crossed re-
ligions and races would be for me to preach the creation myth
as Havasupai literature conceived it back to them in English.
The story is not a departure from the creation legend as told
by most Southwestern Indians, but it is of interest as it brings
the Grand Canyon into the story in a way which Navajo and
Apache versions do not. As it is not a written story, it must be
heard directly from one of the tribal patriarchs, such as Jim
Gvetka or Watahainogie or possibly Billy Burro (not Jim
Crook, for he will tell you the Biblical version), or you can
find it ably told in print by George Wharton James, Edward
S. Curtis, or Leslie Spier. In fact, it has even appeared in the
Saturday Evening Post
In brief here is the Havasupai Book of Genesis:
[254]
SUNDAY IN HAVASU FALLS
Before there were any people on the earth there were two
gods, Tochopa of goodness and Hokoniata of eviL Tochopa
had a daughter (beautiful, of course} named Pu-keh-eh, and
he hoped that she might produce human beings and become
the mother of all living. Hokomata was determined that no
such thing should take place, and he decided to cover the
world with a great flood. Whereupon each god went to work
in his own way. Tochopa felled a great tree and hollowed out
the trunk. Hokomata, meanwhile was causing terrible storms,
and the water was covering the earth. Pu-keh-eh was hidden
by her father in the hollow tree trunk, and when the water
rose and flooded the earth, she was secure in her improvised
boat which, of course, recalls Noah's ark.
After a long period of time the flood waters began to fall.
Mountain peaks emerged. Rivers were created; and one of
them cut the great gashing fissure which became the Grand
Canyon. The log bearing Pu-keh-eh came td rest on the new
earth. Pu-keh-eh stepped forth and beheld an empty world of
drenched lands, rushing rivers, great canyons, and heavy
mists. She was alone on the earth.
At last the mists lifted and the land became dry, and a great
golden sun rose in the east and warmed the earth. As Pu-keh-
eh lay on the soft ground the sun's rays touched her and
caused her to conceive. In time she gave birth to a male child
and with this phenomenon Pu-keh-eh knew that her father's
wish was coming true. Later she lay beside a waterfall and
this time water caused her to conceive and she gave birth to
a girl. (Although the variation in detail is great, here is a
virgin-birth legend used for a somewhat different purpose
than in Christian mysticism.) From the union of these two
mortal children (a Havasupai Adam and Eve) came all the
people on the earth. The first were the Havasupais, and the
voice of Tochopa spoke to them and told them to live forever
in peace in their canyon of good earth and pure water where
[255]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
there would always be plenty for all. They have been the
happiest people on the earth ever since. Persecution, crucifix-
Ion, baptism, torture, preaching, conversion, immersion, as-
cension, in fact, all Christian manifestations are alien to them,
for they find such psychoses totally unnecessary.
That is the story you should really hear on Sunday in
Havasu Falls,
[256]
Where Did Robinson Crusoe Go
with Friday on Saturday Night?
w,
HITE men have been find-
ing their way into Havasupailand since 1776 when Padre
Garces was the first outlander to enter the hidden canyon.
There were gaps in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries
when white men failed to appear for many years at a time.
Garces in 1776, Lieutenant Ives in 1858, Dr. Elliott Coues in
1881, and Frank Gushing a few years later, made the only
expeditions of importance up to the twentieth century.
As the years went by the Havasupai people remained an
isolated oasis of Indian culture unchanged by the westward
movement of the white race. It was a land where time stood
still, peace and beauty reigned supreme, and nothing as
radical and as naive as scientific progress broke the aboriginal
routine. It is the modern Havasupafs boast that he has never
killed a white man. This may have been changed by the
Selective Service Act and World War II for the draft of
manpower reached the remotest corner of Arizona and some
Havasupai boys may have seen combat. If so, and if they were
in France or Belgium or Germany in 1944 and 1945, it may
well be that the Havasupai record of never taking a white life
has been broken by the demands of the white race itself. But
up until 1943 at least the Havasupais lived at peace. Occa-
[257]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
sionally they were raided by other Indians, particularly the
Apaches, during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
The warlike Apache was after plunder and women. The rocky
bastions of the Grand Canyon made raids difficult. The Hava-
supai likes to tell with understandable pride of his defense of
his goods and his women and of his courageous exploits of
driving the Apaches away. This would be pleasant to accept,
but the truth is that the Havasupais, never bellicose, retreated
into their labyrinthian canyons and side-canyons, and wore the
Apaches out in a game of hide-and-seek. A few Havasupai
girls were captured and taken away by the Apaches, but the
marauders were severely beaten (supposedly) at their last
foray. This was many years ago, and Captain Burro, father of
Billy Burro whom you may meet, is credited with the victory*
As the story goes he fired the only rifle in the canyon and
scared the bad Apaches away* Anyone who knows anything
about the Apaches may well smile. For the Apaches, along
with the Sioux, were fighters from the word go. They feared
nobody red or white and their unswerving policy was vic-
tory or death. But one-shot Captain Burro basked for many
years in the guise of a great warrior. He plodded along on his
mule at a jaunty gait and wore his old and battered hat with a
rake-helly air, for he was the sum total of the armed forces of
Havasupailand and he knew it, something comparable to the
Liechtenstein Army. Nature never intended the tribe to be
warlike and it never was; but it could boast.
Fighting over material wealth or religious systems, stories
of avarice and greed, concepts of sin and the pangs of a con-
ditioned conscience never troubled the Havasupais. There was
usually enough for everybody to eat, everybody got married
(but never to a relative nearer than third cousin), the weather
was never too hot or too cold^ the fields were fertile and there
was game above on the mesas, children played all day in the
sun and in the laughing blue water, life was to be enjoyed and
[258]
WHERE DID ROBINSON CRUSOE GO?
what more could anyone ask? It was, and it still is, a happy
place. Take no preconceived notions with you and you'll en-
joy it; go looking for Utopia or any form of escape and youll
be disappointed.
After the twentieth century, a few white men went to
Havasupailand for material reasons. Two of the most disap-
pointed were a Mr. Johnson and a Mr. Mooney.
As you walk downstream, from what may be called for pur-
poses of identification, Supai village, you will come to four
magnificent waterfalls. The gurgling blue Cataract Creek
Cor Havasu Creek names are not too specific in this country
of ease) crashes over Navajo Falls, Bridal Veil (or Havasu)
Falls, Mooney Falls, and Beaver Falls. If you go a few miles
farther you will come to the confluence of Havasu Creek and
the Colorado River deep in the Grand Canyon. It is not an
easy trip, but as far as the crest of Mooney's Falls you can
make it on horseback. From there on, it is a hike to the
Colorado.
These falls are not ordinary they are extraordinary. Navajo
Falls drops one hundred and forty feet, a little less than
Niagara. A quarter of a mile downstream, Bridal Veil plunges
one hundred and seventy feet, and that is a little more than
Niagara. Mooney, a concentrated tongue of terrific power,
drops about two hundred feet. And Beaver, according to Ran-
dall Henderson, editor of The Desert Magazine, is a cascade
rather than a fall, quite as spectacular as any of the rest. Due
to the presence of carbonates of lime the water is often as
blue as bluing. The lime, precipitated from the water, has
formed huge spills of travertine at each waterfall.
A miner named Mooney was more interested in precious
metals than the beauty of the place. He arrived about the turn
of the century and the smiling Havasupais gladly guided him
to the most likely sites for what he (for reasons inexplicable
to them) seemed to want material wealth. Mooney kept his
[259]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
appointment in Samarra by lowering himself down a Huff on
a rope just below the falls that now bear his name. He was
unable to get back and the Havasupais were unable to rescue
him. After a day or two of dangling agony he either slipped or
the rope broke and he fell to his death on the sharp rocks
far below. Only his name remains.
Mr. Johnson had better luck; at least he lived longer. After
Mooney's abortive efforts, from 1900 to 1906, something less
than fifty tons of high-grade lead and silver ore were somehow
packed out. It cost more than it was worth. In 1906 Mr. W. I.
