Part 17 (1/2)
Yet such is the vehement force of this river, such its haste to reach the ocean, that it cuts down and carries with it millions of tons annually of sand and silt, rock debris and dirt until, when it reaches the desert, through which it flows as a lazy dragon, reddish-yellow, tawny, it is the dirtiest stream in the world. For not only does it carry the sand of its own grinding, as it pa.s.ses through the hundred miles of canyon of its waterway, but it accepts the sweepings of vast areas made by its tributaries. Some of these extend through barren and desolate areas,--great stretches of the most forsaken desert lands, where the rains occasionally pour down with deluge-like force. Cloudbursts and floods are common; for the whole country is high in alt.i.tude, with rising peaks, where electric storms play and rage, and the clouds drop, with a sudden sweep, their whole burden of water to the earth beneath. At other times, the waters are allowed to pour down in torrential rains which quickly deluge the land, and as there are no barriers to hinder or detain, they sweep down the inhospitable slopes to the stream beds, carrying with them all the sand, silt, rock debris, vegetable mould and animal matter that have acc.u.mulated since the last storm. So that while at its source it is the purest river in the world, at its mouth it is the dirtiest and most repulsive. The Mississippi, with many more miles of length, the Nile, the Amazon, the Yangste-Kiang, the Hoang-Ho, are all far cleaner at their mouths than is this insatiable dragon of the Canyon.
Carrying Power of the River. This suggests another singularity in which it doubtless reigns supreme. Probably no river in the world, of its length, has anything like the carrying power of the Colorado within its waters.
Notice that I say ”within its waters.” It is useless for carrying anything on its bosom. No s.h.i.+ps use its waters for beneficent commerce. Its only carrying power is in the amount of sand and other material it holds in solution, and carries within itself.
Its Incredible Descent. For it is doubtful whether any river in the world has so rapid a descent from towering mountain heights to its receiving ocean, as has the Colorado. It falls over four thousand two hundred feet from its source to its mouth, and in less than five hundred miles of its distance it contains five hundred and twenty rapids, falls and cataracts. A fall or a rapid or a cataract for every mile, and a few over for good measure. Who can conceive the peril of journeying through such a river? And until the facts were known, how hopeless to attempt to ascend such a river, as did Alarcon, Ives and Wheeler!
Useless for Commerce. As already stated, it is the most useless of the large rivers of the world as a carrier of s.h.i.+ps of commerce. No boat, carrying produce of field, mill or mart, has ever pa.s.sed up or down its course. No whitewinged schooner or other merchantman has enlivened its course by proudly gliding on its bosom to waiting port, where cargoes are discharged and received. No thrilling fleet of battles.h.i.+ps ever has seen its banks, or ever will, for it is useless, absolutely, irretrievably, G.o.d-ordainedly useless for all purposes of commerce, traffic, or communication.
Dangerous and Destructive. Read the accounts of Powell's trips down its dangerous course; of Alarcon's struggles to ascend its headlong tides; of Ives's and Wheeler's attempts to explore a portion of it; of Cardenas's efforts even to reach its waters from one of its banks, and of the ruthless manner in which it has destroyed the lives of those unfortunate enough to come within its reach. Then you will see how absolutely useless a river it is. In this regard the Colorado River is unique. Most rivers carry beneficent life all along their journey. They distribute fructifying waters, from their rise to their end in the sea. Thriving towns and villages line their banks, all surrounded by a fertile farming country. But not so the Colorado! It has cut its way through the rocks so fiercely that it is buried a thousand, two thousand, three thousand and even five thousand and more feet below the surrounding country. It and its tributaries drain away even the water that falls in gentle showers, before it has time to benefit the thirsty land. Only by the expensive construction of cemented cisterns and occasional dams can the rancher, stockman and miner of the region h.o.a.rd for his scantest needs enough of this precious fluid. Even the hotels that are placed upon its brink to afford stopping-places for the curious travelers who wish to see this river and its unique waterway are compelled to haul their trains of water-cars nearly a hundred miles to supply themselves with the water which the Colorado River drains from their very dooryards and empties in reckless neglect into the Gulf of California.
Yields No Electrical Power. Other rivers throughout California and the West are yielding millions of volts annually of electrical energy, for the lighting and heating of cities, the turning of mill-wheels, and the running of electric cars; but the Colorado, though possessed of a potential energy greater than any ten or twenty of these rivers combined, so far has refused to yield up a single volt. Again and again engineers have estimated and suggested, but the great facts remain that it is so uncertain, so wild, so impetuous, so sure to rise when unexpected, so sure to fall when relied upon, that, as yet, no one has been found venturesome enough to try to tame and harness its fierce energy.
