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Frederick S. Dellenbaugh - The Romance of the Colorado River
separated by only a few feet, we could only communicate with each other by shouting at the top of our
lungs. It was a difficult task to get our little ships safely below this half-mile, but it was finally
accomplished, and on we went in search of the next dragon's claw. At our camp the fire in some way got
into a pine grove and soon was crackling enough to rival the noise of the rapid. The lower region seemed
now to be sending its flames up through the bottom of the gorge and the black smoke rolled into the sky
far above the top of the walls. Many and varied were our experiences in this magnificent canyon, which
for picturesqueness and beauty rivals even the Grand Canyon, though not on such a giant scale. Its
passage would probably be far easier at low water. At last, one evening, as the soft twilight was settling
into the chasm, a strange, though agreeable silence, that seemed almost oppressive, fell around us. The
angry waters ceased their roaring. We slid along on a smooth, even river, and suddenly emerged into a
pretty little park, a mile long, bounded by cliffs only some six hundred feet high. Running our boats up
into the mouth of a quiet river entering from the left we tied them up and were quickly established in the
most comfortable camp since Brown's Park. We were at the mouth of Yampa River. From a wonderful
echo which repeated a sentence of ten words, we called the place Echo Park. Such an echo in Europe
would be worth a fortune. The Echo Rock is shown on page 203.
Here a stop was made for several days, and one evening some of us took a boat and went up the Yampa a
little distance. The walls were vertical and high, and the shadows thrown by the cliffs as we floated along
their base were fairly luminous, so bright was the moon. A song burst from the rowers and was echoed
from wall to wall till lost in the silence of the night-enveloped wilderness. Nothing could have been more
beautiful, and the tranquillity was a joy to us after the days of turmoil in Lodore.
CHAPTER XI.
An Island Park and a Split Mountain - The White River Runaways - Powell Goes to Salt Lake - Failure to
Get Rations to the Dirty Devil - On the Rocks in Desolation - Natural Windows - An Ancient House - On
the Back of the Dragon at Last - Cataracts and Cataracts in the Wonderful Cataract Canyon - A Lost
Pack-Train - Naming the Echo Peaks.
With one of the boats from the camp in Echo Park Powell went up the Yampa to see what might be there.
Though this stream was tranquil at its mouth, it proved to be rough farther up, and the party, in the four
days they were gone, were half worn out, coming back ragged, gaunt, and ravenous, having run short of
food. The Monday following their return, our boats were again carefully packed, life-preservers were
inflated, and we went forth once more to the combat with the rapids. A few minutes' rowing carried us to
the end of Echo Rock, which is a narrow tongue of sandstone, about half a mile long and five hundred or
six hundred yards thick, and turning the bend we entered Whirlpool Canyon; the cliffs, as soon as the
other side of Echo Rock was passed, shooting up into the air and enfolding us again in a canyon embrace.
The depth was quickly a couple of thousand feet with walls very close together till, in three or four miles,
we came to a violent rapid. A landing was easily made and the boats lowered by lines. Below this the
canyon was much wider, and the rapids were not difficult. By the time the camping hour came, we had
put behind seven miles with five rapids and the extra bad one where the boats were lowered. No
whirlpools were encountered, the stage of water not being favourable for them. As previously noted,
every stage of water produces different conditions, so that the navigator on this river can never be certain
of what he will find. Our course through Whirlpool was neither difficult nor dangerous, as we were able
to make landings at the few bad places and ran the rest of the rapids without damage of any kind. Only
one camp was made in this beautiful gorge, and there we slept, or tried to sleep, for two nights. Myriads
of ants swarmed over the spot and made every hour more or less of a torment. They extended their
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