Johnson became president of the Northern Arizona Lead
and Zinc Mining Company, which offered 500,000 shares of
stock at a par value of one dollar each. Interesting figures. The
stock can be bought for less than par today if you are inter-
ested. Mr. Johnson had some elaborate ideas for the develop-
ment of the project, one of which was an aerial tramway. It
has never come into existence, although the Fred Harvey
Company has also considered it. Havasupailand offers insuper-
able barriers for practical mining and for tourist trade. A tram-
way or a funicular would facilitate mining operations, and
would make it possible for tourists to be deposited in the
canyon depths and hauled out again none the worse for wear.
The day may come; and when it does Havasupailand will
never be quite the same. This will be good or bad, desirable or
not, according to individual reactions.
Between Bridal Veil and Mooney Falls you will find the
base of operations (one cabin) of the Northern Arizona Lead
and Zinc Mining Company. The door is askew, the windows
are gone, papers are scattered about only the prospecting
spirit of Mooney and the organizing zeal of Johnson remain
to haunt the spot. Nevertheless, as late as 1943, when World
War II demanded raw materials, there was a renaissance of
the old claims. In spite of prohibitive costs, men were willing
[260]
WHERE DID ROBINSON CRUSOE GO?
to try again to extract wealth from the Grand Canyon country.
E. B. Stephens and James D. Culbertson of San Francisco, as
principals in the Havasu Lead and Zinc Mining Company
moved equipment down the long tortuous trail to Mooney
Falls. The objective this time was chiefly vanadium, but lead
and zinc as well. There was much enthusiasm In 1943 over
the old Johnson mine, for a war had to be won and strategic
materials were essential. Cost was dwarfed by price. But
that was 1943. Now the war is over. Want to buy some stock
today in Havasu Lead and Zinc? The Havasupais are not
interested.
On your return from your walk to the various waterfalls
you will pass the residence of Jim Crook. It is a mud-and-
brush shelter and you will see Mrs. Crook and the children at
home. If it is Sunday, Mr. Crook will probably be sleeping on
his bed under his cottonwood tree and you, having heard
Acts, Chapter Nine, will wisely not disturb him. You pass
the school (and church) and return to your home at the hos-
pital.
In this remote world there are certain of the white man's
inventions which cannot penetrate. It has been said that some-
body tried to bring a piano down the Topocoba Trail, that it
slipped to one side of the mule carrying it, and went crashing
over a cliff, taking the mule with it. I believe the story is un-
true. It is certain, however, that at least one sewing machine
has been packed in for I have seen it. But no automobiles or
tractors or airplanes can make it. There is telephone communi-
cation between the agent's residence and Grand Canyon; the
agent has a radio, but reception is none too good; and as for
juke boxes, there are blessedly none.
Imagine then my surprise to hear one night about eleven
o'clock as I lay in bed (all lights out as the power was turned
off by the agent when he went to bed) either a radio or a
[261]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
gramophone. This instrument suddenly cut the pungent
night air with its strident music, and it was a tune that was
somehow familiar.
A voice sang in a rasping nasal chorus beginning plainly
enough with the words, 'Where did . . /' and I couldn't
catch the rest. It could be a few hundred yards away or even
farther, as sound travels clearly in the quiet night air boxed
in by the sheer canyon walls. All doubt about it being a radio
was soon removed, for, with no commercial announcement to
affront anyone, the song was played over again. There was no
doubt now that it was a gramophone and that somebody liked
the selection enough to repeat it. And this time I definitely
heard the words "there must be wild women." I hoped the
unseen audience would play it a third time so that I could
catch some more.
The audience did.
The record was played over and over again. By the seventh
or eighth playing, in spite of the unhuman screeches and the
fact that the record must have been played thin, I got the
whole chorus except for one or two doubtful words which
could be surmised. I thought of writing it down, but my
nightbound host made that unnecessary by immediately play-
ing it an eighth or ninth consecutive time. There was no
doubt now, and even with my unmusical ear I sang to myself
along with the artist:
Where did Robinson Crusoe go
With Friday on Saturday night?
Every Saturday night
They would start out at eight
And on Sunday morning
Theyd come staggering home.
Now 'twas an island of wild men
In a cannibal region
[262]
WHERE DID ROBINSON CRUSOE GO?
But where there are wild men
There must be wild women!
So where did Robinson Crusoe go
With Friday on Saturday night?
And on and on far Into the night, until I lost all count,
Robinson Crusoe set forth with Friday, both of them out
for no good but having one roaring hilarious time come Sun-
day morning. Somewhere around the fortieth consecutive
playing, I managed to sleep.
Utopia it's wonderful.
E263]
One Mind in Indian Time
MATTER how calm and
placid are the days in Havasu Falls, no two are alike. In a
sense you are in a country of children, and something Is
likely to happen at any time of the day or night as the over-
worked agent can well testify. While I spent five days there,
Havasupailand had a birth, a death, a horse-race, a rodeo,
nightly gambling, a marriage, a divorce, a fire, a starving baby
due to absence of mother's milk, a maturation ceremony for
an adolescent girl, a sweat-bath cure for men (a cure for any
complaint no matter what the ailment may be), and in-
numerable accidents from serious wounds to injured fingers.
And the agent may expect a call at any time of the day or
night for anything from obstetrical supervision to lending
somebody a pound of coffee or fixing a loose belt on the sewing
machine.
The Havasupai mind is childlike but not childish. Mac,
whose real name I never did learn, and who was my guide
both ways on the Topocoba Trail, is a typical member of this
tribe. He is cheerful, willing, inclined to be fat, has a dark
brown skin, immaculate white teeth, and a sense of humor.
He worries not at all about anything ever. His mental bal-
ance and his effortless tranquillity bring to mind the "happy
moron" jingle in paraphrase:
[264]
ONE MIND IN INDIAN TIME
See the happy Havasupai,
He doesn't give a damn.
I wish I were a Havasu'pai.
My Godl Maybe I ami
But Mac is far from a moron, and I saw no signs of idiocy,
feeble-mindedness, or even mental backwardness among his
people. He simply thinks and feels with values that are in
contrast to those of the white world.
Mac is more or less in the horse business. He wished to
rent me a horse during my stay in Supai. I didn't want a
horse, having already covered a great deal of the Grand
Canyon country on horse and mule where distances were
great and trails steep. In Supai it was a pleasure to be able to
stroll at will But in order to be agreeable to Mac and to pro-
vide a modicum of business, I agreed to take a horse once in
a while. At Mac's third or fourth solicitation I managed to
make it clear that I wanted the intimacy of exploring on
foot, but would like to ride a horse the next day from two in
the afternoon to six or seven. That is the way any white man
would have arranged it. I should have known better. That is
not the Indian way. Mac was bothered about a detail how
would he know when it was two o'clock?
"Oh, just bring the horse about this time tomorrow/* I
said, and Mac went away.
He was back in an hour with an old alarm clock which was
not running. Meanwhile I had left on foot. So Mac told the
agent's wife that he wanted to be sure to know when it was
two o'clock. Mrs. Hardin set the dock for him. Mac went
away smiling and carrying the ticking clock. About eleven
hours later, at 2 A.M., of course, it went off and woke up the
whole Mac family who had to let the alarm run down as it
was dark and nobody could find the means of turning it off.
At two-thirty in the morning Mac arrived with my horse. The
[265]
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
clock had been set to tell him when I wanted It. The clock
told him. Ergo: he brought the horse. His logic was perfect
and he went to a lot of trouble. It was very disappointing to
find out after waking me that I did not want the horse at
2:30 A.M. after all. These white men! Don't know their own
minds, decided Mac. But in case I should change my mind,
as white men have been known to do, he tethered the horse
outside my door. After he left it proceeded to whinny all the
rest of the night, for it was lonely and unaccustomed to being
left in such a place at such an hour. Next morning, about
seven, one of Mac's kids came and got the horse. I had said
from two to seven, hadn't I? Well . . . ?
