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Posts Tagged ‘Grand Canyon’

One of the many intriguing places at Grand Canyon is the remote area at the west end of the North Rim known as Toroweap or Tuweep. This quiet, lonely place averages eight visitors per day. That’s 3,000 people per year out of Grand Canyon’s total of five million annual visitors.

Most people use the terms Toroweap and Tuweep (Tu-veep) interchangeably, but there’s a technical difference.

Toroweap refers to various named landforms — Toroweap Valley, Toroweap Point, Toroweap Lake, and Toroweap Overlook (the latter being a spot at the rim where the Colorado River is 3,000 feet below you, straight down). In Paiute, Toroweap means “dry valley” or “barren valley.”

Tuweep is the general spot on the map — a scattered settlement, if you can call it that, consisting of a small ranger station, the ranger’s residence, a few outbuildings, a Park Service airstrip, a primitive campground, and half a dozen trails of various lengths and degrees of difficulty. Tuweep is a Paiute word for “the earth.”

I’ve been to Toroweap twice. My first trip, in April 2000, was a four-day camping and hiking trip with the Grand Canyon Field Institute. Experienced guides made all the arrangements, provided transportation, and watched out for us. The trip was deceptively easy.

My second visit was an ill-fated solo hike in September 2001, cut short in dramatic fashion when I got food poisoning. The experience was sobering and scary.

I think of Toroweap/Tuweep as having four defining features.

The first is its remote location, at the end of a treacherous washboard road, 60 miles from the nearest pavement, 75 miles from the nearest town. The odds are high that your vehicle will have a flat tire, maybe two, somewhere along the way.

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Inching along the road to Tuweep.

The second feature is the lack of services. There is no water, food, gas, lodging, phone service, or internet connection. You bring everything you need, and you solve your own problems. Yes, the ranger station is connected to park headquarters by radio, but the ranger station is six miles from the campground and the overlook.

Feature three is the scenery. The views of Toroweap Valley, the inner canyon, the river, and the ancient lava flows are truly spectacular. They will give you goosebumps.

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Looking east/upstream from Toroweap Overlook.

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The downstream view from Toroweap Overlook showing Lava Falls, the baddest rapid on the river. Covering the right bank: its namesake lava flow.

The fourth defining feature is historical: the story of John Hauert Riffey, who served as the sole park ranger at Tuweep from 1942 until 1980. A career of 38 years at one of the loneliest, most isolated places on the map.

Tuweep is stark desert country. The area is both bleak and beautiful, a mix of sagebrush, yucca, cacti, piñon pine, and rock. The weather, summer and winter, often is extreme.

Toroweap Lake is normally dry. Water collects there, and in scattered pockets among the rocks, only briefly after a storm.

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The Tuweep campground.

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The Tuweep Ranger Station.

John H. Riffey from Durango, Colorado, held degrees in forestry and range management when, in 1942, he accepted a ranger position at Grand Canyon National Monument. When he and his wife Laura arrived at Tuweep, they used firewood to heat the ranger’s residence, cooked on a gas stove, and collected rainwater and snowmelt in cisterns. They had no electricity and no refrigerator. Their nearest neighbor was a rancher who lived 20 miles north.

Under circumstances that might drive others mad, John and Laura were comfortable and content at Tuweep.

Riffey’s job was to take care of anything that needed attention. He repaired whatever broke, maintained the campground, greeted visitors, pulled vehicles from the mud, put out wildfires, and collected trash.

His equipment included a road grader to repair the local roads after storms. He kept records about the local flora and fauna. He submitted the reports demanded by the park bureaucracy.

Laura took an interest in the area’s birds, native and migratory. She had no training in such things, but for years, she kept detailed records of her observations. Her notes are considered scientifically important and are preserved in the park’s archives.

In 1943, John was drafted into the Army, and he served for 17 months as a medical technician on a hospital ship. After the war ended, John and Laura returned at Tuweep.

The years passed, and John did his job well. He received regular commendations and awards, while simultaneously turning down promotions that would require him to relocate.

By the late 1950s, John had become known around the Park Service for his dedication, hard work, and unusually long service at the same location. Normally, rangers take new assignments every few years.

At one point, the park superintendent ordered Riffey to accept a transfer, on the grounds that rotating to new assignments was what park rangers did. Riffey refused.

