United States

  Coscumne River 
  Mickelemes River 
  Ford of the San Joaquin 
  Extensive plain 
  Tule marshes 
  Large droves of wild horses and elk 

  Outfit, etc., and advice to intending Emigrants.

  Leave the mission 
  Clover 
  Wild mustard 
  A carreta 
  Family travelling 
  Arrive at Pueblo de San Jose 
  Capt. Fisher 

  Periodical winds 
  Dine on board the Portsmouth 
  A supper party on shore 
  Arrival of Commodore Stockton at San Francisco 
  Rumours of rebellion from the south 
  Californian court 

  Sonoma creek 
  "Bear men." 
  Islands in the bay 
  Liberality of "Uncle Sam" to sailors 
  Sonoma 
  Beautiful country 
  General Vallejo 

All this preparation - and still more, the vexatious delays - had been a heavy tax upon us. We needed a vacation. We took it - six pleasant care-free days - hunting and fishing as we drifted through the sixty miles of southern Wyoming. There were ducks and geese on the river to test our skill with the shot-gun. Only two miles below Green River City Emery secured our first duck, a promise of good sport to follow. An occasional cottontail rabbit was seen, scurrying to cover through the sage-brush, when we made a detour from the boats.

There was little of the spectacular in our work the next day as we slowly and laboriously dragged an empty boat upstream against the swift-running current, taking advantage of many little eddies, but finding much of the shore swept clean. I had ample opportunity to ponder on the wisdom of my attempt to save time by running the Soap Creek Rapid instead of making a portage, while we carried our loads over the immense boulders that banked the stream, down to a swift piece of water, past which we could not well bring the boats or while we developed the wet plates from the ruined plate-holders.

We awoke the next morning full of anticipation. Something new lay ahead of us, a promise of variety. In plain sight of our camp lay the entrance to Flaming Gorge, the gateway to the entire series of canyons. Hurriedly finishing our camp duties, we loaded the boats, fastened down the hatches, and shoved off into the current, eager to be on our way.

How long we had waited for this view! How many memories it recalled - and how different it seemed to our previous visit there! Then, the high water was on, and the turquoise-tinted mineral water of the Colorado Chiquito was backed up by the turbid flood waters of the Rio Colorado, forty feet or more above the present level. Now it was a rapid stream, throwing itself with wild abandon over the rocks and into the Colorado.

We awoke bright and early the next morning, much refreshed by our day of rest and variety. With an early start we were soon pulling down the river, and noon found us several miles below the camp, having run eleven rapids with no particular difficulty. A reference in my notes reads: "Last one has a thousand rocks, and we could not miss them all. My rowing is improving, and we both got through fairly well." In the afternoon they continued to come - an endless succession of small rapids, with here and there a larger one.