But this was not the end.
During the morning the agent's wife explained to Mac that
the white man has two two o'clocks during one day and one
night and that they are twelve hours apart. To Mac, quite
reasonably, this seemed unnecessarily complicated. Why not
have just one two o'clock and be done with it? Nevertheless,
he accepted it as a white man's idiosyncrasy and decided to
abide by it. The clock was set again, this time for the right
two o'clock, and Mac went home.
I was back at two in the afternoon but no Mac and no
horse. Around six o'clock he showed up with no horse, but
smilingly carrying the alarm clock. It hadn't worked. Upon
examination it turned out that even though* the clock was
running in good order, nobody had thought to rewind the
alarm. It had rung accurately twelve hours before and Mac
took it for granted that it would do it again. It hadn't, and
Mac slept through the whole afternoon. Naturally he could
not know when it was two o'clock. Alarm clocks were a great
evil anyway, and Mac wanted me to know it. He was not in
the least disturbed because he had not rented me a horse.
Some other time maybe. And that was quite satisfactory to me
as I had not wanted the horse in the first place. We all were
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ONE MIND IN INDIAN TIME
simply delighted with the outcome of the whole business; and
I, being a white man in an Indian world, paid Mac for the
horse anyway, which is what I should have done to start with,
thus avoiding the whole issue. Mac left happily with a little
more money than he had when the enterprise was begun, and
as he left he paused and looked critically at the silent clock
and said to me, "Now, what time is it?"
"About that time," I said.
"That's right," said Mac, and cheerfully went his way,
still carrying the unpredictable clock.
This incident is not told to belittle the Indian. From his
point of view he had done everything within reason. I was
simply impossible to please. After all, imagine living in a
world where there were two two o'clocks twelve hours apart!
I might just as well have requested a horse with two sets of
forelegs.
And speaking of oddities in horses, would you like to see
an eohippus? So would L There is a story going the rounds
about the "little horses" of Supai, which are said to be paleon-
tological hangovers from the Eocene epoch of the Cenozoic
era. In other words, evolution is supposed to have done what
evolution never does failed to evolve. The horse of forty
million years ago was a small four-toed and then three-toed
mammal, the eohippus, which finally evolved into the animal
we know today. That any specimen of the prehistoric horse
lives in the Grand Canyon country is such utter nonsense that
I first thought it was somebody's joke. But the story is actually
told now and then, and an eohippus has been exhibited in a
small traveling circus. Darwin would smile and Barnum
would be delighted.
This ridiculous story came about because Foster Marshall,
the Havasupai driver of the mail truck between Grand Can-
yon village and the head of the Topocoba Trail, caught an
eohippusoi better, caught a horse or more accurately, roped
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
a small wild mare. She was a perfect little horse, only forty-
three inches in height, and weighed one hundred and fifty
pounds. She was not a pony and not a colt for her mane, her
tail, and her teeth were all those of a mature animal. Her age
was estimated at four to five years. She was simply the
"smallest little horse," according to Foster Marshall, that he
had ever seen. So he put her in the rumbleseat of a car and
took her to the town of Williams and sold her to a circus.
There she became an eohippus and an eohvppus she is today.
What had happened to make these little horses (others
have been seen and by this time more eohippi may have been
captured) seem to evolve backwards? The most plausible
theory is that their ancestors were full-size horses about 1870
and were lost, abandoned, or strayed into the endless maze of
canyons that lead into Havasupailand and the Grand Canyon.
Being tough litde Indian ponies to start with, they got along
on the scant forage and little water, and successive genera-
tions soon adapted themselves to their environment. Foster
Marshall's eohiyyus is probably the seventh or eighth gener-
ation of an average horse brought to a stage of dwarf by a
rigorous and difficult land offering insufficient sustenance. In
evolution, where size is a handicap, the animal grows smaller.
The little horses of the Grand Canyon region are living testi-
monials of the Lamarckian theory of acquired characteristics.
And the theory works both ways. For William Lockridge, a
civil engineer, also caught an eohippus (not as small as Foster
Marshall's), weighing three hundred pounds, and fattened
her up with good food to four hundred pounds of animal.
This mare produced a colt, sired by an average-size horse, and
the issue became a normal Indian pony. In one generation
evolution under favorable conditions, brought the eohiqypus
back to modem times, skipping something like forty million
years, and proving that the little horse was merely a runt, any-
thing but an eohi-ppus.
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ONE MIND IN. INDIAN TIME
One otter fallacy about the Havasupai country might be
mentioned, as it, too, has led to fantastic stories. In a side
canyon there is a petroglyph (a design cut or etched into rock
by a sharp tool) which is said to show an Indian fighting a
death battle with a type of dinosaur. This has been used as
proof that man lived in Arizona a hundred million years ago.
The only trouble is that if you take a good look at the petro-
glyph (which may well be several hundred years old) the
addition of the dinosaur if it be any sub-order of dinosauria
at all, and the artist apparently wanted to portray an iguano-
don was obviously made not over twenty years ago.
Thrilling adventures in ecology and ethnology may be
found in the Grand Canyon country but nothing as sensa-
tional as Sunday supplement stuff can be expected.
Among the features of Supai, however, which are not
fantasies, and will reward you, are some of the crafts no-
tably, tanning and basketry. The men are extremely skillful
in bleaching and tanning deerskins, and you can get material
for some very fine moccasins, leggings, and ceremonial jackets
if you wear that type of clothing. I don't. The baskets are
woven by the women and are well known among collectors for
their perfection and for the fact that the best of them are
watertight. They are made of finely split willows and the bark
of cat's claw, sometimes called devil's claw, or more techni-
cally, martynia. Among the best basket weavers are Elsie
Sinyella, Nina Siyuja, Lily Burro, and Dottie Watahamogie.
Designs are stylized, but usually are based upon animal and
bird figures, such as the eagle, the owl, the horse, the deer, the
rooster, and so on. Almost all are black on white. Often a geo-
metrical figure is used which resembles a six-pointed star. If
you ask, youll be told this is merely a popular design having
no esoteric meaning. But it is easier to tell you this than to
explain the combination of economic and religious reasons be-
hind the motif. This six-pointed figure is made for export to
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
the Hopi, with whom the Havasupais trade, and Is used by
that tribe at the annual Snake Dance in Hopiland. The figure
represents the six cardinal points of the Hopi compass, and
the basket is important in the ceremonials conducted by the
priests of the Hopi Snake Clan. The Havasupai and the
Hopi have long been friendly tribes, and an old Indian trail
leads from Supai easterly to the Hopi villages just beyond the
Painted Desert.
Havasupai ceremonies in themselves are few. The tribe is
not especially religious-minded. It doesn't need the affirmation
of ritualism. The chief crops are corn, beans, peaches, melons,
sunflowers, squash, and figs. Life is pleasant, and sacrifices
and offerings to the gods are not required. The dance of the
peach harvest in August is their only celebration of note a
kind of Thanksgiving in Havasu Falls. To this the Hopi are
welcome; and occasionally an outlander Navajo, and inevita-
bly that strangest of all creatures, the white man, will find his
way to the peach harvest. I was there just ahead of this event,
and I have taken it, perhaps naively, as a personal compliment,
that the venerable chief, Watahamogie himself, invited me to
return for the peach dance. I regret that I was unable to be
there but like Mac's horse, the day will come, so why worry?
I learned this attitude from Watahamogie, who is either
ninety-two or ninety-eight or one hundred fourteen or any
other age, depending upon what number comes up first in the
roulette of his mind. I told the quiet chief that I should like to
return for the peach harvest but that circumstances might pre-
vent my doing so. I made it simpler. I said, "I want to. III
try to." Whereupon he, philosophically and typically, said,
"Come this year. Come next year. Come any year." That's
Havasupai.