The superintendent gave Riffey a choice: leave Tuweep or face dismissal. When Riffey chose dismissal, the superintendent backed down. Riffey was quietly cheered by rangers throughout the Park Service. His status as a living legend was strengthened.

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Ranger John H. Riffey.

Laura, who had several health issues, died in 1962. John stayed on the job. He said he had no problem living alone, although he enjoyed greeting visitors. “You like people if you are not overrun with them,” he explained.

He told a reporter, “My only contribution to society is trying to keep this place just like it is.”

Riffey may have been content with his solitude, but he didn’t remain a bachelor for long. In the spring of 1964, a graduate student from the University of Utah, Meribeth Mitchell, came to Tuweep to study the vegetation. She was 40, John was 53.

After her trip, they corresponded often. She returned to Tuweep in the fall, after which the correspondence continued. They were married in 1965.

Meribeth Riffey kept her job teaching biology at Western Washington University, north of Seattle, but she spent spring and summer at Tuweep. John scheduled his vacations in winter and spent them with Meribeth.

Sometime in the late 1960s, John took flying lessons and purchased a second-hand Piper Cub. He named the aircraft Pogo. A wooden enclosure to block the strong winds served as a hangar. Riffey nailed a sign to the enclosure that read

TUWEEP INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
SOUTH CONCOURSE
GATE 2

With Pogo, John was able to patrol thousands of acres around Tuweep and make quick hops to civilization for mail and groceries. He was known to fly through Grand Canyon below the rim. Meribeth was a regular passenger.

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Ranger Riffey standing next to Pogo.

In July 1980, as John and a friend were hauling water to Tuweep from a nearby spring, John’s vision blurred, and he became weak. It was the beginning of a heart attack. The friend took he wheel and tried to reach the hospital in St. George, but John died on the way. He would have turned 69 in August.

With Meribeth’s permission, the park superintendent lobbied his superiors to suspend the rules and allow John to be buried at Tuweep. The request was granted. A spot with a sweeping view of the valley was chosen along the road between the ranger station and Toroweap Overlook.

This is inscribed on his monument:

John H. Riffey
‘The Last Old Time Ranger’

The man who could spend a lifetime on the rim and not waste a minute
National Park Ranger, Tuweep from 1942 to 1980
Good Samaritan, gentle friend, teller of tall tales

Meribeth died in 1993 and is buried beside him.

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When I ventured out to Toroweap in 2000 and 2001, I knew nothing about John, Laura, and Meribeth Riffey. If the instructors at Grand Canyon Field Institute mentioned them, it didn’t register.

That’s a shame. I have vivid memories of Toroweap and wonderful images in my mind’s eye, but knowing this part of the human history adds to my appreciation of the place.

It also makes me regret that I missed a chance to visit the graves and pay my respects.

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Pete Gross, known to his peers as “Dirtbag” or “Dirt,” is a legendary Colorado River boatman who began his career in the 1970s rowing dories through Grand Canyon. He is now retired and living in Moab, Utah.

Karma handed Pete his nickname; he had a habit of calling everyone “dirtbag,” in the affectionate manner of addressing others as “dude” or “pal.” Eventually, the term ended up affixed to him.

In the boating world, Pete is respected for being not only a skilled professional, but also a sincere, practicing environmentalist. He is known for truly walking the walk.

To get around, Pete rides a bike or takes public transportation. To reach his energy-efficient home in a green community in Moab, you either walk or bike; no cars are allowed.

He doesn’t have a TV set or an internet connection. He goes dumpster-diving at Moab grocery stores on the principle that too much perfectly good food is thrown out. That practice evolved into a local food redistribution program run by Pete’s friends and other volunteers.

Pete lives modestly, with a goal of leaving a responsible footprint on the planet. Yet, he insists he is comfortable and content, and life is good.

In 2009, he was interviewed at length as part of a program designed to preserve the memories and stories of the old-time river guides for posterity. When I came across the transcript, I was struck by his explanation of why he feels so strongly about treading lightly on the earth. He made his case with passion and eloquence.

Here is an excerpt.

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I remember the Santa Barbara oil spill in 1969. When I first read about that, my reaction was, “Okay, so it’s made a mess of the whole coastline, but we need the oil.”