Waters to be Diverted by a Dam. Yet in spite of these serious charges I make against the Colorado, it is peculiar in that it is the most useful of the large rivers of the world in another domain. The United States Reclamation Service has spent millions of the people's money in making it of use. At Laguna, a few miles above Yuma, it has built a huge dam larger than any similar dam in the world--that diverts these once turbulent waters into irrigating ditches to convey their life-giving power to thousands upon thousands of acres of desert land. The Blythe Estate is doing the same thing a hundred or more miles higher up, near Parker, on the Santa Fe, and already towns and settlements are springing up on those desert wastes. The California Development Company began this work, four miles below Yuma, in 1900, and in four years had converted that great sink of the Colorado Desert into the richly fertile domain now known as the Imperial Valley, where today are many growing towns.
Opportunities for Swimming. Though the current of the Colorado is so strong, there are times and places where it affords one who is not over-fastidious as to the color of the water, an opportunity for an excellent swim. But care must be exercised. At the foot of Ba.s.s Trail, there are two or three rocky recesses where one may go in and swim, within the arms of the protecting rocks, without danger. It is not well to swim in the earlier months of the year, when the water is excessively cold. Several times in January and February I have been overcome with temptation, and have jumped in ”merely for the plunge.” The sensation is one of being skinned alive, and one plunge is all that one cares for. Yet on emerging and dressing, how fine one feels after it. The great melting time of the snows on the mountains is the end of May, June and early July. It grows warmer in July, and from then on to December one may enjoy it. In September and October it is generally deliciously warm, and I have gone in half a dozen times a day. A good swimmer can cross the stream, if he does not lose his head, for the current is powerful, and one is borne down far faster than he imagines, and it is much further across than it seems to be.
Several times, when I have wanted to cross, and there was no boat, I have swam across to the other side, wearing my s.h.i.+rt and trousers and carrying my boots slung around my neck. But it is, hard work and scarcely worth the risk.
An Exciting Swim. Last year at the foot of the Red Canyon Trail, I had two most delightful swims--one on the night of the arrival of our party, the other by starlight next morning. Though there is an ugly rapid at this place, one may go up stream far enough to get away from danger, for a half-moon-shaped ma.s.s of rock affords safe shelter, and deep enough water for swimming. The night swim was so refres.h.i.+ng that I could not resist the allurement to take another in the morning, before we left camp. The order had been given for an early start, which meant breakfast at earliest dawn, so that I had to go down to the river while the stars were yet s.h.i.+ning. The water was quite warm, and as soon as I felt myself in its soothing embrace a half-dreamy mood came over me, and, throwing myself upon my back, I yielded to it, quietly pus.h.i.+ng myself, as I thought, against the stream, but heading for the other side. Though conscious of the enjoyment of the exercise, and the delicious sensation of the water around my body, my thoughts ran away with me, and I suddenly awoke to myself and the full significance of my surroundings by finding myself more than half-way across the river, in the swiftest part of the current, which was rapidly carrying me down to the rapids. For a few moments I was dreadfully alarmed. My heart stood still, and the surprise of it almost paralysed me. I remember distinctly my thoughts and reasoning. They were somewhat as follows: ”The current on the south side is far less strong than on this side. Therefore it will be much easier to go back than to try to reach the north sh.o.r.e, which seems to be and is so much the nearer. If, however, you can't make it, what then? You'll go into the rapids. If you are dashed headlong or sideways against any of the five hundred and one waiting rocks, that will doubtless be the end of you; but there is a good chance that you may get through without hitting anything. A minute, or two minutes at the most, will see you through the rapids to calm current beyond. You can hold your breath that length of time, so that the spray and wildly tossing waves of the rapids, the froth and spume, will not get up your nose and choke you.”
In the meantime, I had fixed my eye on an immense square block of rock, that rested just above the dangerous rapids, and close to the southern sh.o.r.e. I knew if I could reach the sh.o.r.e inside that rock I was safe, so striking out vigorously, and aiming for a point far above it, I swam as strongly as I knew how, making every stroke tell, refusing to be alarmed or confused by the terrifying roar of the rapids, which now seemed but a step away. I did not have to test my method of going through the rapids. I reached the sh.o.r.e in safety, walked back to camp, had a good breakfast, made all the more appetizing by my swim and the consequent danger, and in half an hour the ride up the trail and my companions were absorbing all my attention. To all of them, save one, this recital of my morning's adventure will be new.
Dangerous Unless Known Well. That the river is more dangerous than most people imagine, the bleaching bones of many a poor wretch who has been drowned in its treacherous waters fully attest. More than one prospector, cattleman, or even cattle and horse ”rustler” (as in Arizona parlance a cattle and horse-thief is known), with too great self-confidence, has attempted to cross on a log, in a leaky skiff, or in a canvas boat, and ere he was aware of his danger, the current had swept him out of reach of all help. It is a river to know ere you risk yourself upon or in it.
Getting Animals across the River. Who could begin to recount the fun and frolic, and at the same time the worry and vexation we have experienced in taking horses, mules and burros across this surly river. We have crossed at all times of the year, at high water and low, when the water was cold enough to give one cramps merely to look at it, and when it was comfortably warm. Sometimes we had no trouble; then we felt how smart we were, and it made us happy; at other times the animals seemed to be ”possessed.”