Speaking of patriarchs ("chief is a misnomer among most
Indian tribes), IVe mentioned besides Watahamogie, Captain
Burro, the "militarist," and Jim Crook, .the Christian. One
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ONE MIND IN INDIAN TIME
other should not be overlooked and he is Big Jim Gvetka."
There are two Jim families, Little and Big. Big Jim Gvetka is
not so big physically, but he is big in prestige. H. G. Franse of
the Fred Harvey Company calls Big Jim a one-man chamber
of commerce. In a sense he is. His name means "Whiskers."
He often wears a "stovepipe" hat and a frock coat with medals
pinned to the breast. When Theodore Roosevelt visited the
Grand Canyon thirty-five years ago, Big Jim decided he'd
like to see a white chief. He made a trip to the South Rim and
the story goes that T. R. and Big Jim became good friends.
The top hat and the frock coat are said to be presents from
T. R, to Big Jim, and there is no reason to doubt the story*
Later Big Jim heard that another white chief was at the
South Rim so he made another trip and called upon Albert,
then King of the Belgians. Albert recognized Big Jim as a man
of parts and property and presented him with some medals.
Big Jim accepted them as a matter of course, and wore them
on T. R/s coat. Would Albert care to take a muleback ride
and visit Big Jim's mud-and-brush shack and eat squashblos-
soms and enjoy a good sweat bath beside Havasu Creek? No?
Too bad. Well next year. Come early. Bring your wife.
Bring all the Belgians, And Big Jim returned to his canyon
home and Albert returned to Europe.
It may come as 3 surprise to most visitors that the Hava-
supais have a Constitution and By-laws. It may be a sur-
prise to many of the Havasupais, too, but the document
exists. Just how positively it functions is difficult to say. At
least it puts the stamp of authority and legality upon tribal
legislation although IVe never heard of any tribal legislation
per se. It is, however, an example of the white man's effort to
clothe Indian affairs in the dress of statecraft. If it doesn't
work, it at least does no harm.
The Constitution was approved by the Assistant Secretary
of the Interior on March 27, 1938, but I doubt if it is couched
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
in language that very much concerns Watahamogie or Big
Jim Gvetka or the rank and file of Havasupai citizens such as
Mac or Billy Burro or Coolidge Uqualla or Willie Spoon-
head. Somehow the preamble doesn't sound exactly Indian.
Listen:
'We, the Havasupai Tribe of the Havasupai Reservation,
Arizona, in order to build up an independent and self -direct-
ing community life; to secure to ourselves and our children
all rights guaranteed to us by treaties and by Statutes of the
United States; and to encourage and promote all movements
and efforts for the best interests and welfare of our people, do
establish this Constitution and By-laws." That's hardly the
way Mac would have put it, and Mac is a typical Havasupai.
Could Washington have had anything to do with this com-
position)
There follow various "Articles" pertaining to Territory,
Membership, Elections, Referendum, Amendments, and so
on, and these Articles are followed by the more specific By-
laws. That the tribe willfully and by a majority vote in an
election adopted this Constitution is attested by the signature
of Arthur Kaska, Chairman of the Tribal Council.
Well that's just fine. Certainly nobody objects. But I
doubt if Dirty Face Siyuja and Willie Spoonhead and Ruthie
Broken Rope, arguing the merits of trading some baskets to
the Walapai or considering planting some new peach trees
ever reach such an impasse that Willie rises and points an
accusatory finger at Dirty Face and says, "I object to your state-
ment on the grounds that it is unconstitutional/' while Dirty
Face, in turn, counters with, "I contest your objection and
recommend you read the By-laws, Article II, Section two,
paragraph seven/' and Ruthie intervenes with the suggestion
that Article VIII provides for amendments provided a majority
vote of the Tribal Council approves and that this discussion
can therefore be setded by interpreting the issue in terms of
[272]
ONE MIND IN INDIAN TIME '
the letter of the law. No, it isn't done that way in the Indian
mind. The baskets will be traded or the new peach trees will
be set out. Dirty Face will reach his decision as he gambles for
cigarettes with Willie, and Ruthie will decide that new land
could be used for peach trees while she is listening to the forty-
ninth consecutive playing of Where Did Robinson Crusoe Go
with Friday on Saturday Night? The aboriginal mind will
not function in terms of Colonial American political science.
In other words, the Indian has a mind of his own. It may
be interpreted, but it is not ready to be converted.
Yet strange and new values are coming down the trail to
Supai. What will the sons of Lemuel Paya and Rock Hami-
dreek and Billy Burro bring back after a couple of years in
the infantry in the Philippines or Tokyo or the Rhine Valley?
And what social changes are bound to enter Supai when Delia
Sinyella, who, for two years helped make airplane wings for
Lockheed in California, returns, as she recently did, to her
own people? Delia will have learned a lot of things that are
alien to Tochopa and Pu-keh-eh, and the rest of the Hava-
supai gods. For today Delia wears slacks, a permanent wave,
and paints her fingernails. Will this generation become a new
Havasupai society, or will it revert to the old ways and have
its babies on the dirt floor of a mud-and-brush shelter? How
strongly will the white vaccination take? What will be the
effect, if any, of sanitation over primitive plumbing, contra-
ception over chance reproduction, penicillin over sweat baths?
One more generation holds the answer.
Today Supai, although definitely touched by the white
world, supports a society of two hundred people which was
"American" before the land was called America. Perhaps no-
where else in the United States can you find a geographical
and social unit which has preserved so well the aboriginal
civilization of a hundred, two hundred, and five hundred years
ago. They were here when Columbus sailed from Palos, and
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
in many ways, they haven't changed; but Columbus never
heard of radar in 1492, and Dickie Lamehorse, with two
battle stars, can tell you all about it today.
This doubtless represents the transitional period. Mac is
still 'typical: happy, carefree, good-natured, but with a mind
that works entirely on Indian time. I rode behind him as we
walked our wiry Indian ponies up the long Tqpocoba Trail.
Occasionally he sang* He never looked around to see if I was
there. It never occurred to him.
The Land of the Sky Blue Water faded and dissolved into
the background. At Hilltop you step across the door into your
own world. I was sorry to leave Supai. It had been a pleasant
interlude. I couldn't live there permanently; I shouldn't want
toyet it is a delightful place. Anyone who loves the Grand
Canyon country, or any part of the American West should
try to see it* Do it soon. The chief business of Supai is to go
on being Supai, but anything may happen.
Dismounting, I waited for the mail truck to arrive from
Grand Canyon village thirty-five miles away. Mac waited, too,
for he would pack the mail down on his return trip. We had
nothing much to say to each other and Mac never speaks un-
less he has something to say. I gave him a sandwich.
"Thanks," he said, and put it in his pocket.
"Going to take it home to your kids?" I asked.
"Yep," he said.
"How many kids have you, Mac?"
"I got eight."
"That's a pretty good record," I said.
"Yep," smiled Mac.
"How old are they?"
"All same age," said Mac.
"Can't be/* I said. "Fm talking about your kids, not your
pups."
"Eight, kids," averred Mac. "Four boys and four girls."
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ONE MIND IN INDIAN TIME
"How old are they?" I asked.
"All different/' said Mac.
"Can't be," I said.
"Got girl eight years old/' said Mac.
"How old is your boy?"
"All kids age eight, sawen, seeks, five, four, three, two,
wan," explained Mac slowly.
"Well," I said. "You'll have to try for little Zero. Where's
he?"
"He's coming" said Mac with assurance.
The mail truck came at the same time.