But slowly, I came around to the notion that I was basically anti-people, anti-technology. I just chose environmentalism over economics. It was a pretty naive viewpoint, but that was the conscious choice. My attitude was, it was one versus the other.

I’d just chosen that the environment was more important to me, and people and the economy came second. It was a slow realization for me that — whether it was just my misperception, or the powers-that-be fueling the notion that it’s one or the other — it was a big epiphany for me to realize, no! Those are not two mutually exclusive options.

I think there are certain… like, the oil companies and certain powers-that-be have a vested interest in fueling a false… bifurcation? Is that the right word? You have one or the other, you can’t have both.

But really, you can’t have one without the other. Or, you can’t have a healthy economy if you’ve spoiled and ruined your foundation for that, which is the environment.

There’s a book by Amory Lovins — he and some others, Lovins was a co-author — a book called Natural Capitalism that talks about a post-industrial era. What makes the most sense, not just environmentally, but economically, is to realize that there are these natural services that are irreplaceable, yet we place no value on them.

Like our atmosphere, and the biosphere that cycles through nutrients… just the whole cycle of energy, the sun shining on the earth, plants taking the sun, converting through chlorophyll, taking CO2 and making glucose, and then enriching the soil with nitrogen-fixing bacteria, which then makes it possible for the plants to grow that make our food, whatever.

There are all these natural services that we can’t replicate, and yet we don’t value them. And so we destroy them in the notion that we’re gonna make a buck. We’re profiting, but we’re destroying our real capital to create this income stream that isn’t sustainable.

That was when I finally had this realization, “Oh, I don’t need to choose that I’m an environmentalist, and therefore I oppose economic development.” I realized you can’t have a healthy economy without a robust, healthy environment.

You know, I look at a forest, and I don’t see board feet. I look at a river, and I don’t see kilowatt hours. But you look at a forest and realize, “Okay, yeah, there’s an economic value to the wood in that tree. Yeah, we could log that tree and mill it and sell it and stuff, and there’s a certain economic value.

But what we ignore is that that tree, standing in place there, is providing wildlife habitat and watershed. It’s helping give us a sustainable clean water source and protecting us from floods, and so on. We cut that tree down, we’re not very good at putting a price tag on how much value it has just in place.

The same thing comes up when you’re looking strictly at river issues, when you talk about dams versus irrigation and water rights.

Well, like we’ve learned with the salmon fisheries. There’s an incredible value to this food source. We have eliminated or almost decimated these salmon populations, which were natural services, provided for free. An incredible food source.

Instead, we put a lot of infrastructure in place, and a lot of irrigation and what-not, to raise cows. Takes a lot of effort, a lot of money, at the price of — we’ve decimated salmon fisheries, for which we didn’t have to do anything. They were there for the harvesting!

————

He had me at “bifurcation.”

Lachs / Wanderung / Kanada

 

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Trip 25

Part 4

Wednesday morning after a hearty Canteen breakfast, I set out east on the Clear Creek Trail. It was built in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps and initially was used by mules coming up from Phantom Ranch, but now is for hikers only.

Halfway up to the Tonto Platform is Phantom Overlook.

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The CCC’s stone bench and other nifty trail work.

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Phantom Ranch from Phantom Overlook.

Half a mile later, at this bend in the trail, you get the first view of the Colorado River looking upstream.

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The trail continues the long climb up to the Tonto Platform. The Park Service claims to perform regular maintenance up there, but it appears to be minimal.

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After a few more bends of the trail, you get this awesome downstream view. Ordinarily, I avoid the word awesome, but in this case, it fits.

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The Black Bridge (lower left) is where the mules cross the river.

The golden cottonwoods at the bend in the river mark the mouth of Bright Angel Creek. Phantom Ranch is along Bright Angel Creek half a mile upstream.

For scale, consider this:

– The Tonto Platform on the south (left) side of the river — the prominent ledge halfway up — is half a vertical mile above the Colorado.

– The South Rim, the highest point in the distance, is a full vertical mile above the river.

A closer view:

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Look close, and you can see the Silver Bridge, where most hikers cross the river. It’s in the shadow just before the Colorado disappears around the last bend.

Three miles from Phantom Ranch, you arrive at what I consider one of the grandest sights in Grand Canyon: the view looking up at Zoroaster Temple.