Sometimes it is the horses that are afraid; at others it is the mules; and sometimes the burros; generally all three together. The modus is to put your strongest rower in the boat, and then a man with plenty of nerve in the stern to handle the rope and the animal to which it is attached,--when you get the latter into the water. As many persons as then can be a.s.sembled get behind the animal to persuade it to enter the water. The boat is ready to go as soon as the animal is ”in,” but yet it prefers to be ”out.”
Yellings, shoutings, pus.h.i.+ngs are of little or no avail, and the gentle pleadings of the man with the rope are as effective as Mrs. Partington's sweeping back of the Atlantic with a broom. Vigorous measures must be used, so a concerted movement is projected. At a given signal the boat is to be pushed off, the oarsman ply his oars with power, the man in the stern is to pull with energy, and a man at each flank of the animal is to push, while every other being is to do his or her part by a shout or a boost. One man swings a riata to help scare the animal in, and the boat pulls out into the current. We all stand and watch. What is the fool horse doing? Scared at first of going into the water, he now is making desperate efforts to climb into the boat. His rope is held as tightly as possible, but the beast swims frantically from one side to the other, endeavoring to climb aboard. His knees thump the boat, and his chin occasionally rests on the gunwale, but active interference thrusts him back. In the meantime, the current is taking the boat well down the river, but we are not alarmed, for we have a good half-mile stretch, with convenient sandy places on the north side, on which to land. Now the horse settles down to steady hard work, and at last, catching sight of the tiny beach, he breaks away from the boat and strikes out for himself, reaching sh.o.r.e before the rower.
Back they come for another. Now we try two burros. Firmly they brace themselves, and refuse to be pushed into the tawny flood. Then they dodge and run and tangle each other up with their neck ropes, patiently strangling each other with desperate insistence. At length they are pushed in, and off they go. After a good ducking, they come up with a snort and a bounce, a look of martyr-like meekness in their eyes, as they settle down to the inevitable. No animal on earth can teach man more than a burro in this regard. He accepts what can't be helped, makes the best of it, and gains happiness out of every patch of thistles and gra.s.s he can push his nose into. So, as we look into the eyes of these burros, as they rapidly ”paw” the current, we can see a look of expectation and content which plainly says ”Cheer up, brother, this will soon be over, and on the north side we'll get better feed than we've been having lately.”
A mule's desperate plunges to escape generally aid us to get him into the water, for he loses his balance and is easily pushed in. But his look of dazed surprise is comical when, after such a plunge, in which he sinks below his head, he arises, snorts, blows the water out of his nostrils, and begins to look about him. The burro part of his nature, however, soon settles him down, and he pulls out for the sh.o.r.e, glad to rejoin his companions.
Once in a while an animal breaks loose, gets halfway across, becomes confused, and not knowing which way to go, is carried down to the rapids and dashed to death.
CHAPTER XXIX. Climate And Weather At The Grand Canyon
Difference between Rim and Canyon. The climate at the Grand Canyon refuses to be defined in a paragraph. What is true of the country along the rim is not true of the banks of the river itself. The midway region, half-way down the trail, likewise has a climate all its own. For as you go down in summer, the thermometer goes up; and as you come up, in winter, the thermometer goes down. The difference of nearly a mile in alt.i.tude between the surface of the Colorado River and the rim of the Canyon is equivalent to going hundreds of miles north and south on the level. Hence it is that when it is winter on the rim, it is like spring down in the depths; when it is spring on the top of the world, the heat below is tropical.
Weather not Extreme. Bear in mind, though, that neither the cold of winter nor the heat of summer, in northern Arizona, are as frigid or as torrid as the readings of the thermometer may seem to indicate. The cold or heat is not felt to such an extreme as in the East. A minimum of humidity is the basic reason for this wide difference between, for example, the July or January climate of New York, and the July or January climate of the Grand Canyon. Extremes that in New York drive people to the cool seash.o.r.e or To California's winter warmth, here bring no discomfort. You don't feel the weather changes so much, just because the air is so much dryer.
Mild in Summer and in Winter. Again, the alt.i.tude of the Grand Canyon rim--in places nearly a mile and a half above sea-level--makes the summers cooler than the lat.i.tude would indicate. It is ten degrees cooler, in July, at Flagstaff, Arizona, than at Salt Lake City, three hundred miles north in Utah. In turn, the southerly location of this t.i.tanic wonderland causes the winters to be milder than in Colorado, Utah and Montana.
Average Condition. Visitors should bear in mind that the Grand Canyon is an all-the-year-round resort. Unlike the Yellowstone and many other far west scenic playgrounds, one may visit there with comfort any time of the year.
While certain periods are more favorable than others for outdoor life, each season has its distinctive joys.
As a rule, this part of Arizona is a true land of suns.h.i.+ne. Sunny days are largely in evidence.
As a rule, the air is dry. Even the rains don't soak it through.
As a rule, except on the edge of the rim, the wind velocity is under the average.