[275]
VI
North Rim
Country
JL OR many centuries the
Paiute Indians called it the Kaibabits, which means "moun-
tain lying down"; more recently white men called it the Buck-
skin Mountains; and President Theodore Roosevelt pro-
claimed it the Kaihab National Forest in 1908. The name
has three syllables pronounced Ky-a-bab. When the Grand
Canyon National Park was created in 1919 a large part of the
Kaibab country was included, stretching along the North
Rim from Marble Canyon on the east to Kanab Creek on the
west. It is a vast imperious noble region of untouched beauty,
ranging from an elevation of eight thousand feet at Bright
Angel Point on the rim, to points well above ten thousand
on the upper reaches of the Kaibab plateau. It supports flora
both delicate and rugged and fauna ranging from the lion to
the mouse.
It is not very well known to the American public for
several reasons but particularly for its remoteness and eleva-
tion. Those who visit the Kaibab must do so between May
and October as heavy snows blanket the area the remaining
six months. And those who visit it must make a special effort
to do so as it is definitely off any main transcontinental high-
way and no railroad is closer than two hundred miles. Further-
more those who visit it seldom go beyond the reaches of the
automobile and much of the Kaibab country is inaccessible by
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
motor car. If you Lave a yearning to see America as it was
before there were white Americans, here it Is.
The North Rim of the Grand Canyon is quite unlike the
South Rim. It is one thousand feet higher and therefore in a
different life zone. As the earth slopes from north to south
at this point, and as the Grand Canyon has cut across this
sloping plain from east to west, most of the tributaries come
into the Colorado River from the north. This means that the
North Rim has many large side canyons (Bright Angel, for
example) which would be major scenic attractions in them-
selves if they weren't surpassed by the main gorge itself.
To get to the North Rim, I suggest driving from the South.
Rim by way of the Painted Desert in the Western Navajo
Reservation, Lee's Ferry Bridge (called Navajo Bridge) over
the Colorado River, House Rock Valley, and Jacob Lake.
This is a thrilling drive of unsurpassed beauty; and if you are
geologically minded you will be doubly fascinated. If you
choose to approach the North Rim from Utah, the Union
Pacific will take you as far as Lund, Utah, by train, and
on from there by bus. If you prefer to come in your own car,
the roads are excellent, but remember that this area is closed
in the winter months. Once at the North Rim you will find
the same variety of accommodations for all kinds of pocket-
books as are available on the South Rimyou may have a
well-appointed modern bungalow or a cabin, or you may pitch
a tent or roll up in a sleeping bag.
A terse description of the North Rim is impossible. In con-
temporary "bobby-sox* ' English it is something ' super-duper."
From various points you can look across at the South Rim
about ten miles away and because of your elevation you look
completely over it. The South Rim is somewhat diminished
in importance from your point of view, and at sunset it is often
back-lighted. If you are lucky enough to see a thunderstorm
in action, in the canyon and over on the other rim, it will be
[28(fl
KAIBAB COUNTRY
quite a show* From your Olympian advantage you will see
the rain pouring down in various parts of the canyon below
while you stand in sunshine. Zigzags of lightning flash and
snap from rim to river and thunder rolls over the serried peaks
and reverberates through the canyons below. It is cataclysmic
and for the nonce you are not a man, but a god.
With all of these highly dramatic elements, however, the
North Rim is somewhat more peaceful than the South. The
forests are deep and rich and because of the extra thousand
feet in elevation, there are Douglas firs, aspens, blue spruce,
red birch and mountain mahogany; while it is mostly pinon
pine on the South Rim, with no trees comparable to the
stately and magnificent Douglas firs, protected and nurtured
in their youth by the "quaking" aspens. These lovely aspens,
by the way, were first described as "quaking" by French Cana-
dians who have a legend that the cross of the martyrdom of
Jesus was made of aspen wood and that is why the tree has
always trembled. Its destiny is to repent forever. There have
been religious zealots who refused to work in a camp where
aspen wood was used for fuel. Actually, it is not a durable
wood. The tree lives only about fifty years and its lightness
precludes its being used except for paper pulp and light
wooden cartons. Since we are on the subject of aspens, it may
be pointed out that the wood, having no taste or odor, makes
good containers for lard or butter, should you be seeking a
lard or butter container.
The Kaibab country has little or no historical lore. The
Paiutes were here for centuries. Up until 1870, it was known
only by a few trappers and hunters, and following them came
the cattlemen. These latter were representatives of the
Mormon Church. The Church, in a pioneer pump-priming
project, to increase the resources of its people, put livestock
on the Kaibab plateau. Once established, the Church sold
the enterprise to individuals. This business was more or less
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
effectually spiked by Washington in 1893 when President
Benjamin Harrison signed a bill creating the Grand Canyon
Forest Reserve. With the establishment of the National Park
in 1919 livestock gave way to a national development of rec-
reation and scenic values. The Kaibab country now belongs
to the people of the United States.
There is no rim drive on the north side comparable to that
of the south. But there are several drives that are certainly
worth taking, and they follow the contour of the long side-
canyons and embayments. The three points which, for stun-
ning grandeur should not be missed, are Cape Royal, Point
Imperial, and Point Sublime. They are all beyond verbal
description. At Angel's Window, near Cape Royal, the drop
is so precipitous and the ledge so narrow that it is unsafe to
stand out there in a strong wind. If this kind of thing bothers
you, stay in your car on the extremely safe roads. But do not
fail to take the short hike from the main lodge to Bright Angel
Point overlooking a canyon known as The Transept which
is a side-canyon of Bright Angel, which, in turn, is a side-
canyon of the Grand Canyon.
From Bright Angel Point you will note four peaks forming
a chain of mountains to the east of Bright Angel Canyon
which is at your feet. They have a remarkable sequence of
names which are: Zoroaster Temple, Brahma Temple, Deva
Temple, and Uncle Jimmy. Fm not sure that Major Powell's
penchant for Oriental names was the happiest factor in nam-
ing these peaks and mesas, but as long as there is the down-to-
earth Uncle Jimmy there seems to be a balance.
Uncle Jimmy himself (James Owens) was a completely
balanced character indeed. He was a Kaibab pioneer, moun-
taineer, lion hunter, and professional guide. I believe I am
correct in stating that Uncle Jimmy was Theodore Roosevelt's
guide during some lion-hunting expeditions back in 1913.
T. R. loved the Kaibab country and thoroughly enjoyed him-
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KAIBAB COUNTRY
self in it. It is not on record that he ever got any lions, but
Uncle Jimmy got plenty.
Not being hunting-minded 1 cannot vouch for the claims
of the Kaibab as being a peerless hunter's paradise. But it
does have a wide variety of animal life, none of which I have
ever shot
The oddly named mule deer are plentiful. There are some
on the South Rim, but the Kaibab is their habitat. They are
often tame (a big help to amateur hunters, no doubt) except
in the mating season when the bucks get assertive, possessive,
and even dangerous.
There are a few bighorn mountain sheep, but they stay in
the remotest canyons and on the sides of the most rugged
peaks and are a most rugged sheep. Rarely are they seen.
Buffalo were brought to the Kaibab Plateau in 1905; they
didn't like it and bolted to the warmer area of House Rock
Valley. As you approach or leave the Kaibab by this route you
may see them grazing peacefully and totally disinterested in
man.
Of lagomorpha (rabbits to us) there are some in the lower
and warmer regions. Paiutes will eat them when they can
catch them, but that is rare too.
Rodents are in heaven: squirrels, chipmunks, woodrats,
kangaroo rats, many types of mice from the desert mouse of
the lower zones to the meadow mouse of the Canadian zone-
gophers, porcupines, and beavers. The Albert squirrel lives
on the South Rim, and the husky Kaibab squirrel with his
all-white tail lives on the North Rim. This all-white tail is
said to be an example of the Lamarcldan theory of naturally
acquired characteristics. In the heavy snows during the winter,
this squirrel can curve his white tail over his gray body and
thus blend or camouflage himself with the background. His
relatives on the South Rim have less of a snow problem, and
nature and evolution have not given them white tails.
[2831
LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
And where there are rabbits and rodents there will be
carnivorous animals to prey upon them. The outstanding is
the Kaibab lion. A large male will weigh as much as two
hundred and seventy-five pounds, and that's a hunk of cat.