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I know these things are subjective, but I think Zoro is a phenomenal landform. It’s beautiful and majestic, with amazing symmetry.

And it becomes even more impressive when you are standing close, the arms looming on both sides.

Magical.

Many people observe that being at Grand Canyon is like a religious experience. I certainly see it that way.

As it happens, so does Bob Dylan. These are the closing lines from Dylan’s “Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie” from 1963:

You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You’ll find God in the church of your choice
You’ll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it’s only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You’ll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown

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Early Thursday morning, the mule riders left Phantom Ranch and returned to the South Rim via the South Kaibab Trail. Starting out, we still had pleasant, shirt-sleeves weather.

But about halfway to the rim, that abruptly changed. Dark clouds rolled in, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped. The coats, gloves, and earmuffs came out. It was the beginning of a storm that would leave Northern Arizona and most of New Mexico in the deep freeze for the next week.

The South Kaibab is an exposed, ridgeline trail, and, especially near the rim, the wind can be brutal. For the last mile of the ride, we sat hunched in our saddles, shivering in an icy, 40-mph wind.

I could feel Twinkie leaning, leaning, leaning against it. I did my best not to interfere.

————

So far, I have no specific plans for another trip to Grand Canyon, but the odds are pretty good I’ll go again.

Yes, I do believe I’ll go again.

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Trip 25

Part 3

So, there I was, newly arrived at Phantom Ranch and gloriously happy — joyful, ecstatic, stoked, take your pick — to be there.

Mostly, my thoughts were on the following day, when I planned to hike out the Clear Creek Trail for the day. The hike would be a bit strenuous, a climb of 1,500 feet up to the Tonto Platform and a distance of six miles round-trip, but the views make it worthwhile.

After a steak dinner at the Canteen, I walked down to the boat beach and the mouth of Bright Angel Creek. By the time I got back, night had fallen.

At 8:00 PM, the Canteen reopened, and I staked out one corner of a quiet table. For the next hour, I nursed another beer and leafed through some books from the library. The Canteen has a wall of books devoted to Grand Canyon history and geology.

At 9:00 PM, I said goodnight and headed back to my cabin; I didn’t want to miss the arrival of the full moon. I had experienced a full moon at Phantom before, so I knew what to expect.

To prepare for the moment, I got comfortable on the bench in front of the cabin, opened the container of brandy I had brought along in my saddlebag, and poured two fingers’ worth into a plastic cup. I commenced to sipping and waiting.

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My cabin.

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The view toward the Canteen.

Thanks to a few strategic streetlights and light from the canteen, I could see my surroundings clearly.  Now and then, guests walked by on the main path 20 yards away, headlamps flickering through the foliage. Overhead, the east wall of Bright Angel Canyon was growing steadily brighter as moonrise approached.

In the spirit of the moment, I drank a toast to the River Gods, and whatever other deities might be listening, and I thanked them for my good fortune.

I toasted Phantom Ranch and thanked it for years of incredible memories.

I toasted Twinkie, who had been so calm and cooperative during the morning ride. While I spent Wednesday hiking, Twinkie would be rewarded with the day off.

By the time I toasted Grand Canyon in its entirety, the brandy and the emotion caught up with me, and tears came to my eyes.

Dammit, I thought, You never used to cry at anything. Now look at you.

But the tears flowed because, at that moment, I was blissfully content.

Then, just in time to keep me weeping like a fool, the Moon sprung from behind the rim. Phantom Ranch was bathed in a brilliant, most sublime light.

I gasped, leapt to my feet, and took photos, all forgettable.

As I returned to the bench with a sigh of satisfaction, a slight movement on the right side of the path caught my attention. I peered intently at the spot.

Seconds later, barely 10 yards away, a fox emerged soundlessly from the undergrowth. He paused on the path, looked carefully around, and spotted me.

My presence didn’t seem to concern him. He studied me calmly for a moment and continued on his way.

I blinked in disbelief. The incident was almost surreal. Had I imagined it?

Of course not. A passing fox just looked you in the eye.

Blubbering anew, I raised my cup and toasted the fox.

The next morning at breakfast, I told a staff member about the encounter. I knew ringtail cats live around Phantom Ranch, and you spot them occasionally, but I wasn’t aware of a fox population.

