United States

  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 

  An appeal to the alcalde 
  Kanackas 
  Straits of San Pueblo and Pedro 
  Straits of Carquinez 
  Town of Francisca 
  Feather-beds furnished by nature 

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.

Naturally we were very impatient to know just what success we had met with in our photographic work. Some of the motion pictures had been printed and returned to us. My brother, who meanwhile had taken his family to Los Angeles, sent very encouraging reports regarding some of the films.

Camp routine was hurriedly disposed of the next morning, Saturday, September the 23d. Everything was made snug beneath the hatches, except the two guns, which were too long to go under the decks, and had to be carried in the open cockpits. "Camp No. 13, at the head of Lodore," as it is entered in my journal, was soon hidden by a bend in the river.