Rodents are but hors d'oeuvres to him. He attacks the deer
and lives on them. Once the lions were hunted so persistently
that they decreased in number and the deer were able to in-
crease too rapidly and began to run out of forage. Nature
casts a balance of forces, and of supply and demand, and man
does well not to tamper too much with either.
Besides the meat-eating lion there is the bobcat common
to both rims. The gray timber wolf once lived on the Kaibab,
but has just about been decimated.
Coyotes are present, as they are everywhere in the West
There is a gray fox on both rims and down in the canyon.
Also there is a ringtail cat. This prowler seldom comes up to
the rims r but one aggressive individual adopted El Tovar
Hotel as his home and used to prowl the dining room where
the Fred Harvey girls fed him. Naturally he said to hell with
the canyon and stayed on the South Rim where he became
quite a fixture and pet. It was a startling sight to see this
slinking beast walk along an upper molding casting his yellow
eyes on the various tables and twisting his ringed tail.
There are raccoons and opossums and weasels and skunks
and badgers and moles and otters. And there are bears. These
are extremely rare, but at one time the black bear lived on the
Kaibab Plateau. Many years ago a huge grizzly bear was killed
on the North Rim by an Indian boy who saw him first. It is
the only one on record. We could go on into the orders of in-
sects and bats and birds, but I think that here at least zoology
should go just so far and no further.
To match the eleven trails that drop from the South Rim
to the river there are but four on the North Rim and only one
of these is advisable unless you are a professional in trail blaz-
[284]
KAIBAB COUNTRY
ing. This is our old friend the Kaibab; dropping from the
South Rim to the suspension bridge and continuing to Phan-
tom Ranch, it winds up the long Bright Angel Canyon and
finally "tops out" on the North Rim. Thus it is not too difficult
to go from rim to rim, but only Superman could do it in one
day. If you make this rim-to-rim trip, however, you can really
say, "IVe seen the Grand Canyon" with reasonable assurance.
But it would be like completing one semester of a Freshman
course and saying, "Oh, yes, IVe been to college." There still
will be a lot more to see.
Since the Kaibab Trail crosses the suspension bridge, a
little history of this unique structure is in order.
To the enterprising try-anything-once Mormons goes the
credit of bridging the Colorado in its canyon region. The idea
was conceived about 1900 by a man named D. Wooley and
was in progress by 1903. Dave Rust, Mr. Wooley's son-in-law,
was in charge of operations, and his chief trouble was in get-
ting the cable down the trail on the backs of mules. It was
not until 1907 that the first cable was placed across the river.
A small cage suspended from above was trammed across by
other cables fastened to the main cable. This cage was just
large enough to hold one horse or mule. Rust set up a camp,
as a base of operations, near the mouth of Bright Angel Creek.
This was given the obvious and unimaginative name of
"Rust's Camp," and some peach, apricot, and plum trees
were planted and thrived. It was the beginning of what is
Phantom Ranch today.
The suspended cage was always precarious, and one day a
horse went berserk during transit, kicked open the cage door,
jammed the cable, half fell out, and finally hung out. Nothing
could be done so a hardy soul named Robert Vaughn had the
courage to climb out on the cable hand over hand over the
murderous Colorado River and cut the rope, freeing the horse.
The animal plunged to its death in the violent river below.
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
The release of tliis weight caused the main cable to spring up
and down and Vaughn was all but flung loose. Somehow he
managed to hang on and, with supreme effort, got back again,
hand over hand, to safety.
When Theodore Roosevelt visited the Kaibab country in
1913 and was not chasing lions with Uncle Jimmy Owens,
he camped at Rust's. T. R. was then an ex-president and he is
the only ex-president, or president for that matter, who has
been put in a cage arid sent dangling over the Colorado River.
Later the . cage was supplanted by a rickety suspension
bridge. This flimsy contraption would sag and sway with the
weight of a mule. Ranger Edward R. Laws who has lived in
the Kaibab country over fifty years tells a story about this
swinging catwalk that gave him chills. It seems that the rule
was established that only one mule at a time should cross.
More than one on the bridge might plunge the whole business
into the river. Laws arrived with seven mules and attempted
to get his leader mule to walk across. The other six waited.
The leader mule didn't like the idea and he didn't trust the
bridge. Mulelike, he refused to risk his neck; he wouldn't
budge. Laws cajoled and kicked but the mule was unmoved.
When Laws sat down exhausted the mule looked around at
him and promptly decided to cross the bridge of his own
volition. Laws was horrified to see all six of the others im-
mediately follow the leader. He held his breath as all seven
mules nonchalantly plodded across the creaking swaying struc-
turenothing happened. Once across, they all looked back
and waited for him to follow. Mules are truly wonderful.
They have a perverse and devilish sense of humor.
In 1928 the Park Service scrapped the old flimsy catwalk
and built the present suspension bridge supported by eight
one^ndone-half-inch cables anchored to the rock walls of the
inner gorge. But when you cross on this perfectly safe struc-
ture seventy feet above the river give a thought to Rust's over-
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KAIBAB COUNTRY
head tram and its big improvement, the swaying catwalk.
You'll appreciate the present bridge a lot more.
There is another North Rim trail which is a continuation
of a South Rim trail, but unlike the Kaibab, it has different
names on each side of the river. This is the Bass Trail on the
South Rim, seldom seen by tourists, and is the Shinumo Trail
on the North Rim, probably never seen by tourists. It was
built by W. W. Bass as described in the chapter 'Trail-Wise
and Trail-Weary ." In 1900 Bass developed a small orchard
and garden near the mouth of Shinumo Creek. He called it
Shinumo Gardens and he crossed the river by means of a boat
controlled by a cable. The trail is in poor condition today and
is not recommended by the Park Service. What is left of it
ascends Shinumo Creek and vaguely melts into the Kaibab
country at the North Rim near Powell Saddle. These are
points rarely seen by the average tourist.
A third North Rim trail is the Nankoweap. This, again*
is a remote region, difficult to reach and more difficult to
leave. To the east of the Kaibab highlands lies a huge saucer
known as the Nankoweap Basin, Down into this primitive
country goes the Nankoweap Trail and it is practically im-
passable today. It was built in either 1880 or 1882 (authorities
disagree) by Major Powell's men in an effort to provide a
route from rim to river for a geological survey party. It was
tough and thankless work, and after seventy-two days of trail-
building the party left the area to survey elsewhere. The trail
remained and was presumably used, if not maintained, by the
horsethieves who comprised the "Grand Canyon Horse and
Mare Company." When this band of outlaws was broken up,
the Nankoweap Trail ceased to serve anyone. Portions of it
have disappeared and unless it is rebuilt in the future, the
little-known Nankoweap will pass into Grand Canyon history.
One North Rim trail remains, and that is the Thunder
River. This is quite a distance west from the lodge and not
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
easy to reach. It is a good forty miles from Bright Angel Point
to Big Saddle Camp. Somewhere nearby, although nobody
agrees with anybody else, the Thunder River Trail begins.
Ranger Laws describes it as descending Tapeats Canyon but
says that "the country is so wild over that way that places and
names don't mean much/* He says that Paiute Indians used it
originally as far down as the Supai formation, and in 1926 he
constructed the lower part down through the redwall to the
river. It is in poor condition today.
Ranger Laws probably knows from first-hand experience
as much as, if not more than, any other individual about the
North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Youll have to search for
him as he is not an aggressive man, but a friendly visit will be
more than worth your time. He was born Edward Robert
Laws in the tiny Mormon town of Johnson, Utah, a little
more than half a century ago. His father's name was Wildcat,
according to the Paiutes, because he was a hunter and trapper
and skinner of mountain lions. At the age of nine Ranger
Laws carried the mail from Kanab, Utah, to Lee's Ferry,
Arizona, a horseback ride of eighty-five miles, and accepted
in that wild country as a Hkely job for any nine-year-old boy.