Yes, she said, foxes do reside at Phantom. What I saw was a gray fox. They’re quiet, harmless, and fairly common. The Park Service is especially fond of them, she noted, because they hold down the rodent population.

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In my next and final Trip 25 post, my hike along the Clear Creek Trail.

 

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Trip 25

Part 2

On Tuesday at 7:00 AM, we mule riders assembled at the corral at the top of Bright Angel Trail. The wranglers gave us instructions, assigned us a mule, and adjusted our gear. We were ready for the trip to the bottom of Grand Canyon.

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At 7:30 AM, we started the 10-mile ride to Phantom Ranch.

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The most important bit of advice from the wranglers: trust your mule.

For practically the entire trip, they told us, you’ll be riding uncomfortably close to the edge. Trust your mule. Avoid the temptation to lean away from the edge; doing so will cause the mule to compensate and lean toward it.

In case you’re wondering, mules are not the “easy way” into Grand Canyon. Unless you’re a seasoned rider, a mule trip is almost as strenuous as hiking.

Riding uses muscles you didn’t know were there. And, especially on the trip down, it isn’t easy to stay in the saddle. You aren’t lashed down, and nothing says you can’t go flying over the handlebars.

But I hung on, and I trusted my mule, and five hours later, we arrived.

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With a groan, I climbed down from my faithful steed, Twinkie.

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I dropped off my gear at my cabin (at right below, across from the Canteen).

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After a celebratory beer, I spent the rest of the afternoon taking photos.

When we left South Rim that morning, the temp was 35 degrees. At Phantom Ranch, it was 72, calm, and sunny.

That’s fairly typical of the Canyon floor in winter, because all that rock collects and radiates the heat of the sun.

This also explains why summer nights at Phantom sometimes remain above 100 degrees.

Within an hour, the muscles in my legs had recovered from being astride a mule for half a day. I wasn’t wincing and hobbling around any longer, and I was ready to explore.

For starters, I stopped at the mule corral and said hello to Twinkie.

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In Part 3, I drink a toast to multiple deities under the light of a full moon.

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Trip 25

Part 1

When I started this blog in 2009, among the first stories I posted was Bliss, a recollection from my childhood about the magic of waking up at the beach and savoring the sounds, sights, and smells of the moment.

Well, last month I was blessed with a similar magic moment, and it happened, fittingly, at Grand Canyon, my go-to vacation spot for lo these many years.

Ah, Grand Canyon. I certainly have a thing for the place. My December trip was visit #25.

My family and friends see this as something of an obsession — harmless and amusing, but a bit irrational.

Not really. I simply discovered a place that fascinates me, pleases me, speaks to me — and I’m in the process of exploring it.

Every trip has been unique. Carefully planned to be that way. It hasn’t been like, say, going to the Lincoln Memorial or the Bronx Zoo 25 times.

Allow me to elaborate.

Trip #1 in 1994 was a one-week raft trip down the Colorado River. Trip #2 in 1995 was a two-week raft trip.

Trip #3 in early 1996 was a hike to Phantom Ranch, the guest ranch/lodge on the floor of the Canyon. Trip #4 in late 1996 was a hike from North Rim to South Rim.

Over the years, I’ve hiked in Havasu Canyon and Paria Canyon. I’ve camped twice at Toroweap in the remote western region. I’ve taken four river trips and four mule trips. I’ve backpacked on the Tonto Platform. I’ve ventured off-trail in some crazy places.

I’ve hiked the Canyon with my sons, separately and together. I’ve gone rim-to-rim twice. During the course of all that, I’ve stayed at or passed through Phantom Ranch, one of the most terrific places on earth, 14 times.

And no two of those trips were alike. None.

Long ago, I promised myself that when the thrill is gone, I’ll be done with the place. If the day comes when I don’t get butterflies about going, or if the hikes and the scenery seem repetitious, or if I stand at South Rim contemplating Cheops Pyramid or Zoroaster Temple and my heart isn’t in my throat, I won’t go back.

But, having just returned from there, I can report that the thrill is not gone. Nothing about it was ho-hum or repetitious. I’m still exhilarated by the sheer grandness of Grand Canyon.

My December trip was built around a mule ride to Phantom Ranch. I booked the trip in winter because in the off-season, you’re allowed to stay two nights. That gives you an extra day to hike, explore, and enjoy the Grand Canyon vibe.

As a further incentive, mule riders stay in private cabins — unlike hikers, who either stay at the campground or in one of the dormitories (two dorms for men, two for women, 10 beds per dorm).

To fully appreciate this story, you need to know a few things about Phantom Ranch and how it functions.

The place is, quite literally, a desert oasis. It’s rustic, and it requires genuine effort to reach, but it’s perfectly comfortable once you get there.

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Phantom Ranch consists of a campground, cabins and dorms for the staff and guests, the Canteen where meals are served, a ranger station, mule corrals, a heliport, a boat beach for river rafters, and assorted support facilities (water treatment plant, laundry, maintenance sheds, and so on).

The facility was built in 1922 where Bright Angel Creek meets the Colorado River. The Kaibab Trail, which runs from North Rim to South Rim, passes through the spot.

At any given time, the population at Phantom is about 100 people, give or take.

The center of activity is the Canteen, which serves breakfast and supper, provides box lunches for the hikers, and sells supplies, snacks, and souvenirs.

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Nightly from 8:00 PM to 10:00 PM, it becomes your friendly neighborhood tavern.

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So, there you have it. In Part 2, my trip gets underway with a mule ride down the Bright Angel Trail to Phantom Ranch.

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As documented here many times, I am a huge fan — HUGE fan — of Grand Canyon.

I’ve been to the Canyon 23 times; I’ve hiked many of the backcountry trails; I’ve taken four river trips down the Colorado River. Show me a random photo taken from the rim, and odds are, I can identify the landforms.

I’ve become more familiar with Grand Canyon than the average dude because, for reasons I can’t explain, I find the geography, geology, and history of the place endlessly fascinating.

Which is why I just got through re-reading “The Exploration of the Colorado River and its Canyons” by John Wesley Powell, a remarkable account of the first recorded journey down the Colorado River through Grand Canyon in 1869.

Here are some facts every schoolchild should know about that expedition…

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The leader of the 10-man Powell Geographic Expedition of 1869 was John Wesley Powell, geology professor, self-taught naturalist, and Civil War veteran. His purpose, in addition to being the first to explore the last uncharted stretch of the Colorado River, was to document the geology, biology, and native people of the region.

The members of the expedition:

Powell, who had lost an arm at the battle of Shiloh and was the only man who wore a life preserver. He was “Major Powell” to the men.
Walter Powell, his younger brother, a former Union Army captain. Described by the others as “surly and quick-tempered.”
John Sumner, a trapper and Civil War veteran. Worked for Powell on a previous expedition in the Rockies.
Frank Goodman, an Englishmen and skilled boatman who came to America to find out what the American West was really like. Signed on to have an adventure.
Oramel Howland, a mountain man and hunter, but also well educated. Worked as a newspaperman.
Seneca Howland, Oramel’s younger brother, a war veteran hoping the trip would bring fame and fortune.
William Dunn, a buckskin-clad hunter and trapper from Colorado.
William Hawkins, the expedition cook. An Army deserter who joined the group to lay low for a while.
George Bradley, an Army sergeant who joined the expedition on Powell’s promise of an prompt discharge afterward.
Andrew Hall, a strong, hard-working Scottish lad, age 20, a crack shot with a rifle.

Powell’s boat was the Emma Dean, a fast, lightweight, 16-foot vessel built of pine. The other boats, Maid of the Canyon, Kitty Clyde’s Sister, and No Name, were heavy, 21-foot oak vessels. The boats were divided into three compartments, one of which was watertight to protect the provisions.

The four boats were easy to handle on relatively smooth water, but not through the shallow, rocky rapids of the Green and Colorado rivers. Powell portaged most of the larger rapids or lined the boats through the rapids from the shore with ropes.

During the journey, several of the men grumbled that Powell was overly cautious, and many of the rapids he made them portage were runnable.

The expedition lasted three months, from May 24 until August 29. The men traveled about 1,000 miles. They began at Green River, Wyoming, journeyed downstream through a succession of canyons, and emerged from Grand Canyon not far from where the Virgin River meets the Colorado, near present-day Las Vegas.

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In 1871, Powell repeated a good part of the original voyage, this time with more provisions, better equipment, and photographers in tow. He also knew what was ahead; the Colorado was the Great Unknown no longer.