He can tell you many a story of the early days in the Kaibab
country, and all of them are true.
There is another 'local boy who made good" in this area.
His positive personality and ready smile will win you and he
won't let you have a dull moment. You are not likely to find
him at the Union Pacific lodge at Bright Angel Point, but
are almost sure to find him at Kaibab lodge about eighteen
miles north of the rim. This is a particularly beautiful part
of the Kaibab country. Major Powell called it de Motte Park
in 1872 (after a professorial member of his party) and later
it became the famous V. T. Ranch the initials standing for
two cattlemen, Valentine and Townsend according to Ranger
Laws, and for Van Slack and Thompson according to the
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KAIBAB COUNTRY
guidebook. The impact of the personality you'll find here will
he softened a hit by some of the signs on the way. These read:
"Campers go to Hades" and 'Want horses? Go to Hades"
and "Deer hunters go to Hades" and "Your stay will be one of
the most enjoyable if you'll go to Hades" and the like. Be-
lieve it or not, you are about to meet a man whose name is
Hades Church.
For your hikes and walks and stories about the North Rim
see Ranger Laws; but for your horses and side trips into the
wilder Kaibab, go to Hades. Mr. Church (a term of address
you'll never use) is the dwner of Big Saddle Camp, and this
retreat is "on the edge of hell and gone," according to Hades,
in the heart of the Kaibab, two miles from the canyon rim.
In season at Big Saddle you can rent a cabin and rest or spend
your time chasing lions (letting the lions chase you is more
fun for the lions, according to Hades) or hunting deer or
fishing or playing at being a cowboy by roping calves and
branding and riding broncs and eating at the chuck wagon,
"Bring old clothes," says Hades. 'Were as informal as hell.
We welcome old shirts but this is no place for stuffed shirts."
He's right. "Ladies are welcome," he advises. "IVe got noth-
ing against them. Fact is, I had a wife once, but I couldn't
keep up the payments of one horse a month, so the Navajos
came and took her back. Let's go!" That's the Kaibab country
if you're interested.
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Thunder River and Toroweap
i
DOUBT if a dozen white
men have ever been to Thunder River. And I know only of
one who has made his way from its source to the confluence
with the Colorado, one man in a nation of something like
one hundred and forty million. He is Jonreed Lauritzen of
Arizona,
From the start let it be clear that I have never seen Thunder
River. World War II put a stop to my research and made any
further expeditions into the remote areas of the North Rim
impossible. Accommodations, supplies, horses, and mules were
no longer, obtainable, and even if they had been, I was put
into a uniform. The'n why include Thunder River in this
chapter? Simply because it cannot be overlooked in a com-
prehensive book on the Grand Canyon area, and because I
have been able to gather enough information about this
phenomenon to make it worth telling by reflected light,
I have talked to men who have been to Thunder River. If
they ^ould write books on the Grand Canyon, I'd leave it to
them. But they can't, and it seems essential to include some
information about this section by attempting to cull the truth
from various impressions. Therefore well look through the
eyes of Ranger E. R. Laws and Mr. Hades Church, a pair of
seeing-eye dogs for our blindness. No better guides could be
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THUNDER RIVER AND TOROWEAP
found. In fact, I have read accounts in print about Thunder
River by an American novelist of great fame whose books
have sold into the millions. He described Thunder River in
detail, but throughout his lifetime he didn't get as close to it
as well get in this chapter.
The very existence of Thunder River was unknown until
1904, and the trail to the river was not made until 1926. No-
body knows who named it, but all agree on the name. It is a
roaring, plunging, dashing torrent that comes crashing and
smashing its violent way down a side-canyon of the Grand
Canyon. Apparently its entire course for many miles is one
of furious cascades and falls. And this is no mere creek like
the delightful Bright Angel; this is a real river gone mad in
its surge toward its master, the Colorado. Ranger Laws
describes it as at least three times the width of Bright Angel
Creek which means it is conceivably seventy-five feet across,
if not more. Hades Church thinks it is wider than that. Its
speed is estimated at thirty miles an hour and for a river
that's equivalent to jet-propulsion. It is mostly locked tight in
the vise of the canyon it has created and throughout the major
part of its rampaging course it is boulder-strewn. Where there
are wider cleavages in the canyon walls, there are maidenhair
ferns, lichens, primroses, mimulas, cottonwoods, and birch;
and, coming down to the river but keeping a safe spray-
distance away are the inevitable desert flora of cat's claw,
greasewood, burro bush, and cactus. The river is too rest-
less in its turgid whirling and plunging to have much effect
beyond its high-water mark on the adjacent earth. And its
roar is such that conversation beside it is impossible.
Ranger Laws declares that Thunder River is the greatest
sight in the canyon country apart from the main gorge itself,
Hades Church, usually extravagant in his descriptions of any-
thing, gets very humble and says, "They haven't made up the
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
words yet that can describe it." Jonreed Lauritzen uses "fierce
majesty" and continues with "the human mind cannot even
grasp what it sees here."
There is considerable diff erence of opinion about the source
of this river, but none about its destination. Everyone agrees
that Thunder River rushes madly into the tawny coffee-
colored Colorado where its frantic silver water is lost in the
greater stream.
As to its source, that's a disputed subject. Ranger Laws
describes it as gushing forth from a canyon wall and crashing
one hundred and fifty feet in the first plunge of its mad
course. Hades Church says it pours out of a solid ledge of rock,
falls five hundred feet, and then races on more or less as
described. Jonreed Lauritzen, in a carefully written article in
Arizona Highways magazine, states that it "springs mildly
from among the rocks" near the head of its canyon. Everyone
may be right, for no man has seen Thunder River at all sea-
sons of the year. It is possible that it varies exactly as it has
been described.
Whoever named it did a good job; had it been called Jones
Creek or O'Brien River it would have lost a great deal of its
romantic appeal Major Powell, who was quite a hand with
nomenclature, and who saw only the confluence of Thunder
River with the Colorado, called it Tapeats Creek in 1871
(after a Paiute Indian he employed) and Frederick S. Dellen-
baugh, in his Canyon Voyage published in 1908, described
the mouth of it as "a fine, "clear, cold creek larger than the
Paria River." On at least one map it is identified as Tapeats
Creek but Thunder River it is certain to be called over any
other name.
A trip from the mouth of Thunder River to the top of the
Kaibab Plateau can be done now only by foot. In the future
the trail may be improved, so that horses or mules can make
it. If so, it will be worth your while (and mine to see how
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THUNDER RIVER AND TOROWEAP
nearly my information is correct) to make this vertical cross-
section of the North Rim. In so doing you will pass through
nearly every one of the arbitrarily defined life zones of the
northern hemisphere.
A word about these zones is timely in relation to Grand
Canyon topography. In 1889, Dr. C. Hart Merriam of the
United States Biological Survey noted the determining factor
of altitude in relationship to life. In other words, types of life,
both plant and animal, showed a relationship between latitude
as measured in miles on the flat surface and altitude as meas-
ured in feet. A latitudinal division offering a definite type of
life was considered by Dr. Merriam as a life zone and for every
latitudinal division there was a corresponding altitudinal di-
vision. Thus the Grand Canyon and Dr. Merriam developed
the life-zone theory which has since been accepted by most
biologists throughout the world.
The theory is based on the supposition that a difference
in elevation of one thousand feet may be considered the equiv-
alent in its effect on plant and animal life to the normal
change of three hundred to five hundred miles of latitude at
sea level. There are seven major life zones from equator to
pole; and there are seven corresponding zones in altitude.