After turning his diary of the first expedition into a book, Powell went on to head the U.S. Geological Survey and to serve as a director at the Smithsonian Institution. He died in 1902 at his summer cottage in Maine.

The expedition of 1869 was genuinely harrowing. The No Name was wrecked, the Emma Dean abandoned. They set out with provisions for 10 months, but most of the food was lost or spoiled. Only six of the 10 men completed the trip.

A depiction of

A depiction of “Disaster Falls” in Lodore Canyon, where the “No Name” went down with much of the expedition’s food and supplies.

Probably the most dramatic and climactic event of the expedition occurred in late August, when three men left the group and set out walking north, back to civilization.

Two months earlier, the expedition had lost Goodman, who dropped out after a series of especially difficult rapids.

At the time, the party had reached a stretch of calm water on the Green River in Utah. Rolling meadows covered both banks of the river. The expedition remained there for about a week to make repairs and buy supplies from a nearby tribe of Utes.

On July 5, the day before the party was to continue downriver, Goodman informed Powell that he was quitting. Apparently, he had his fill of adventure.

Now, on August 27, three more men were leaving.

The three were Dunn and the Howland brothers. All were seasoned mountain men. The terrain was harsh and the heat scorching, but they trusted their abilities. With the food almost gone, and fearing that worse rapids were ahead, they concluded that the odds favored striking out cross-country.

This is Powell’s account of the incident in his diary.

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August 27 — After supper Captain [Oramel] Howland asks to have a talk with me. We walk up the little creek a short distance, and I soon find that his object is to remonstrate against my determination to proceed. He thinks that we had better abandon the river here. Talking with him, I learn that he, his brother, and William Dunn have determined to go no farther in the boats. So we return to camp. Nothing is said to the other men.
 
For the last two days our course has not been plotted. I sit down and do this now, for the purpose of finding where we are by dead reckoning. It is a clear night, and I take out the sextant to make observation for latitude, and I find that the astronomic determination agrees very nearly with that of the plot — quite as closely as might be expected from a meridian observation on a planet.

In a direct line, we must be about 45 miles from the mouth of the Rio Virgen. If we can reach that point, we know that there are settlements up that river about 20 miles. This 45 miles in a direct line will probably be 80 or 90 by the meandering line of the river. But then we know that there is comparatively open country for many miles above the mouth of the Virgen, which is our point of destination.

As soon as I determine all this, I spread my plot on the sand and wake Howland, who is sleeping down by the river, and show him where I suppose we are, and where several Mormon settlements are situated. We have another short talk about the morrow, and he lies down again; but for me there is no sleep.

All night long I pace up and down a little path, on a few yards of sand beach, along by the river. Is it wise to go on? I go to the boats again to look at our rations. I feel satisfied that we can get over the danger immediately before us; what there may be below I know not.

From our outlook yesterday on the cliffs, the canyon seemed to make another great bend to the south, and this, from our experience heretofore, means more and higher granite walls. I am not sure that we can climb out of the canyon here, and, if at the top of the wall, I know enough of the country to be certain that it is a desert of rock and sand between this and the nearest Mormon town, which, on the most direct line, must be 75 miles away.

True, the late rains have been favorable to us, should we go out, for the probabilities are that we shall find water still standing in holes; and at one time I almost conclude to leave the river. But for years I have been contemplating this trip. To leave the exploration unfinished, to say that there is a part of the canyon which I cannot explore, having already nearly accomplished it, is more than I am willing to acknowledge, and I determine to go on.

I wake my brother and tell him of Howland’s determination, and he promises to stay with me; then I call up Hawkins, the cook, and he makes a like promise; then Sumner and Bradley and Hall, and they all agree to go on.

August 28 — At last daylight comes and we have breakfast without a word being said about the future. The meal is as solemn as a funeral. After breakfast I ask the three men if they still think it best to leave us. The elder Howland thinks it is, and Dunn agrees with him. The younger Howland tries to persuade them to go on with the party; failing in which, he decides to go with his brother.

Then we cross the river. The small boat is very much disabled and unseaworthy. With the loss of hands, consequent on the departure of the three men, we shall not be able to run all of the boats; so I decide to leave my “Emma Dean.”

Two rifles and a shotgun are given to the men who are going out. I ask them to help themselves to the rations and take what they think to be a fair share. This they refuse to do, saying they have no fear but that they can get something to eat; but Billy, the cook, has a pan of biscuits prepared for dinner, and these he leaves on a rock.

Before starting, we take from the boat our barometers, fossils, the minerals, and some ammunition and leave them on the rocks. We are going over this place as light as possible. The three men help us lift our boats over a rock 25 or 30 feet high and let them down again over the first fall, and now we are all ready to start.

The last thing before leaving, I write a letter to my wife and give it to Howland. Sumner gives him his watch, directing that it be sent to his sister should he not be heard from again. The records of the expedition have been kept in duplicate. One set of these is given to Howland; and now we are ready.

For the last time they entreat us not to go on, and tell us that it is madness to set out in this place; that we can never get safely through it; and, further, that the river turns again to the south into the granite, and a few miles of such rapids and falls will exhaust our entire stock of rations, and then it will be too late to climb out. Some tears are shed; it is rather a solemn parting; each party thinks the other is taking the dangerous course.
 
My old boat left, I go on board of the “Maid of the Canyon.” The three men climb a crag that overhangs the river to watch us off. The “Maid of the Canyon” pushes out. We glide rapidly along the foot of the wall, just grazing one great rock, then pull out a little into the chute of the second fall and plunge over it.

The open compartment is filled when we strike the first wave below, but we cut through it, and then the men pull with all their power toward the left wall and swing clear of the dangerous rock below all right. We are scarcely a minute in running it, and find that, although it looked bad from above, we have passed many places that were worse.

The other boat follows without more difficulty. We land at the first practicable point below, and fire our guns, as a signal to the men above that we have come over in safety. Here we remain a couple of hours, hoping that they will take the smaller boat and follow us. We are behind a curve in the canyon and cannot see up to where we left them, and so we wait until their coming seems hopeless, and then push on.

——————

Ironically, the expedition was already over. The two boats encountered no more significant rapids. The next day, they arrived at Grand Wash, the unofficial western end of Grand Canyon. There, they learned from Mormon farmers that most of the country assumed they were dead.

Dunn and the Howland brothers were never heard from again. By many accounts, they were killed by men from the Shivwits tribe who mistook them for three prospectors who had raped and killed a Shivwits woman.

Prior to his second expedition, Powell visited the Shivwits, hoping to find out the truth behind the rumors. According to Powell’s Mormon interpreter, Jacob Hamlin, the Shivwits admitted killing the men in a case of mistaken identity. Powell accepted the story and smoked a peace pipe with the chiefs.

But speculation also arose that the Howlands and Dunn were killed by Mormons, who blamed the deed on the Shivwits. The Mormon colonies of the time were paranoid about a possible attack by the U.S. Army. Hamlin easily could have altered the story.

Further, the killings happened only a decade after the Mountain Meadows massacre, in which 100-plus settlers on a wagon train to California were killed by a Mormon militia force.

Shivwits, Mormons, the heat of the August desert — we may never know for sure.

Of the 10 members of the first Powell expedition, nine have geological features in Grand Canyon named after them — a butte, a point, or in Powell’s case, an entire plateau. Not to mention Lake Powell.

The exception is Frank Goodman, who left the expedition before it reached Grand Canyon.

In 1939, on the 75th anniversary of the expedition, the rapid where Dunn and the Howland brothers left the group was named Separation Rapid. A commemorative plaque was placed at the site.

Today, the plaque and the rapid are deep below the surface of Lake Meade.

Drawing of George Bradley rescuing Major Powell from a predicament. One evening, while exploring near camp, Powell became stranded on a ledge and couldn't go up or down. Bradley was able to haul him up by using his long underwear as a rope.

Drawing of George Bradley rescuing Major Powell from a predicament. One evening, while exploring near camp, Powell became stranded on a ledge and couldn’t go up or down. Bradley was able to haul him up by using his long underwear as a rope.

Photo of Powell prior to the 2nd expedition with Tau-gu, a Paiute chief.

Photo of Powell prior to the 2nd expedition with Tau-gu, a Paiute chief.

Noted violinist Maud Powell, niece of John Wesley Powell, shown in 1918 at the Powell Memorial, Grand Canyon, Arizona.

Noted violinist Maud Powell, niece of John Wesley Powell, shown in 1918 at the Powell Memorial, Grand Canyon, Arizona.

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