Very generally they are as follows: *
Tropical-sea level to 2000 feet
Lower Sonoran 2000 feet (the mean altitude of the
Colorado River in the canyon bottom) to 4000 feet
Upper Sonoran 4000 feet to 7000 feet
Transition-7000 feet to 8000 feet
Canadian-8000 feet to 9000 feet
Hudsonian-9000 feet to 11,000 feet
Arctic-Above 1 1,000 feet
Five of these seven life zones are therefore found from the
river to the highest point on the Kaibab Plateau. The Tropi-
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
cal is not in the Grand Canyon's repertoire, but the other
extreme, the Arctic, may be found only a short distance away
where the San Francisco Peaks of north-central Arizona pro-
trude up into the Arctic zone. Thus the overall Grand Canyon
area embraces, in general, six of the seven possible life zones.
There are many contributing factors and modifying condi-
tions, but in the main, the theory is completely practical. Any-
one who has studied it, even slightly, can take a look from his
Pullman window or from his own car, on any railroad or high-
way in the United States, and within reasonable margin,
make a guess as to his height above sea level in relationship
to his distance north of the equator.
Remote as the Kaibab country and Thunder River may be,
there are still other parts of the Grand Canyon's North Rim
which are even more difficult to reach.
One of these is Toroweap Point.
The Toroweap valley and canyon are not in the Grand
Canyon National Park but in the Grand Canyon National
Monument which is contiguous and merely an arbitrary pro-
jection of government control along the North Rim which
no doubt eventually will be included in the park itself.
To get to Toroweap today is not at all impractical if you'll
accept two tire tracks across mesa country instead of a high-
way. And the route to Toroweap is sufficiently attractive in
itself to make any lover of the West happy. Toroweap Point
is about sixty airline miles due west of Bright Angel Point,
but it is a drive of little more than one hundred and fifty miles
by car. There is only one way to go but you can very easily
lose your way and drive on into the Antelope Valley and ar-
rive nowhere but the Antelope Valley. Before you get this
far, however, you will drop down the north slope of the
Kaibab country beyond Jacob Lake which is nearly 8000 feet
above sea level to the sunbaked Arizona hamlet of Fredonia
which is about 4800 feet above sea level. This town is almost
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THUNDER RIVER AND TOROWEAP
on the Utah state line and you are in a section known as
Arizona's "strip/' an area geographically and culturally re-
moved from the South Rim and the rest of the state, and
included therein only because of the hard-and-fast, arbitrary,
straight-line boundaries of most Western schemes of survey
as determined after what Bernard de Voto astutely calls the
year of decision, 1846. This "strip/' which is larger than the
State of Massachusetts, is sparsely settled country pioneered
by Mormons, and for all practical purposes the area should
have been included in Utah. In fact, the North Rim of the
Grand Canyon might well have been the southern boundary
of Utah save for the fact that it was not so designated on a
drawing board in Washington.
At Fredonia you leave the highway on a fair enough road
through the Kaibab Indian Reservation (Paiute Indians, of
course) to Pipe Spring. This is a National Monument in its
own right, and not to be confused with Pipe Creek on the
lower Bright Angel Trail on the South Rim. Pipes, ob-
viously, figure in the history of both, and the name was the
result of a jest in both cases. Pipe Spring has had its share
of violence and tragedy. Washington made it a national monu-
ment in 1923 as a memorial to the fortitude of the Western
pioneer.
History and christening began at Pipe Spring in 1856. A
party of Mormons camped there. The leader was Jacob Ham-
blin who seemed to be as well traveled around Utah and Ari-
zona in those days as George Washington on the Eastern
seaboard in the Colonial period. For once, however, it was
not Jacob who held the center of the stage, but another
member of the Hamblin family. This fact has been lost in
history and the naming of Pipe Spring is usually credited
today to Jacob. He was merely a spectator.
It was "Gunlock Bill" (William Hamblin and brother of
Jacob) who was taken in by a trick bet* He was told he was
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
such a poor marksman that he couldn't puncture a silk hand-
kerchief at fifty paces. Now Gunlock Bill was a crack shot,
very proud of it, and inclined to be touchy about any deroga-
tory remarks. He accepted the bet.
Upon firing at the handkerchief from fifty paces and hit-
ting it in the bull's eye if there had been a bull's eye, Gun-
lock Bill was chagrined to find that the silk, fastened only by
its upper edge, yielded to the force of the bullet. He could not
puncture it after all, and lost his bet.
Childish shenanigans of this kind were regarded as the
cleverest type of humor on the frontier. But quips and cranks
and wanton wiles did not amuse Gunlock Bill when they were
pulled off at his expense. He pouted. The others laughed all
the louder. Bill became angry; and as his reactions were those
of a twelve-year-old, he followed through with twelve-year-old
cunning. He bet one of the party that he could shoot the bowl
from this man's pipe at fifty paces and never touch the rim.
This wager was accepted. Bill took aim and shot the pipe to
pieces. It was his turn to laugh. As to the rim, he never
touched it, and nobody else would ever touch it again either.
Bill felt better and they decided to call the place Pipe
Spring.
Later, in 1866, two ranchers, Whitmore and Mclntyre, the
former with an eight-year-old son, lived at Pipe Spring. Either
Navajos, or Paiutes, or both, stole cattle from under their
noses. The two men left the boy in a dugout at Pipe Spring,
rode in pursuit of the Indians and straight into an ambush
and were killed. The Indians returned to Pipe Spring wearing
the clothes of the murdered men, and somehow overlooked
the boy hiding in the dugout. The following day the boy
started on foot for St. George, Utah, nearly a hundred miles
away, but luckily met some Mormons only ten miles from
Pipe Spring. Several days later Mormon militia, out for
justice, came upon Indians wearing the clothing of Whitmore
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THUNDER RIVER AND TOROWEAP
and Mclntyre. Justice was quick; the Indians were shot. Then
it developed that these were innocent Indians who had merely
traded with others for these desirahle clothes, not knowing
they were getting "hot goods/' The real criminals escaped and
the tragedy of errors came to an end.
In order to put a stop to further Indian depredations, Bishop
Anson P. Winsor arrived from Salt Lake City in 1870, and
built a fort over and including the spring. It was a stout
building of red sandstone, two stories high, with an interior
courtyard and a firing parapet. It was intended to withstand
a siege, and moreover, the spring was within the fortress. Now
let the red devils come and get picked off from above. The
red devils, very sensibly, never attacked.
For many years this edifice was known as Winsor Castle*
It is the museum and monument that commemorates today a
little-known chapter in a little-known part of the West.
The road from Pipe Spring to Toroweap is a road by name
only. If you are used to the rough roads and wagon tracks
of the Indian country, youll get through but if you insist on a
paved and signed highway with a painted streak down its
middle, you'd better not go for a few years or more. Once you
are headed in the right direction (south) and keep the Hurri-
cane Cliffs of the Uinkaret Plateau on your right, youll ar-
rive in time at Tuweep Post Office, elevation 7700 feet, and
you will have completed your great loop from the Kaibab
through northern Arizona and will be back in the Grand
Canyon country again. It is about fifteen miles farther to
Toroweap Point.
Here is one of the most stunning spots in the world.
Youll be more than a mile (about six thousand feet) above
the Colorado River; the walls of the inner gorge of the Grand
Canyon are closer here than at any point farther east; and the
entire experience is one that you cannot believe is possible.
After all you have seen of Grand Canyon vistas, the devil
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LISTEN, BRIGHT ANGEL
and the angel have one more knockout punch to throw at
you and this is it. It is an individual experience and only
individual reactions are possible. Neither my words nor yours
will matter. Here is something to take your breath away, liter-
ally and figuratively. There is no describing Toroweap Point.
With that I'm sure any visitor will agree. Take a good look.
About the Toroweap valley, however, it is possible to say
something. The attractive name, translated from Paiute,
means nothing more than Greasewood valley or Greasewood
canyon. The post office called Tuweep is a meaningless con-
traction, a compromise, simply because Washington didn't
choose to name a post office for a point according to one ver-
sion, or intended to name a post office for a point and be-
came confused about pronunciation and spelling according to
another version. The valley is in the Transition life zone, or
between seven and eight thousand feet above sea level. At one
time it supported a comparatively abundant Indian popula-
tion, 
